Where The Witches Went
Where have the witches gone?
Over hill and under stone.
You shall not find them inside a house,
but if you are quiet as a mouse
and walk softly on the forest floor,
you will find them at the Otherworld's door
by grove, sea, and crossroad - places of power
working their magic at the appointed hour.
No, you shall not find them inside a home,
in the wilds is where they roam.
-Sarah Lawless
2-12-14 // Wayside Manor
A pair of boys lay beneath a sea of twinkling christmas lights that were jerry-rigged to a car battery sitting on the floor in the corner of the room. Their shirts were off, but the door left slightly ajar, meaning they weren't afraid of being interrupted.
Ed was on his back, staring up at the ceiling as he chattered about his favorite parts of the day they had spent together, his fingers toying idly with Patrick's hair. The younger boy lay on his stomach with an arm draped over his boyfriend;s naked torso, chin resting on Ed's smooth chest, listening intently as he traced a fingertip back and forth along the elegant line of bone which defined the older boy's collar.
Patrick smiled every time Ed lost his train of thought and had to start a sentence over. After the first few times it happened, he started trying to be a distraction. His fingertips whispered feather-light touches all over the older boy's chest, getting teasingly close to the nipple, but never touching it. Eventually, Ed started to whine at him and squirm around. Trick chuckled silently, rather entertained by the reactions he was getting.
Before their flirting had a chance to progress any further, the sound of an explosion in the hallway, followed by a scream from Mallory, startled them both. Ed squeaked in surprise, Trick's gasp came wildly. The two held each other tightly for a handful of seconds, waiting for fright to release its vice-like grip on their hearts which had leapt into their throats.
"Mal!" Panic ripped through Trick as he stared at his bedroom door, now open completely due to the concussive blast that had shaken the house. He was up in an instant, scrambling over Ed's body and to the door. Bare feet slapped against ruined wood floors.
Down the hall he spied Mallory's door barely hanging from its hinges, cracked in half. Rob came barreling up the stairs as Patrick flew down the hall, both boys crowding the damaged frame.
"Are you alright?" Patrick asked breathlessly.
Mallory shook her head, but waved them off. "I'm fine," she insisted, sounding impatient. "Nothing's broken."
Rob appeared less than convinced. "What happened?"
"One of my wards failed. It's nothing--it's fine. Just..." She shut her eyes and held her hands up, fingers splayed, irritation rippling across her features. "Leave me alone so I can fix this. Please," she added hastily, an afterthought lacking any politeness.
The boys shared a concerned look with one another, but didn't press her. Other than her evident frustration and the broken door, she appeared to be fine.
"Help me with this, will you?" Rob nodded to the cracked half of the door that lay on the floor. Patrick stooped to grab one end, Rob the other, and together they moved it into the hall.
Ed hovered near the banister and looked between the other two boys expectantly before stealing a glance into the older girl's room from where he stood. "Is everything okay? Mal?"
Patrick peered over his shoulder at Mal who was seated on the edge of her bed with the heels of her palms pressed against either temple. "She says she's okay. Magical backfire, I guess."
With no one hurt and no imminent danger, Rob went back downstairs. The younger boys returned to Trick's room, but this time they closed the door.
Otherworld's Door
Moderators: Patrick, Mallory, Eri Maeda
-
Mallory
- RoH Admin
- Posts: 921
- Joined: Sun Jan 15, 2017 9:25 pm
- Location: The Lyceum or Kabuki Street, most of the time
Re: Otherworld's Door
2-13-17 // Wayside Manor
It was late. Or early, depending on how one chose to look at it. RhyDin's moons were bright and full, high in the sky, surrounded by a thousand thousand twinkling stars. Patrick hadn't been able to fall asleep, so he'd moved down to the ground floor of Wayside, standing just outside the doorwall of the living room that led out into the small garden they called a backyard.
Everything was covered with a blanket of undisturbed snow that reflected the light from the moons; he liked it like that -- it glowed. He stared up at the sky while he smoked, though he kept an ear cocked toward the open doorwall for any noise. It wouldn't do to have Spencer catch him with a cigarette.
Someone was murmuring at the front door -- a familiar voice, as Mallory always "spoke" to the wards whenever she returned to the house. This conversation lasted longer. Patrick turned to face the house so he could better listen. After thirty seconds, she opened the door, and immediately turned to shut and lock it after herself. Her knit cap was jammed most of the way down over her ears, but the bottoms of them were still bright red, as were her hands and nose. She was coughing as she hurried to the stairs, taking a heavily laden backpack with her.
Trick sucked in a long drag from the cigarette and dropped what was left into an empty soda can on the patio table; he stepped through the exhaled cloud of smoke on his way into the house. After closing and locking the sliding glass door, he warmed his nearly frozen toes on Lucifer's rug next to the fireplace for a moment. Luckily, the cat wasn't there to challenge him for the territory. Then he sprinted to and up the stairs so he could catch Mallory before she got too far away.
"Mallory!" Trick hissed into the low lit hallway. But she was already halfway up the first flight and around the bend. He chased her further still, catching up to her on the next landing. "Mal. Wait up." Whispering so they wouldn't wake the others. Spencer, Rob, and Haley were all on this level.
Mallory looked back when he caught up to her, her expression -- surprised? relieved? worried? It quickly fell behind a grim facade, and rather than stop to talk, she beckoned him after her and hurried up the stairs. All the way up to her room, and through the ruined remains of her door, the intact half of it hanging out into the hall, nearly off its hinges. "I'm glad you're awake," she said, her voice a low hiss: she didn't want to wake the others. She dropped her backpack onto her bed and opened it, spilling out a number of books, folders, and vials and other spell components.
"Yeah, well." His eyes drifted in the direction of her ruined door. He and Ed had been across the hall when that happened; it had startled the pair of them and then Mallory had left without explanation. There was no way he could have fallen asleep easily tonight while worrying about her like he was.
Patrick stuffed his hands into the pockets of his navy blue sweatpants and hunched his shoulders forward. It was still pretty chilly in the house and the long sleeve shirt he wore was old and threadbare. He watched her dump the bag onto the bed, curiosity eating away at him. He shivered. "You going to tell me what's going on now?"
She dropped a vial of holy water and a bundle of iron nails into a satchel and tossed it into the bed. "You know the protests? How bad things got, for a little while?"
A small frown etched itself into the lines of his face. "Yeah..." He drew the word out, a suspicious tone that indicated she should go on with her explanation.
"Temple of the Divine Mother. They collect true names," she continued, now bundling up clothing and stuffing it into her backpack, "so that they can command... angels, fiends, fey, to do their bidding... use their powers without restraint or concern for their own well-being. I tried to protect her from it, but they used a true name to summon my employer." She cut a look over her shoulder at him as she pushed down in her backpack, cramming everything into as small a space as possible.
"Your employer?" he asked. When she looked at him from over her shoulder, he met her gaze.
"Vain woman? Blue hair? Wrenched my arm and hit you in the face?"
Patrick's mouth fell open in shock. "You're working for her?!" He glanced over his own shoulder, paranoid, toward the broken door, then shuffled across the room to get in Mallory's face. "What the **** are you doing? Are you involved in this stuff? In what's going on out there?"
"It was supposed to be simple!" she said, meeting his accusation with equal frustration. She stormed back to her dresser, pulling drawers open. "A soothsaying from me for a spell from her, a spell I needed, but when I was divining her future, I... saw things..." She stopped at the dresser, shook her head, and looked back at Trick. "I've been studying them ever since -- the Temple? We figured out they're planning a big ritual, on the fourteenth. It's supposed to be... some kind of power transference, to RhyDin's human population..."
She met his gaze again: "Ethnic cleansing, Patrick. Civil fucking war. They're going to kill everyone in RhyDin who isn't human."
Some of the color drained from his face as the words sank in. He didn't know how to respond to that. Rhydin was home to creatures from all walks of life. For as long as he could remember, he'd grown up in a Dog-Eat-Dog world. That's just the way things worked. There was good and bad to be found in every corner, in every faction. But he'd never heard of something like a cleanse being attempted. He wouldn't think it possible, but Mallory knew things, and she sounded scared.
It was then that he realized what it was she was doing. He blinked at her, at the items in her hands, then twisted around to look behind him at the bag on her bed. "What are you--where are you going?!" Suspicion and accusation laced his tone.
"Jewell's their trump card, the most powerful weapon they have," Mallory said, breaking eye contact when she couldn't bear it. "If I find her, I find where they're doing the ritual and disrupt it. If they don't have that power transference, then they don't have a plan." She tucked a silver bowl into her backpack -- her scrying bowl, the one she'd used to find her housemates before -- and zipped it up carefully.
There was nothing left to do but leave.
"Trick, I'm so ****ing..." She took a deep breath. He didn't need to know the depths of her fear. "Promise me something."
He reached out to catch her wrist after she'd zipped the bag closed. his grip was urgent and tight, though managed to keep from crossing the boundary line into restrictive. Patrick's eyes bored into hers, imploring desperately. "Don't leave."
She looked back at him, the fear in her eyes welling up into tears that threatened to fall. "RhyDin is our home," she said hoarsely. "If they burn it all down... that's our home," she stressed. "And so is this house. Whatever you do, our family needs to stay here on the fourteenth. All of you. That means Ed, too."
The sight of her unshed tears glistening in the firelight caused a ripple of fear to spread through his body. A lump formed in his throat and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he'd be damned if he let them fall. "Don't you be stupid. You better ****ing come back. This is -- ****, this is so not our problem. Someone else can find her! What the hell are you going to do about it, stop a whole cult? You're just going to get -- " Patrick choked on the word, unable to speak it aloud, as if doing so would speak it into existence.
Mallory scooped up her backpack, settling heavily over one shoulder; then she grabbed the back of Trick's neck and kissed him on the forehead. "Just a few priests," she murmured. "No one better to make a priest shit his robes than a witch." The kiss settled him, as she knew it would. A goodly portion of his tension eased away with the small gesture and she felt him relax under the curl of her fingers.
She let go of him, then, and said, "I'll be back Wednesday morning." Then she left, before love and regret would root her feet; love and courage moved them forward.
"You ****ing better," Trick repeated, watching her go. There wasn't too much bitterness in the warning this time; it sounded more like their sarcastic, snarky banter than a threat. A tear escaped, though, unbidden and most unwelcome. The boy swiped at it with the back of his hand and followed her out into the hall. He stood beside the banister and watched Mallory descend the stairs, back the way she came.
It was late. Or early, depending on how one chose to look at it. RhyDin's moons were bright and full, high in the sky, surrounded by a thousand thousand twinkling stars. Patrick hadn't been able to fall asleep, so he'd moved down to the ground floor of Wayside, standing just outside the doorwall of the living room that led out into the small garden they called a backyard.
Everything was covered with a blanket of undisturbed snow that reflected the light from the moons; he liked it like that -- it glowed. He stared up at the sky while he smoked, though he kept an ear cocked toward the open doorwall for any noise. It wouldn't do to have Spencer catch him with a cigarette.
Someone was murmuring at the front door -- a familiar voice, as Mallory always "spoke" to the wards whenever she returned to the house. This conversation lasted longer. Patrick turned to face the house so he could better listen. After thirty seconds, she opened the door, and immediately turned to shut and lock it after herself. Her knit cap was jammed most of the way down over her ears, but the bottoms of them were still bright red, as were her hands and nose. She was coughing as she hurried to the stairs, taking a heavily laden backpack with her.
Trick sucked in a long drag from the cigarette and dropped what was left into an empty soda can on the patio table; he stepped through the exhaled cloud of smoke on his way into the house. After closing and locking the sliding glass door, he warmed his nearly frozen toes on Lucifer's rug next to the fireplace for a moment. Luckily, the cat wasn't there to challenge him for the territory. Then he sprinted to and up the stairs so he could catch Mallory before she got too far away.
"Mallory!" Trick hissed into the low lit hallway. But she was already halfway up the first flight and around the bend. He chased her further still, catching up to her on the next landing. "Mal. Wait up." Whispering so they wouldn't wake the others. Spencer, Rob, and Haley were all on this level.
Mallory looked back when he caught up to her, her expression -- surprised? relieved? worried? It quickly fell behind a grim facade, and rather than stop to talk, she beckoned him after her and hurried up the stairs. All the way up to her room, and through the ruined remains of her door, the intact half of it hanging out into the hall, nearly off its hinges. "I'm glad you're awake," she said, her voice a low hiss: she didn't want to wake the others. She dropped her backpack onto her bed and opened it, spilling out a number of books, folders, and vials and other spell components.
"Yeah, well." His eyes drifted in the direction of her ruined door. He and Ed had been across the hall when that happened; it had startled the pair of them and then Mallory had left without explanation. There was no way he could have fallen asleep easily tonight while worrying about her like he was.
Patrick stuffed his hands into the pockets of his navy blue sweatpants and hunched his shoulders forward. It was still pretty chilly in the house and the long sleeve shirt he wore was old and threadbare. He watched her dump the bag onto the bed, curiosity eating away at him. He shivered. "You going to tell me what's going on now?"
She dropped a vial of holy water and a bundle of iron nails into a satchel and tossed it into the bed. "You know the protests? How bad things got, for a little while?"
A small frown etched itself into the lines of his face. "Yeah..." He drew the word out, a suspicious tone that indicated she should go on with her explanation.
"Temple of the Divine Mother. They collect true names," she continued, now bundling up clothing and stuffing it into her backpack, "so that they can command... angels, fiends, fey, to do their bidding... use their powers without restraint or concern for their own well-being. I tried to protect her from it, but they used a true name to summon my employer." She cut a look over her shoulder at him as she pushed down in her backpack, cramming everything into as small a space as possible.
"Your employer?" he asked. When she looked at him from over her shoulder, he met her gaze.
"Vain woman? Blue hair? Wrenched my arm and hit you in the face?"
Patrick's mouth fell open in shock. "You're working for her?!" He glanced over his own shoulder, paranoid, toward the broken door, then shuffled across the room to get in Mallory's face. "What the **** are you doing? Are you involved in this stuff? In what's going on out there?"
"It was supposed to be simple!" she said, meeting his accusation with equal frustration. She stormed back to her dresser, pulling drawers open. "A soothsaying from me for a spell from her, a spell I needed, but when I was divining her future, I... saw things..." She stopped at the dresser, shook her head, and looked back at Trick. "I've been studying them ever since -- the Temple? We figured out they're planning a big ritual, on the fourteenth. It's supposed to be... some kind of power transference, to RhyDin's human population..."
She met his gaze again: "Ethnic cleansing, Patrick. Civil fucking war. They're going to kill everyone in RhyDin who isn't human."
Some of the color drained from his face as the words sank in. He didn't know how to respond to that. Rhydin was home to creatures from all walks of life. For as long as he could remember, he'd grown up in a Dog-Eat-Dog world. That's just the way things worked. There was good and bad to be found in every corner, in every faction. But he'd never heard of something like a cleanse being attempted. He wouldn't think it possible, but Mallory knew things, and she sounded scared.
It was then that he realized what it was she was doing. He blinked at her, at the items in her hands, then twisted around to look behind him at the bag on her bed. "What are you--where are you going?!" Suspicion and accusation laced his tone.
"Jewell's their trump card, the most powerful weapon they have," Mallory said, breaking eye contact when she couldn't bear it. "If I find her, I find where they're doing the ritual and disrupt it. If they don't have that power transference, then they don't have a plan." She tucked a silver bowl into her backpack -- her scrying bowl, the one she'd used to find her housemates before -- and zipped it up carefully.
There was nothing left to do but leave.
"Trick, I'm so ****ing..." She took a deep breath. He didn't need to know the depths of her fear. "Promise me something."
He reached out to catch her wrist after she'd zipped the bag closed. his grip was urgent and tight, though managed to keep from crossing the boundary line into restrictive. Patrick's eyes bored into hers, imploring desperately. "Don't leave."
She looked back at him, the fear in her eyes welling up into tears that threatened to fall. "RhyDin is our home," she said hoarsely. "If they burn it all down... that's our home," she stressed. "And so is this house. Whatever you do, our family needs to stay here on the fourteenth. All of you. That means Ed, too."
The sight of her unshed tears glistening in the firelight caused a ripple of fear to spread through his body. A lump formed in his throat and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he'd be damned if he let them fall. "Don't you be stupid. You better ****ing come back. This is -- ****, this is so not our problem. Someone else can find her! What the hell are you going to do about it, stop a whole cult? You're just going to get -- " Patrick choked on the word, unable to speak it aloud, as if doing so would speak it into existence.
Mallory scooped up her backpack, settling heavily over one shoulder; then she grabbed the back of Trick's neck and kissed him on the forehead. "Just a few priests," she murmured. "No one better to make a priest shit his robes than a witch." The kiss settled him, as she knew it would. A goodly portion of his tension eased away with the small gesture and she felt him relax under the curl of her fingers.
She let go of him, then, and said, "I'll be back Wednesday morning." Then she left, before love and regret would root her feet; love and courage moved them forward.
"You ****ing better," Trick repeated, watching her go. There wasn't too much bitterness in the warning this time; it sounded more like their sarcastic, snarky banter than a threat. A tear escaped, though, unbidden and most unwelcome. The boy swiped at it with the back of his hand and followed her out into the hall. He stood beside the banister and watched Mallory descend the stairs, back the way she came.
Re: Otherworld's Door
2-13-17 // Teas 'n Tomes
Patrick sat on the edge of the couch cushion, leaning forward with his elbows to knees, bouncing a leg with anxiety-ridden impatience. Change in the one of the cargo pockets of his slim fit, dark cloud wash jeans jangled and clanked around.
The younger boy's anxiety spread like a disease. Ed was incapable of sitting down while they waited. He was smoking possibly his third in a row cigarette while pacing in front of the windows. Every so often he paused to page through a random set out book, or spin the globe.
Rob passed the time by fidgeting with a Rubik's cube, his lanky frame sprawled out across an armchair while Haley worked on some homework in the far corner. "Triiiick. Stop it. You're killing me."
He sighed, ceasing the jumping of his leg and thus quieting the jangle of coin. Dark eyes darted toward Ed--more specifically the cigarette hanging from his mouth. Without thinking, he reached for his backpack and started digging through its contents for the pack of cigarettes within. Just then the door opened and Spencer spilled inside.
As she rushed in, she reached up to push the hood of her coat off her head. Spencer glanced at the girl behind the counter, offering her a semi-smile to placate the glare that she received. Her steps were rushed, minus the length of strides she was given to normally.
Spencer's raucous arrival startled the crap out of Ed, making him jump and squeak and throw his cigarette. It landed in a spray of burning ash at his feet, and he quickly stamped it out. He muttered something while his heart worked on chilling the hell out and bent to scoop up the butt, quickly dropping it in a tray before scooting over to the couch.
"Sorry," she said to the group that had already arrived. "People are dicks."
Patrick grit his teeth and set the bag back down, leaving the cigs there they were. "Good, you're here. We can start this now."
Sitting up, Rob exhaled a groan through the effort it took to propel his frame into an upright position. The Rubik's cube got tossed onto the coffee table and he folded his hands, eyes on Trick.
Instead of sitting, Ed snatched up Rob's abandoned Rubik's cube and fiddled with it while he stood nearby. It was shiny and gave his hands something to do. He couldn't help himself.
Patrick looked from one face to the next. "Right." He nodded to himself and wiped his palms across his thighs, taking a deep breath. "I talked to Mallory last night and she finally clued me in to all the crap that's been going on lately. She's been working for this faerie chick the last couple months." His eyes flicked in Spencer's direction as he added, "The one who punched me in the face last December."
Spencer ducked to pull her bag over her head and sat down on the far end of the couch. There was no sound from it when she dropped it to the floor. She settled into the corner, tucking a leg up beneath the other. A pale brow lifted. "Didn't she steal from her?"
"I dunno. I guess. I don't really have all the details about that. Anyway. Apparently this faerie's got some kind of connection to the Temple of the Divine Mother -- the ones behind all the crap that's been going on between humans and non-humans. Anyway, Mal says they have this faerie's true Name and they're planning something big for Valentine's Day. Some kind of... power transference." The boy squinted, racking his brain for the details. He rubbed at his eyes and the pressure that was beginning to build up behind them. "A power transference to the human population. She mentioned civil war and ethnic cleansing and sounded really scared. She wants us all to stay in the house on the fourteenth."
Spencer sucked in her lips and looked down at the floor. She thought about what she'd been doing the past few weeks as she plucked at a thread on the seam of her jacket.
The Rubik's cube slipped out of Ed's hands and bounce-clunked across the coffee table. His eyes were wide and brows high, and he mumbled an, "Oops." A little louder, after clearing his throat, he asked, "I'm sorry, a what? Power what?"
Rob's frown grew as he listened, but he was more confused than worried. "I don't understand how the hell any of this has anything to do with a faerie and Mallory..."
Trick scratched the back of his neck, eyes closing so he could focus. "She said the faerie is the Temple's trump card. I don't fully understand, but I guess if they've got her Name, then they can make her do anything they want. Mal ran off to find the faerie and to stop the ritual. Why she'd gotta be the one to do it, I don't know. I asked her not to go, but she wouldn't listen."
Ed snorted and made a dismissive wave of his hand. "I don't see how one little faerie is anything to be afraid of."
Spencer mimicked Ed's snort. "Does she ever listen?"
"I don't think it's the faerie that we need to be afraid of. It's this... transference spell or whatever. Right? Did she say what it was?" Rob looked from Ed to Trick, milking him for more details.
Patrick's gaze followed Ed through the room as the older boy scooted around the coffee table to pick up the Rubik's cube, then flitted between the others. "No. Just that it was a transference to the humans. They've been vocal about their hatred for non-humans, so I can only assume it's got something to do with that. That's my best guess. Mal didn't exactly elaborate on that. She just made me promise to stay inside on Valentine's Day... that we would all stay in the house."
"So is this spell going to screw with the humans or everyone else?"
Trick shrugged at Spencer.
"You promised her that we were all going to stay in the house?" Ed's nose wrinkled as he gave Trick a narrow-eyed look. He didn't much like having promises made on his behalf without being briefed about the situation first.
It was Rob's turn to snort. "I know Mal's a powerful witch and all, but I don't think I want to stick around if there's going to be a war. I mean, come on. Ethnic cleansing? She seriously expects me to stick around for all that with Haley?" He looked to the corner where the little blond haired darling was scribbling away in a notebook. He shook his head, sending his own blond curls bouncing. "I need to get her away from all that. Far away."
Ed looked over at Haley in the corner and nodded agreeably. Yes, getting her far, far away from violence was very good idea. He fiddled with the Rubik's cube and looked thoughtfully out the windows.
Trick scowled at Ed, cheeks flushing. "I never actually agreed to anything. And I can't force any of you to do it. This is why we're having this discussion."
Spencer shrugged, lips pursed, and set to the side. "Well, I'm staying."
Rob's gaze passed between Ed and Trick uncomfortably. Spencer's answer drew his attention. He eyed her curiously, brow arched.
"I'm not staying in the house." Ed harrumphed. "It's Valentine's Day." He twisted and turned the Rubik's cube a few more times, and then under-hand tossed it to Rob; it was completely solved. "I'll punch anyone in the nose who tries to ruin it." He gave Trick a winning smile.
Rob caught the puzzle with a palm against his chest, then stared down at the solved cube in awe. "How the hell did you do that so fast? I've been trying to figure it out for months."
He tapped his temple and winked at Rob. "Math."
Spencer glanced around, catching Rob's eye. "It's not like I'd know where to go. And traveling costs money. They probably jacked up the prices all over the place."
Everyone seemed to be so sure of what they were doing. Patrick suddenly felt miserable, his heart tugged in two very different directions. "But we don't know what's going to happen out there." He was looking at Ed now. "Mal sounded scared. Honestly, it scared me, too. I don't want to be out somewhere when a freakin' war breaks out."
Spencer looked aside at Trick. "Then stay inside at the house. She said stay at the house."
Brows pulling together, Ed made a disapproving face when he looked at Spencer. He shook his head with a frown and looked away, attention drawn again out the windows. "But we don't know what's going to happen," he echoed. "And it's Valentine's Day." He turned his hands over, palm up, and moved them up and down like they were scales trying to balance out options. "I'm not going to let a bunch of snooty pro-human anti-everything else fanatics ruin it for me." He huffed, and lit a cigarette.
"I'll let the rest of you guys hash this out together." Rob pushed himself up from the chair, knees cracking in the process. "I'm gonna get Haley home so we can pack up." He glanced between Ed and Trick again, then shared a significant look with Spencer. He wandered away from the small group to help his little sister gather up her things.
Ed backed up a step and turned aside, making room for Rob to stand and move past him without having to walk through a cloud of smoke, which he turned his head to exhale away from the group. Then he looked back to give him a finger wiggling wave and little smile.
"Do what you want," Spencer said, shrugging at Ed. "I think it's a stupid day." Hearts and flowers and candle lit dinners were the things from movies. "If you believe in that stuff, celebrate it every day. Not just one day a year." Says the girl who claims she doesn't believe in fairy tales but is still waiting for her prince charming. She'd never admit it though.
Patrick put his head in his hands, making faces at the carpet so the others couldn't see. Half a minute later, he raised his head and reached aside to pull his jacket into his lap. "It's not stupid, but whatever. Now you all know what I know. Meeting adjourned."
Ed's expression was unmistakably offended when he looked back, sharply, at Spencer. Fortunately, Trick spoke before he could go off on her, but he was mad now. "Great. I've got work in the morning. See you tomorrow." He turned sharply and strode for the door, trailing smoke in his wake.
Spencer held her tongue as well for the time being, darting a glance at Patrick, the departing Ed, and then over to Rob and Haley. "Rob, are you guys leaving as soon as you get back?
Rob and Haley were on their way to the door as well, but he stopped near his housemates to stare at Ed's back as he strode away from them all. After a handful of seconds, he looked at Spencer, then Trick, and gave Haley a nudge to get her back on the move. "Uhh. I'm not sure. I might let Hales sleep in her own bed tonight and then head out in the morning."
She nodded, leaning forward to speak to him. "I'll see you later anyway."
Patrick never looked up. He sat there staring at the callous on his palm that he was picking at, jaw askew and his tongue pinched tightly between his upper and lower molars. The sound of the bell made him blink a few times. It jangled as raucously as when Spencer had come in when Ed let himself out.
"Later, guys." Rob and Haley both waved, then left the building to head in the direction of the train.
Spencer stared at Patrick next, one cheek swollen with the press of her tongue from the inside. "So that's it?"
There was nothing but the sound of his picking at the dead skin on his palm for several seconds. Then he sighed and looked up, spreading his hands to shake out his jacket and put it on. "I guess so. I don't really know what else to say. I guess he's going back to his place."
She looked up and puffed out a breath before reaching down to snatch her bag from the floor. "You drop a bomb about a civil war in less than 24 hours and you don't know what to say?" She still had her coat on.
"What am I supposed to say? That I'm really worried? Scared about Mallory killing herself because she got tangled up with some stupid faerie? Scared that my boyfriend's going to get caught in whatever the hell's going to happen because he's being stubborn or whatever? I don't know, Spence'!" He zipped his jacket and stooped to snatch his bag up from the floor. "And why'd you have to go and **** on Valentine's Day like that? He obviously likes it. If you don't, you should have just kept your mouth shut." He let out a heavy sigh, expression falling as he regretted his tone, if not the words. "I'm sorry, I'm just--" He shook his head, finally caving to the craving and started rooting around in his bag for the cigarettes. "I'm annoyed right now." Hurt was more like it, but he didn't need to tell anyone that.
He started for the door, making no attempt to hide the fact that he was stuffing a cigarette into his mouth. The lighter came out of his bag next.
Spencer's fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. "Because he seemed to not give two ****'s about what you just said. Even though we don't know what going to happen tomorrow, if anything, he'd rather put your life at risk to draw hearts. People could be out there slitting throats! So if I pissed him off because I said it was a stupid day, I don't care. I care more about what happens to you. Mallory said it was going to be bad. You said she was scared. I'm doing what she asked us to do because I trust her." It wasn't like she was following him; there was only one door. "Be annoyed with me then for giving a **** about you. Smoke your stupid cigarettes because they're going to make you feel better. Do what you want." The final heave ho was a chair she shoved out of her way to beat him to the exit.
Patrick left Teas grumbling to himself about having a pair of drama queens on his hands.
Patrick sat on the edge of the couch cushion, leaning forward with his elbows to knees, bouncing a leg with anxiety-ridden impatience. Change in the one of the cargo pockets of his slim fit, dark cloud wash jeans jangled and clanked around.
The younger boy's anxiety spread like a disease. Ed was incapable of sitting down while they waited. He was smoking possibly his third in a row cigarette while pacing in front of the windows. Every so often he paused to page through a random set out book, or spin the globe.
Rob passed the time by fidgeting with a Rubik's cube, his lanky frame sprawled out across an armchair while Haley worked on some homework in the far corner. "Triiiick. Stop it. You're killing me."
He sighed, ceasing the jumping of his leg and thus quieting the jangle of coin. Dark eyes darted toward Ed--more specifically the cigarette hanging from his mouth. Without thinking, he reached for his backpack and started digging through its contents for the pack of cigarettes within. Just then the door opened and Spencer spilled inside.
As she rushed in, she reached up to push the hood of her coat off her head. Spencer glanced at the girl behind the counter, offering her a semi-smile to placate the glare that she received. Her steps were rushed, minus the length of strides she was given to normally.
Spencer's raucous arrival startled the crap out of Ed, making him jump and squeak and throw his cigarette. It landed in a spray of burning ash at his feet, and he quickly stamped it out. He muttered something while his heart worked on chilling the hell out and bent to scoop up the butt, quickly dropping it in a tray before scooting over to the couch.
"Sorry," she said to the group that had already arrived. "People are dicks."
Patrick grit his teeth and set the bag back down, leaving the cigs there they were. "Good, you're here. We can start this now."
Sitting up, Rob exhaled a groan through the effort it took to propel his frame into an upright position. The Rubik's cube got tossed onto the coffee table and he folded his hands, eyes on Trick.
Instead of sitting, Ed snatched up Rob's abandoned Rubik's cube and fiddled with it while he stood nearby. It was shiny and gave his hands something to do. He couldn't help himself.
Patrick looked from one face to the next. "Right." He nodded to himself and wiped his palms across his thighs, taking a deep breath. "I talked to Mallory last night and she finally clued me in to all the crap that's been going on lately. She's been working for this faerie chick the last couple months." His eyes flicked in Spencer's direction as he added, "The one who punched me in the face last December."
Spencer ducked to pull her bag over her head and sat down on the far end of the couch. There was no sound from it when she dropped it to the floor. She settled into the corner, tucking a leg up beneath the other. A pale brow lifted. "Didn't she steal from her?"
"I dunno. I guess. I don't really have all the details about that. Anyway. Apparently this faerie's got some kind of connection to the Temple of the Divine Mother -- the ones behind all the crap that's been going on between humans and non-humans. Anyway, Mal says they have this faerie's true Name and they're planning something big for Valentine's Day. Some kind of... power transference." The boy squinted, racking his brain for the details. He rubbed at his eyes and the pressure that was beginning to build up behind them. "A power transference to the human population. She mentioned civil war and ethnic cleansing and sounded really scared. She wants us all to stay in the house on the fourteenth."
Spencer sucked in her lips and looked down at the floor. She thought about what she'd been doing the past few weeks as she plucked at a thread on the seam of her jacket.
The Rubik's cube slipped out of Ed's hands and bounce-clunked across the coffee table. His eyes were wide and brows high, and he mumbled an, "Oops." A little louder, after clearing his throat, he asked, "I'm sorry, a what? Power what?"
Rob's frown grew as he listened, but he was more confused than worried. "I don't understand how the hell any of this has anything to do with a faerie and Mallory..."
Trick scratched the back of his neck, eyes closing so he could focus. "She said the faerie is the Temple's trump card. I don't fully understand, but I guess if they've got her Name, then they can make her do anything they want. Mal ran off to find the faerie and to stop the ritual. Why she'd gotta be the one to do it, I don't know. I asked her not to go, but she wouldn't listen."
Ed snorted and made a dismissive wave of his hand. "I don't see how one little faerie is anything to be afraid of."
Spencer mimicked Ed's snort. "Does she ever listen?"
"I don't think it's the faerie that we need to be afraid of. It's this... transference spell or whatever. Right? Did she say what it was?" Rob looked from Ed to Trick, milking him for more details.
Patrick's gaze followed Ed through the room as the older boy scooted around the coffee table to pick up the Rubik's cube, then flitted between the others. "No. Just that it was a transference to the humans. They've been vocal about their hatred for non-humans, so I can only assume it's got something to do with that. That's my best guess. Mal didn't exactly elaborate on that. She just made me promise to stay inside on Valentine's Day... that we would all stay in the house."
"So is this spell going to screw with the humans or everyone else?"
Trick shrugged at Spencer.
"You promised her that we were all going to stay in the house?" Ed's nose wrinkled as he gave Trick a narrow-eyed look. He didn't much like having promises made on his behalf without being briefed about the situation first.
It was Rob's turn to snort. "I know Mal's a powerful witch and all, but I don't think I want to stick around if there's going to be a war. I mean, come on. Ethnic cleansing? She seriously expects me to stick around for all that with Haley?" He looked to the corner where the little blond haired darling was scribbling away in a notebook. He shook his head, sending his own blond curls bouncing. "I need to get her away from all that. Far away."
Ed looked over at Haley in the corner and nodded agreeably. Yes, getting her far, far away from violence was very good idea. He fiddled with the Rubik's cube and looked thoughtfully out the windows.
Trick scowled at Ed, cheeks flushing. "I never actually agreed to anything. And I can't force any of you to do it. This is why we're having this discussion."
Spencer shrugged, lips pursed, and set to the side. "Well, I'm staying."
Rob's gaze passed between Ed and Trick uncomfortably. Spencer's answer drew his attention. He eyed her curiously, brow arched.
"I'm not staying in the house." Ed harrumphed. "It's Valentine's Day." He twisted and turned the Rubik's cube a few more times, and then under-hand tossed it to Rob; it was completely solved. "I'll punch anyone in the nose who tries to ruin it." He gave Trick a winning smile.
Rob caught the puzzle with a palm against his chest, then stared down at the solved cube in awe. "How the hell did you do that so fast? I've been trying to figure it out for months."
He tapped his temple and winked at Rob. "Math."
Spencer glanced around, catching Rob's eye. "It's not like I'd know where to go. And traveling costs money. They probably jacked up the prices all over the place."
Everyone seemed to be so sure of what they were doing. Patrick suddenly felt miserable, his heart tugged in two very different directions. "But we don't know what's going to happen out there." He was looking at Ed now. "Mal sounded scared. Honestly, it scared me, too. I don't want to be out somewhere when a freakin' war breaks out."
Spencer looked aside at Trick. "Then stay inside at the house. She said stay at the house."
Brows pulling together, Ed made a disapproving face when he looked at Spencer. He shook his head with a frown and looked away, attention drawn again out the windows. "But we don't know what's going to happen," he echoed. "And it's Valentine's Day." He turned his hands over, palm up, and moved them up and down like they were scales trying to balance out options. "I'm not going to let a bunch of snooty pro-human anti-everything else fanatics ruin it for me." He huffed, and lit a cigarette.
"I'll let the rest of you guys hash this out together." Rob pushed himself up from the chair, knees cracking in the process. "I'm gonna get Haley home so we can pack up." He glanced between Ed and Trick again, then shared a significant look with Spencer. He wandered away from the small group to help his little sister gather up her things.
Ed backed up a step and turned aside, making room for Rob to stand and move past him without having to walk through a cloud of smoke, which he turned his head to exhale away from the group. Then he looked back to give him a finger wiggling wave and little smile.
"Do what you want," Spencer said, shrugging at Ed. "I think it's a stupid day." Hearts and flowers and candle lit dinners were the things from movies. "If you believe in that stuff, celebrate it every day. Not just one day a year." Says the girl who claims she doesn't believe in fairy tales but is still waiting for her prince charming. She'd never admit it though.
Patrick put his head in his hands, making faces at the carpet so the others couldn't see. Half a minute later, he raised his head and reached aside to pull his jacket into his lap. "It's not stupid, but whatever. Now you all know what I know. Meeting adjourned."
Ed's expression was unmistakably offended when he looked back, sharply, at Spencer. Fortunately, Trick spoke before he could go off on her, but he was mad now. "Great. I've got work in the morning. See you tomorrow." He turned sharply and strode for the door, trailing smoke in his wake.
Spencer held her tongue as well for the time being, darting a glance at Patrick, the departing Ed, and then over to Rob and Haley. "Rob, are you guys leaving as soon as you get back?
Rob and Haley were on their way to the door as well, but he stopped near his housemates to stare at Ed's back as he strode away from them all. After a handful of seconds, he looked at Spencer, then Trick, and gave Haley a nudge to get her back on the move. "Uhh. I'm not sure. I might let Hales sleep in her own bed tonight and then head out in the morning."
She nodded, leaning forward to speak to him. "I'll see you later anyway."
Patrick never looked up. He sat there staring at the callous on his palm that he was picking at, jaw askew and his tongue pinched tightly between his upper and lower molars. The sound of the bell made him blink a few times. It jangled as raucously as when Spencer had come in when Ed let himself out.
"Later, guys." Rob and Haley both waved, then left the building to head in the direction of the train.
Spencer stared at Patrick next, one cheek swollen with the press of her tongue from the inside. "So that's it?"
There was nothing but the sound of his picking at the dead skin on his palm for several seconds. Then he sighed and looked up, spreading his hands to shake out his jacket and put it on. "I guess so. I don't really know what else to say. I guess he's going back to his place."
She looked up and puffed out a breath before reaching down to snatch her bag from the floor. "You drop a bomb about a civil war in less than 24 hours and you don't know what to say?" She still had her coat on.
"What am I supposed to say? That I'm really worried? Scared about Mallory killing herself because she got tangled up with some stupid faerie? Scared that my boyfriend's going to get caught in whatever the hell's going to happen because he's being stubborn or whatever? I don't know, Spence'!" He zipped his jacket and stooped to snatch his bag up from the floor. "And why'd you have to go and **** on Valentine's Day like that? He obviously likes it. If you don't, you should have just kept your mouth shut." He let out a heavy sigh, expression falling as he regretted his tone, if not the words. "I'm sorry, I'm just--" He shook his head, finally caving to the craving and started rooting around in his bag for the cigarettes. "I'm annoyed right now." Hurt was more like it, but he didn't need to tell anyone that.
He started for the door, making no attempt to hide the fact that he was stuffing a cigarette into his mouth. The lighter came out of his bag next.
Spencer's fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. "Because he seemed to not give two ****'s about what you just said. Even though we don't know what going to happen tomorrow, if anything, he'd rather put your life at risk to draw hearts. People could be out there slitting throats! So if I pissed him off because I said it was a stupid day, I don't care. I care more about what happens to you. Mallory said it was going to be bad. You said she was scared. I'm doing what she asked us to do because I trust her." It wasn't like she was following him; there was only one door. "Be annoyed with me then for giving a **** about you. Smoke your stupid cigarettes because they're going to make you feel better. Do what you want." The final heave ho was a chair she shoved out of her way to beat him to the exit.
Patrick left Teas grumbling to himself about having a pair of drama queens on his hands.
Re: Otherworld's Door
2-13-17 // Old Temple West
Anxious to get home to put an end to this day, Ed had run the entire way. He was grateful for the compulsion that had lead to him wandering the Marketplace instead of sulking home an hour ago. Fate had smiled on him, delivered Trick to him, and now he was leaping through endless fields of joy. Fueled by love, he wasn't even sure he was going to be able to sleep tonight.
"I'm home," he announced when he arrived. He skipped the stairs entirely, taking one giant leap from the street level landing to the basement floor. All the doors were open, unsurprisingly. Mrs. Oglesby had been in a perpetual state of blissfully sleeping drug-induced high since his cousins had moved in, and he wasn't afraid of waking her.
In fact, this feeling that had swelled in his heart made it pretty impossible for anything to scare him at all. Not even Jameson, who had, typically, set up a booby trap of himself in the hall. Ed ducked his arm and dodged around him with a grin.
"No hugs for you, Jamee Boo!"
Jameson growled and chased after him. Ed laughed, leaping the couch, and thus proceeded a game of keep away. As he ran circles around the sofa, he saw that Linda and Abby were sprawled on the bed together, flipping through some fashion magazines while they watched them. Hector was sitting in a chair at the card table, sorting through puzzle pieces and smoking a joint.
"What're you in such a good mood for?" Jameson asked as they swayed back and forth at opposite ends of the couch. The tall man leaped to the center cushion and made a grab for him. "That boy finally pop your cherry?"
"No!" Though his cheeks instantly flushed red at the notion, Ed giggled as he dove out of the way. He scrambled up onto the bed and hid behind Linda. Jameson wouldn't dare shove his way through a pregnant woman to get to him, he knew.
As expected, Jameson gave up with a frown and plopped onto the foot of the bed to glower at him. He crossed his arms with a harrumph. Ed stuck out his tongue. Linda leaned back against him, glad for a comfier support than the metal headboard, and smiled stupidly.
"No, he did not... We did not," Ed stammered. All eyes, except Hector's, were on him. The Latino man was super concentrated on sorting puzzle pieces. Ed looked from Linda to Abby to Jameson, and then down at the rumpled polka dotted sheets that had seen too much use with a stupid smile of his own. "He did, however, tell me that he loves me."
In unison, the girls said, "Awwwww."
Jameson said, "Ew," and rolled off the bed. He strolled over to the card table and stole Hector's joint to take a hit. Helping his Latino cousin sort the edge pieces out from the rest of the mess was much more interesting to him.
Meanwhile, Ed radiated pure joy that he was pretty sure the girls could feel. The three of them huddled close together with the biggest, dumbest smiles. Linda sighed wistfully. Abby ruined the moment by asking, "What was the big important meeting about?"
Ed's nose wrinkled and he slumped sideways to curl up with his back pressed against the headboard. Linda sank down and turned on her side, propped a pillow against his legs, and looked up at his face. Abby turned over onto her stomach and stroked her fingers through his hair. The feel of her clawlike nails dragging across his scalp was incredibly soothing. He sighed.
"I guess Mallory told Trick that there's some big civil war that's going to kick off tomorrow and made him promise to stay in the house. Made him promise to make all of us stay in the house." Ed snorted, feeling his frown return. Across the room, Jameson laughed at the absurdity. He could even hear Hector chuckling.
"Hmm. Well? She's not wrong," Abby said dreamily. "City Momma's squirming with anticipation. I can feel Her. Something big's going down soon."
In that moment, Ed realized he owed Patrick an apology. Abby was to him what Mallory was to the younger boy, the mystic and mouth of wisdom. If Abby had told him there was a storm a brewing and that they should all bunker down, he'd listen to her unquestioningly too.
"It's about time!" Jameson flipped over the card table excitedly, and the thousand piece puzzle he and Hector had been picking away at to kill the time scattered across the floor. "I've been dying of boredom. Tell me City Momma's got a mission for me?" He turned on Abby, begging like a crazed, caged animal.
"Of course She does, Jamee." Abby smiled softly, her voice as always having a lulling tone. "City Momma's got plans for all of us." She turned her head back to look at Ed thoughtfully and pulled her fingers through his hair again. "Her plan for you, Edgar St. James, is to keep Wayside safe," she assured him. Leaning over, she kissed him on the brow. He closed his eyes, feeling a soothing warmth spread through his body, making him drowsy.
The last thing he heard before he drifted off to sleep was Abby's hypnotic voice telling him to:
"Stay with Patrick." Which was good, because he'd planned to anyway.
Anxious to get home to put an end to this day, Ed had run the entire way. He was grateful for the compulsion that had lead to him wandering the Marketplace instead of sulking home an hour ago. Fate had smiled on him, delivered Trick to him, and now he was leaping through endless fields of joy. Fueled by love, he wasn't even sure he was going to be able to sleep tonight.
"I'm home," he announced when he arrived. He skipped the stairs entirely, taking one giant leap from the street level landing to the basement floor. All the doors were open, unsurprisingly. Mrs. Oglesby had been in a perpetual state of blissfully sleeping drug-induced high since his cousins had moved in, and he wasn't afraid of waking her.
In fact, this feeling that had swelled in his heart made it pretty impossible for anything to scare him at all. Not even Jameson, who had, typically, set up a booby trap of himself in the hall. Ed ducked his arm and dodged around him with a grin.
"No hugs for you, Jamee Boo!"
Jameson growled and chased after him. Ed laughed, leaping the couch, and thus proceeded a game of keep away. As he ran circles around the sofa, he saw that Linda and Abby were sprawled on the bed together, flipping through some fashion magazines while they watched them. Hector was sitting in a chair at the card table, sorting through puzzle pieces and smoking a joint.
"What're you in such a good mood for?" Jameson asked as they swayed back and forth at opposite ends of the couch. The tall man leaped to the center cushion and made a grab for him. "That boy finally pop your cherry?"
"No!" Though his cheeks instantly flushed red at the notion, Ed giggled as he dove out of the way. He scrambled up onto the bed and hid behind Linda. Jameson wouldn't dare shove his way through a pregnant woman to get to him, he knew.
As expected, Jameson gave up with a frown and plopped onto the foot of the bed to glower at him. He crossed his arms with a harrumph. Ed stuck out his tongue. Linda leaned back against him, glad for a comfier support than the metal headboard, and smiled stupidly.
"No, he did not... We did not," Ed stammered. All eyes, except Hector's, were on him. The Latino man was super concentrated on sorting puzzle pieces. Ed looked from Linda to Abby to Jameson, and then down at the rumpled polka dotted sheets that had seen too much use with a stupid smile of his own. "He did, however, tell me that he loves me."
In unison, the girls said, "Awwwww."
Jameson said, "Ew," and rolled off the bed. He strolled over to the card table and stole Hector's joint to take a hit. Helping his Latino cousin sort the edge pieces out from the rest of the mess was much more interesting to him.
Meanwhile, Ed radiated pure joy that he was pretty sure the girls could feel. The three of them huddled close together with the biggest, dumbest smiles. Linda sighed wistfully. Abby ruined the moment by asking, "What was the big important meeting about?"
Ed's nose wrinkled and he slumped sideways to curl up with his back pressed against the headboard. Linda sank down and turned on her side, propped a pillow against his legs, and looked up at his face. Abby turned over onto her stomach and stroked her fingers through his hair. The feel of her clawlike nails dragging across his scalp was incredibly soothing. He sighed.
"I guess Mallory told Trick that there's some big civil war that's going to kick off tomorrow and made him promise to stay in the house. Made him promise to make all of us stay in the house." Ed snorted, feeling his frown return. Across the room, Jameson laughed at the absurdity. He could even hear Hector chuckling.
"Hmm. Well? She's not wrong," Abby said dreamily. "City Momma's squirming with anticipation. I can feel Her. Something big's going down soon."
In that moment, Ed realized he owed Patrick an apology. Abby was to him what Mallory was to the younger boy, the mystic and mouth of wisdom. If Abby had told him there was a storm a brewing and that they should all bunker down, he'd listen to her unquestioningly too.
"It's about time!" Jameson flipped over the card table excitedly, and the thousand piece puzzle he and Hector had been picking away at to kill the time scattered across the floor. "I've been dying of boredom. Tell me City Momma's got a mission for me?" He turned on Abby, begging like a crazed, caged animal.
"Of course She does, Jamee." Abby smiled softly, her voice as always having a lulling tone. "City Momma's got plans for all of us." She turned her head back to look at Ed thoughtfully and pulled her fingers through his hair again. "Her plan for you, Edgar St. James, is to keep Wayside safe," she assured him. Leaning over, she kissed him on the brow. He closed his eyes, feeling a soothing warmth spread through his body, making him drowsy.
The last thing he heard before he drifted off to sleep was Abby's hypnotic voice telling him to:
"Stay with Patrick." Which was good, because he'd planned to anyway.
Re: Otherworld's Door
2-14-17 // Old Temple East
Patrick hadn’t been able to fall asleep between all his worrying about Mallory and riding the jubilant high of knowing Ed loved him. A chronic over-thinker, he tossed and turned for hours before Spencer climbed into his bed so they could talk. Getting her to open up was like trying to pry open a bear trap, but eventually the two smoothed over the wrinkle of tension between them and Trick was able to share his exciting news. They gossiped for a while until Spencer fell asleep, but the younger boy’s mind wouldn’t give him over to the Sandman.
Long before the sun came up, he was up and out of bed. After a quick stop at the nearest bodega for a dozen roses, Patrick hopped the rail to Old Temple. Before heading to Howard’s house, he stopped at a small chapel to listen to the bells and the early morning call to worship. He lingered in the back of the nave so as not to disturb anyone. A priestess wearing royal purple robes briefly caught his hand as she made her way toward the transept. One of the guardians in her procession waved a burning censer on either side of him in blessing. Though he didn’t know what religion they observed, he felt a sense of peace wash over him with the gesture. He sent up a quick, silent prayer to whatever deity was listening for Mallory’s safety -- for the safety of everyone.
Fifteen minutes later, he found himself standing on Howard’s front porch. Not wanting to be rude at such an early hour, he waited anxiously in the cold for some sign that the occupants inside were awake. Ten minutes later, a light came on in the kitchen. The boy exhaled a thankful breath and knocked stiff fingers against the front door.
The porch light came on after a minute. Patrick listened to the sound of several locks turning before the door creaked open.
“Yeah?” Howard’s tone was laced with suspicion. He had the door barely cracked, round face peeking through the opening as he squinted out at the teenager.
“Hi, um, Howard. Mister Howard. Sorry to bother you so early.” Patrick gulped and swung the backpack off his shoulder. He held up the flowers and smiled. “I was wondering if you could maybe stick these in Ed’s locker at work? So he’s… you know, surprised?” The older man blinked at him. Trick suddenly wondered if he’d come to the wrong house. “It’s our first Valentine’s Day together…”
“Lee?” A woman’s voice came from further inside. “Lee, who’s at the door at this hour?”
Mr. Howard opened the door all the way now and pushed the screen door outward. He was already dressed for work, but the plump woman who appeared at his side was still wearing a bathrobe. Her hair was up in rollers. “It’s Patrick, honey.”
“Oh Patrick!” Mrs. Howard beamed at him. “Ed with you?”
“No ma’am.” Trick shook his head and lifted the flowers again. “But I’m here about him. I was hoping your husband might help me out with a little surprise for him.” He gave her his most winsome, practiced smile.
It worked like a charm.
“Well isn’t that the sweetest, most -- Lee, are you hearing this? So cute. Of course he’ll do it, honey! Won’t you, Lee.” It certainly didn’t sound like a question.
Mr. Howard sighed heavily, but he smiled and held his hands out for the gifts. “How about I put ‘em in the truck instead. Less a recipe for disaster that way, since apparently we’ve got us some idiots working for waste management, huh?”
“That’d be great, sir. Thank you, so much.” Patrick passed the flowers over to the other man and dug the rest of Ed’s gifts from his bag.
“Are you getting enough sleep, Patrick?” Mrs. Howard had that motherly look in her eyes. She didn’t even give him a chance to do anything more than stutter. “How about a good meal? Have you eaten breakfast? Looking a little thin. You boys… you’re so skinny! You and Ed, both.” She slapped the back of her hand against her husband’s gut and said, “Take some of those muffins on the counter to him, will you? And a piece of that pie from last night.” Then she locked her sights on Patrick again. “Come on, get inside. It’s freezing out there. Sapping the life out of my hot rollers.” The woman patted her hair gingerly, making sure everything was still situated in the rollers as it should be.
“Oh, I… I really shouldn’t, Mrs. Howard.”
“Lola! Call me Lola, sweetie. Mrs. Howard is his mother.” She glance aside at her husband. “Though she’s deaf as an adder and wouldn’t hear you even if you called her the Devil. I do it all the time.” Lola laughed at her own cleverness. “Get in here! It’s no trouble. I’ll fix you up something nice and warm, don’t you worry.”
“I’ve learned not to argue with her,” Lee stage whispered aside to the bewildered teen.
“But--”
“No buts!” Lola shouted. She was already on her way into the kitchen.
--
Two hours later, Lola Howard knew just about all there was to know about Patrick Richie. She’d even given him a haircut; now he didn’t look so much like a rag-a-muffin. Her calendar had a big red circle around the the 18th and she promised Trick that she and Lee would be in the raceway stands cheering him on during his first race. She also assured him that she’d make her husband take her on an impromptu Valentine’s Day trip out of the city as soon as he came home. She made him promise that he’d stay someplace safe and to take extra good care of Ed because he was such a “Sweet Boy.”
Mr. Howard was right, Patrick mused. Lola knew best; there was no arguing with her.
Patrick hadn’t been able to fall asleep between all his worrying about Mallory and riding the jubilant high of knowing Ed loved him. A chronic over-thinker, he tossed and turned for hours before Spencer climbed into his bed so they could talk. Getting her to open up was like trying to pry open a bear trap, but eventually the two smoothed over the wrinkle of tension between them and Trick was able to share his exciting news. They gossiped for a while until Spencer fell asleep, but the younger boy’s mind wouldn’t give him over to the Sandman.
Long before the sun came up, he was up and out of bed. After a quick stop at the nearest bodega for a dozen roses, Patrick hopped the rail to Old Temple. Before heading to Howard’s house, he stopped at a small chapel to listen to the bells and the early morning call to worship. He lingered in the back of the nave so as not to disturb anyone. A priestess wearing royal purple robes briefly caught his hand as she made her way toward the transept. One of the guardians in her procession waved a burning censer on either side of him in blessing. Though he didn’t know what religion they observed, he felt a sense of peace wash over him with the gesture. He sent up a quick, silent prayer to whatever deity was listening for Mallory’s safety -- for the safety of everyone.
Fifteen minutes later, he found himself standing on Howard’s front porch. Not wanting to be rude at such an early hour, he waited anxiously in the cold for some sign that the occupants inside were awake. Ten minutes later, a light came on in the kitchen. The boy exhaled a thankful breath and knocked stiff fingers against the front door.
The porch light came on after a minute. Patrick listened to the sound of several locks turning before the door creaked open.
“Yeah?” Howard’s tone was laced with suspicion. He had the door barely cracked, round face peeking through the opening as he squinted out at the teenager.
“Hi, um, Howard. Mister Howard. Sorry to bother you so early.” Patrick gulped and swung the backpack off his shoulder. He held up the flowers and smiled. “I was wondering if you could maybe stick these in Ed’s locker at work? So he’s… you know, surprised?” The older man blinked at him. Trick suddenly wondered if he’d come to the wrong house. “It’s our first Valentine’s Day together…”
“Lee?” A woman’s voice came from further inside. “Lee, who’s at the door at this hour?”
Mr. Howard opened the door all the way now and pushed the screen door outward. He was already dressed for work, but the plump woman who appeared at his side was still wearing a bathrobe. Her hair was up in rollers. “It’s Patrick, honey.”
“Oh Patrick!” Mrs. Howard beamed at him. “Ed with you?”
“No ma’am.” Trick shook his head and lifted the flowers again. “But I’m here about him. I was hoping your husband might help me out with a little surprise for him.” He gave her his most winsome, practiced smile.
It worked like a charm.
“Well isn’t that the sweetest, most -- Lee, are you hearing this? So cute. Of course he’ll do it, honey! Won’t you, Lee.” It certainly didn’t sound like a question.
Mr. Howard sighed heavily, but he smiled and held his hands out for the gifts. “How about I put ‘em in the truck instead. Less a recipe for disaster that way, since apparently we’ve got us some idiots working for waste management, huh?”
“That’d be great, sir. Thank you, so much.” Patrick passed the flowers over to the other man and dug the rest of Ed’s gifts from his bag.
“Are you getting enough sleep, Patrick?” Mrs. Howard had that motherly look in her eyes. She didn’t even give him a chance to do anything more than stutter. “How about a good meal? Have you eaten breakfast? Looking a little thin. You boys… you’re so skinny! You and Ed, both.” She slapped the back of her hand against her husband’s gut and said, “Take some of those muffins on the counter to him, will you? And a piece of that pie from last night.” Then she locked her sights on Patrick again. “Come on, get inside. It’s freezing out there. Sapping the life out of my hot rollers.” The woman patted her hair gingerly, making sure everything was still situated in the rollers as it should be.
“Oh, I… I really shouldn’t, Mrs. Howard.”
“Lola! Call me Lola, sweetie. Mrs. Howard is his mother.” She glance aside at her husband. “Though she’s deaf as an adder and wouldn’t hear you even if you called her the Devil. I do it all the time.” Lola laughed at her own cleverness. “Get in here! It’s no trouble. I’ll fix you up something nice and warm, don’t you worry.”
“I’ve learned not to argue with her,” Lee stage whispered aside to the bewildered teen.
“But--”
“No buts!” Lola shouted. She was already on her way into the kitchen.
--
Two hours later, Lola Howard knew just about all there was to know about Patrick Richie. She’d even given him a haircut; now he didn’t look so much like a rag-a-muffin. Her calendar had a big red circle around the the 18th and she promised Trick that she and Lee would be in the raceway stands cheering him on during his first race. She also assured him that she’d make her husband take her on an impromptu Valentine’s Day trip out of the city as soon as he came home. She made him promise that he’d stay someplace safe and to take extra good care of Ed because he was such a “Sweet Boy.”
Mr. Howard was right, Patrick mused. Lola knew best; there was no arguing with her.
Last edited by Patrick on Thu Nov 01, 2018 4:47 pm, edited 1 time in total.
-
Mallory
- RoH Admin
- Posts: 921
- Joined: Sun Jan 15, 2017 9:25 pm
- Location: The Lyceum or Kabuki Street, most of the time
Re: Otherworld's Door
2-14-17 // Oblivion
((Directly following the events in this excellent thread.))
I'm falling backwards into darkness.
The floor of Sanctuary's cellar was invisible, and a few armed strangers and a vigilante who'd threatened her once stood confidently on nothingness. Bodies littered the space, blood pooled around them, around my body. Silver shadows of the fallen plummeted around and past her, faces twisted in open-mouthed terror, formless limbs scrambling for purchase in this frictionless space as they sped towards oblivion.
I'm falling with them.
With the only light a dwindling speck a mile above her, Mallory did not see her own hands when she reached out for the thread that wound through every body with a soul, binding spirit to flesh and stronger than bones.
Usually stronger, but she heard the warped sound of snapping steel as a cluster of them snapped. A single impossible razor of a thread sliced deep into her hands when she tightened her grasp, wound through body and limb all the way to the bone like a wire through cheese. Her blood was flowing out of her, washing over her like a fountain, and it and the tightening jaws of a steely bite were the only two things she felt as she hung there, suspended in oblivion.
A ruined vessel trussed up by her own will to live, but stopped.
She could not see or hear the souls that had plummeted past her before; they were gone, beyond her, beyond anything but the shadows they left in the world. She could not see the light, either, but she saw a light.
A firelight, flickering and crackling in the blackness, casting slashes of red and orange across an inscrutable floor. She could not see the fireplace, but she could see its glow behind a wing-backed chair and a side table. No color could be seen on either, draped in shadow like the space itself; nor did anything catch the light, not even the silhouetted goblet and decanter. She twisted painfully in her binding, struggling for a better angle on the alien parlor laid out before her.
The chair creaked. Many miles and an entire plane away, she felt her heart leap into her throat. I'm still alive, she realized, even as she grappled fearfully with the knowledge she was not the only thing alive here.
A figure leaned forward and turned in his chair, his fingers bunching in the brushed beaver fur of the broad-brimmed hat sitting in his lap. Two things gleamed now: his coal-black eyes, and a slash of ivory teeth. He smiled and said,
"How tragically you suffer; how beautifully you bleed. Come hither, child; come hither."
The pain of the razor-sharp thread tearing through her untangling limbs was drowned in the roar of terror and adrenaline as she pulled herself free, hand over bloody hand, away from the parlor and the man in the chair. She did not dare look back; she did not need to, to know that his coal black eyes could pierce into her retreating soul, that his ears could hear every fleshy tear, every dribbling gout of blood, every terrified gasp.
* * *
Hand over bloody hand, Mallory climbed through the darkness, dangling from the razor-thin thread between body and soul.
((Directly following the events in this excellent thread.))
I'm falling backwards into darkness.
The floor of Sanctuary's cellar was invisible, and a few armed strangers and a vigilante who'd threatened her once stood confidently on nothingness. Bodies littered the space, blood pooled around them, around my body. Silver shadows of the fallen plummeted around and past her, faces twisted in open-mouthed terror, formless limbs scrambling for purchase in this frictionless space as they sped towards oblivion.
I'm falling with them.
With the only light a dwindling speck a mile above her, Mallory did not see her own hands when she reached out for the thread that wound through every body with a soul, binding spirit to flesh and stronger than bones.
Usually stronger, but she heard the warped sound of snapping steel as a cluster of them snapped. A single impossible razor of a thread sliced deep into her hands when she tightened her grasp, wound through body and limb all the way to the bone like a wire through cheese. Her blood was flowing out of her, washing over her like a fountain, and it and the tightening jaws of a steely bite were the only two things she felt as she hung there, suspended in oblivion.
A ruined vessel trussed up by her own will to live, but stopped.
She could not see or hear the souls that had plummeted past her before; they were gone, beyond her, beyond anything but the shadows they left in the world. She could not see the light, either, but she saw a light.
A firelight, flickering and crackling in the blackness, casting slashes of red and orange across an inscrutable floor. She could not see the fireplace, but she could see its glow behind a wing-backed chair and a side table. No color could be seen on either, draped in shadow like the space itself; nor did anything catch the light, not even the silhouetted goblet and decanter. She twisted painfully in her binding, struggling for a better angle on the alien parlor laid out before her.
The chair creaked. Many miles and an entire plane away, she felt her heart leap into her throat. I'm still alive, she realized, even as she grappled fearfully with the knowledge she was not the only thing alive here.
A figure leaned forward and turned in his chair, his fingers bunching in the brushed beaver fur of the broad-brimmed hat sitting in his lap. Two things gleamed now: his coal-black eyes, and a slash of ivory teeth. He smiled and said,
"How tragically you suffer; how beautifully you bleed. Come hither, child; come hither."
The pain of the razor-sharp thread tearing through her untangling limbs was drowned in the roar of terror and adrenaline as she pulled herself free, hand over bloody hand, away from the parlor and the man in the chair. She did not dare look back; she did not need to, to know that his coal black eyes could pierce into her retreating soul, that his ears could hear every fleshy tear, every dribbling gout of blood, every terrified gasp.
* * *
Hand over bloody hand, Mallory climbed through the darkness, dangling from the razor-thin thread between body and soul.
-
Mallory
- RoH Admin
- Posts: 921
- Joined: Sun Jan 15, 2017 9:25 pm
- Location: The Lyceum or Kabuki Street, most of the time
Re: Otherworld's Door
2-15-17 // Limbo
Mallory climbed until she could no longer hear the crackle of the hearth. She could not see her own hands as the thread bit them to the bone, nor any shape in the blackness. That there could be something, anything lurking in the darkness without her knowledge scared her far less than the possibility that she was alone here.
The man in the armchair became marginally less a thing of terror, and almost a form of comfort when the only alternative seemed to be oblivion.
She chanced a look down the wire.
No firelight below.
She tipped her head back to search the empty vastness above, and the tight fist of panic clenched around her heart. She felt a precipitous drop as the thread gave before snapping into place again, and she cried out in pain and terror as one hand came free. She twisted the thread around her arm, felt the razor-thin steel stop on flesh and bone again, and slowed her descent.
I am alive.
This is not how I die.
She searched the darkness above in defiant anger, her desperate terror banished for a few merciful moments, and found it again: a faint pinprick of light, a tiny tear in a massive theater screen, a single dead pixel, a dying star at the edge of a dead universe.
It looked no closer, but it was above her, and she knew the way up.
* * *
She climbed for hours.
* * *
The blackness around her was no longer so black, the empty air around her no longer so still and cool: the void was dark but felt close instead of vast, and every shadow breathed a hint of something rich and red; warmth passed over her in waves, not like the wind but wading into the ocean and feeling its steady push and pull; the air was slick, slippery somehow.
The thread would need to be larger, lest she lose her grip.
Her hand closed around the thread above her, and instead of the cut of flesh she felt a needle, a thorn, bare its teeth against the tip of her thumb. At first, she recoiled...
...but it does not mean to bite. She ran her thumb along the broad hook in the thread, and saw the locked gate of pearly fangs as an invitation. Her blood was not her suffering, merely one of its symptoms. It had given her venom to spit in the eyes of an archfey; it had given her a sword; it was power, and it was thudding in the air around her.
She pressed her thumb down.
Immediately the thread writhed in her grasp, swelling, pulsing into a thick, thorny vein. Her arms ached and she could feel the wire's many deep bites into her flesh and bone, but the suffering gave her strength; her hands were slick with the same blood that coursed through the umbilical cord that kept her alive, but it gave her power.
Eyes fixed on the light above, she continued to climb.
Mallory climbed until she could no longer hear the crackle of the hearth. She could not see her own hands as the thread bit them to the bone, nor any shape in the blackness. That there could be something, anything lurking in the darkness without her knowledge scared her far less than the possibility that she was alone here.
The man in the armchair became marginally less a thing of terror, and almost a form of comfort when the only alternative seemed to be oblivion.
She chanced a look down the wire.
No firelight below.
She tipped her head back to search the empty vastness above, and the tight fist of panic clenched around her heart. She felt a precipitous drop as the thread gave before snapping into place again, and she cried out in pain and terror as one hand came free. She twisted the thread around her arm, felt the razor-thin steel stop on flesh and bone again, and slowed her descent.
I am alive.
This is not how I die.
She searched the darkness above in defiant anger, her desperate terror banished for a few merciful moments, and found it again: a faint pinprick of light, a tiny tear in a massive theater screen, a single dead pixel, a dying star at the edge of a dead universe.
It looked no closer, but it was above her, and she knew the way up.
* * *
She climbed for hours.
* * *
The blackness around her was no longer so black, the empty air around her no longer so still and cool: the void was dark but felt close instead of vast, and every shadow breathed a hint of something rich and red; warmth passed over her in waves, not like the wind but wading into the ocean and feeling its steady push and pull; the air was slick, slippery somehow.
The thread would need to be larger, lest she lose her grip.
Her hand closed around the thread above her, and instead of the cut of flesh she felt a needle, a thorn, bare its teeth against the tip of her thumb. At first, she recoiled...
...but it does not mean to bite. She ran her thumb along the broad hook in the thread, and saw the locked gate of pearly fangs as an invitation. Her blood was not her suffering, merely one of its symptoms. It had given her venom to spit in the eyes of an archfey; it had given her a sword; it was power, and it was thudding in the air around her.
She pressed her thumb down.
Immediately the thread writhed in her grasp, swelling, pulsing into a thick, thorny vein. Her arms ached and she could feel the wire's many deep bites into her flesh and bone, but the suffering gave her strength; her hands were slick with the same blood that coursed through the umbilical cord that kept her alive, but it gave her power.
Eyes fixed on the light above, she continued to climb.
Re: Otherworld's Door
2-15-17 // Wayside Manor
“Trick?”
He looked up from staring at his breakfast, pulling in a deep breath through his nose. He blinked sleepily at Ed and scrubbed a hand across his face. “Morning.”
“Morning.” The older boy moved over to Trick’s side, leaning down to press a kiss on his mouth. Then he turned to rummage through the cupboards.
“You want my breakfast?” Patrick pushed the bowl away from himself and picked up his phone.
“What is it?” Curious, Ed inspected the contents of the plastic bowl.
“Oatmeal. Still warm. I don’t feel like eating.”
“Why are you even out of bed? You look exhausted.” He scooped the bowl into his hands and turned to park his rear on the edge of the table, eyeing Trick. After the first bite of food, Ed peered down into the bowl, blinked, and snorted in amusement. “There’s got to be at least half a cup of sugar in this.”
“That’s the only way to make oatmeal palatable.” Patrick smirked at his boyfriend, then yawned. “Man. I wish I could have slept as well as you last night. You slept like a rock.”
“I was comfy,” said Ed smugly.
Trick glanced back down at the messenger device in his hands, willing it to come to life. “Haven’t heard from Mal yet.”
“It’s five-thirty in the morning, Patrick.”
“I know,” groaned the younger boy. He dropped the messenger on the table top and scrubbed at his eyes with both hands. “I’m just worried. You heard how bad it got last night. All the sirens and the rioting and the fires. This is going to eat at me all day until I hear she’s okay.”
Ed slipped his fingers around Trick’s wrist, gently pulling the boy’s hand away from his face. “Hey. It’s okay. She’s going to be fine. If you want I can call in today. Stay with you?”
“No. No, you don’t have to do that.” Trick turned his hand so they could tangle up their fingers instead. “You’ve got a job to do, and that’s important. I’m… going in to work, too. I gotta stay busy. But thanks.” Standing, he leaned in to brush a soft kiss against the other boy’s mouth. “I love you.” He liked that they could say it now, that it was out there in the open instead of hidden, but it still made his cheeks grow warm.
After the kiss, Ed’s lips spread into a wide, delighted smile. “I love you, too!”
--
Stars End
All the screens went dark in the middle of the flight simulation. Patrick swallowed his panic as he sat in the darkened space, punching the button that would pop the hatch open. The sliver of light that shone through the crack in the door flooded him with relief.
“Hey, what the--” Before he could complain too loudly about the race sim being cut off, someone pulled the hatch wide open. He squinted into the sudden flare of bright light and found Connie beaming at him like an idiot.
“Trick, your boyfriend was on the radio again.” Connie looked over his shoulder at the others and yelled, “Press play, Bal!”
“Oh my God.” Patrick lurched out of his seat, unable to contain the smile that spread across his face like wildfire. When he’d climbed out of the machine, Connie threw an arm around his shoulders and dragged him toward the corner of the garage where Balfour and Jesse were lounging on a pair of couches. Ed’s voice thundered from surround sound speakers a moment later.
"Hi, Yaaaas! Hi, Rhydin! It's me again! Ed Smith. Yes, I'd like to make another request. Yes, it's for Trick again. HI, TRICK! I LOVE YOU!! Yes. Request. Yes, could you please play U Smile by Justin Bieber for me? Please? Pretty please with sugar on top? Thank yooooooou! Thanks, bye!"
Trick’s cheeks burned throughout the whole dedication and the song that followed. Connie, ever the clown, picked up the nearest cylindrical item to use as a microphone and, just as he’d done the day before last, lip-synced the entire song from atop the coffee table.
“You are absolutely ridiculous,” Jesse said when the song was over, shaking his head at Conrad.
Connie made a theatrical bow. “That’s what Océane tells me every day.”
“I’m surprised she’s stayed with you this long,” said Balfour, grinning.
“Never underestimate the power of laughter, my man. If you can make your girl laugh--”
Balfour cut him off. “I’d rather make her scream.”
Connie threw a plastic cup at the half-dwarf’s head. Things devolved from there into a playful wrestling match.
Text to Trick from Mallory at 2:15 p.m.: Knight-Captain Seamus Morvan, North RhyDin Lodge, Holy Order of Saint Aldwin. Found this phone on a wounded girl- pale complexion, round ears, dyed black hair, about 5'7", tattoos of an imp and a broken mirror on her arms. Witchy sort.
Text to Trick from Mallory at 2:16 p.m.: Is she your kin? or do you have family contact info you can forward? Thank you & God keep you, friend.
Jesse ignored the pair, watching Trick with the sort of wise scrutiny only a parent could manage. His own daughter was Trick’s age and he could tell the boy had something weighing on him. “What’s goin’ on, kid?”
Patrick looked up from his messenger, the color swiftly draining from his face. “Uh. It’s… it’s my friend, Mal. Someone’s got her phone, and…” He trailed off, staring back down at the screen. He felt sick to his stomach. His fingers flew across the keys, replying to the text that had been sent from Mallory’s phone. “She’s like my sister. Apparently she’s hurt -- I… I need to go.”
“You need a ride somewhere?”
“I don’t know. I’m waiting for a reply from this guy about where I can find her.” He jumped up from the couch to get his jacket.
Connie managed to get out from under Balfour and scrambled to his feet. “Yo, let me give you a lift.”
Text to Trick from Mallory at 2:21 p.m.: Last I saw her they were stabilizing her. The healers can tell you more.
Text to Trick from Mallory at 2:21 p.m.: Meet Sir Saleh in front of Cambini Manor, on Apollo's Road in Old Temple. He'll escort you to Sylvan Springs where they're treating her.
Text to Trick from Mallory at 2:22 p.m.: Godspeed. Reach out to the Order if there is anything your family needs.
The next series of texts that came in made Trick feel like he’d been sucker punched. The Knight-Captain couldn’t even confirm whether or not Mallory was still alive. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to compartmentalize the fear and focus on the only thing he could do right now:
“Old Temple. I need to get to Old Temple.”
“Trick?”
He looked up from staring at his breakfast, pulling in a deep breath through his nose. He blinked sleepily at Ed and scrubbed a hand across his face. “Morning.”
“Morning.” The older boy moved over to Trick’s side, leaning down to press a kiss on his mouth. Then he turned to rummage through the cupboards.
“You want my breakfast?” Patrick pushed the bowl away from himself and picked up his phone.
“What is it?” Curious, Ed inspected the contents of the plastic bowl.
“Oatmeal. Still warm. I don’t feel like eating.”
“Why are you even out of bed? You look exhausted.” He scooped the bowl into his hands and turned to park his rear on the edge of the table, eyeing Trick. After the first bite of food, Ed peered down into the bowl, blinked, and snorted in amusement. “There’s got to be at least half a cup of sugar in this.”
“That’s the only way to make oatmeal palatable.” Patrick smirked at his boyfriend, then yawned. “Man. I wish I could have slept as well as you last night. You slept like a rock.”
“I was comfy,” said Ed smugly.
Trick glanced back down at the messenger device in his hands, willing it to come to life. “Haven’t heard from Mal yet.”
“It’s five-thirty in the morning, Patrick.”
“I know,” groaned the younger boy. He dropped the messenger on the table top and scrubbed at his eyes with both hands. “I’m just worried. You heard how bad it got last night. All the sirens and the rioting and the fires. This is going to eat at me all day until I hear she’s okay.”
Ed slipped his fingers around Trick’s wrist, gently pulling the boy’s hand away from his face. “Hey. It’s okay. She’s going to be fine. If you want I can call in today. Stay with you?”
“No. No, you don’t have to do that.” Trick turned his hand so they could tangle up their fingers instead. “You’ve got a job to do, and that’s important. I’m… going in to work, too. I gotta stay busy. But thanks.” Standing, he leaned in to brush a soft kiss against the other boy’s mouth. “I love you.” He liked that they could say it now, that it was out there in the open instead of hidden, but it still made his cheeks grow warm.
After the kiss, Ed’s lips spread into a wide, delighted smile. “I love you, too!”
--
Stars End
All the screens went dark in the middle of the flight simulation. Patrick swallowed his panic as he sat in the darkened space, punching the button that would pop the hatch open. The sliver of light that shone through the crack in the door flooded him with relief.
“Hey, what the--” Before he could complain too loudly about the race sim being cut off, someone pulled the hatch wide open. He squinted into the sudden flare of bright light and found Connie beaming at him like an idiot.
“Trick, your boyfriend was on the radio again.” Connie looked over his shoulder at the others and yelled, “Press play, Bal!”
“Oh my God.” Patrick lurched out of his seat, unable to contain the smile that spread across his face like wildfire. When he’d climbed out of the machine, Connie threw an arm around his shoulders and dragged him toward the corner of the garage where Balfour and Jesse were lounging on a pair of couches. Ed’s voice thundered from surround sound speakers a moment later.
"Hi, Yaaaas! Hi, Rhydin! It's me again! Ed Smith. Yes, I'd like to make another request. Yes, it's for Trick again. HI, TRICK! I LOVE YOU!! Yes. Request. Yes, could you please play U Smile by Justin Bieber for me? Please? Pretty please with sugar on top? Thank yooooooou! Thanks, bye!"
Trick’s cheeks burned throughout the whole dedication and the song that followed. Connie, ever the clown, picked up the nearest cylindrical item to use as a microphone and, just as he’d done the day before last, lip-synced the entire song from atop the coffee table.
“You are absolutely ridiculous,” Jesse said when the song was over, shaking his head at Conrad.
Connie made a theatrical bow. “That’s what Océane tells me every day.”
“I’m surprised she’s stayed with you this long,” said Balfour, grinning.
“Never underestimate the power of laughter, my man. If you can make your girl laugh--”
Balfour cut him off. “I’d rather make her scream.”
Connie threw a plastic cup at the half-dwarf’s head. Things devolved from there into a playful wrestling match.
Text to Trick from Mallory at 2:15 p.m.: Knight-Captain Seamus Morvan, North RhyDin Lodge, Holy Order of Saint Aldwin. Found this phone on a wounded girl- pale complexion, round ears, dyed black hair, about 5'7", tattoos of an imp and a broken mirror on her arms. Witchy sort.
Text to Trick from Mallory at 2:16 p.m.: Is she your kin? or do you have family contact info you can forward? Thank you & God keep you, friend.
Jesse ignored the pair, watching Trick with the sort of wise scrutiny only a parent could manage. His own daughter was Trick’s age and he could tell the boy had something weighing on him. “What’s goin’ on, kid?”
Patrick looked up from his messenger, the color swiftly draining from his face. “Uh. It’s… it’s my friend, Mal. Someone’s got her phone, and…” He trailed off, staring back down at the screen. He felt sick to his stomach. His fingers flew across the keys, replying to the text that had been sent from Mallory’s phone. “She’s like my sister. Apparently she’s hurt -- I… I need to go.”
“You need a ride somewhere?”
“I don’t know. I’m waiting for a reply from this guy about where I can find her.” He jumped up from the couch to get his jacket.
Connie managed to get out from under Balfour and scrambled to his feet. “Yo, let me give you a lift.”
Text to Trick from Mallory at 2:21 p.m.: Last I saw her they were stabilizing her. The healers can tell you more.
Text to Trick from Mallory at 2:21 p.m.: Meet Sir Saleh in front of Cambini Manor, on Apollo's Road in Old Temple. He'll escort you to Sylvan Springs where they're treating her.
Text to Trick from Mallory at 2:22 p.m.: Godspeed. Reach out to the Order if there is anything your family needs.
The next series of texts that came in made Trick feel like he’d been sucker punched. The Knight-Captain couldn’t even confirm whether or not Mallory was still alive. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to compartmentalize the fear and focus on the only thing he could do right now:
“Old Temple. I need to get to Old Temple.”
-
Mallory
- RoH Admin
- Posts: 921
- Joined: Sun Jan 15, 2017 9:25 pm
- Location: The Lyceum or Kabuki Street, most of the time
Re: Otherworld's Door
2-15-17 // Faerie
The slick, slippery air grew thicker and thicker, until the air she drew in bubbled back out of her mouth as blood. The weight of it pushed down on her shoulders, bent her head in a mockery of shame and defeat as her hands slid down the still-swollen thread between body and soul.
This is my power, she reminded herself, and faced down the urge to drown in a thrashing panic by stoking the smouldering embers of her anger. Mine, she scowled, and the blood seeping in through her mouth and nose, into her belly and lungs, flowed into her heart instead. She drew it in, and in, and in until she felt her chest swell with it all, ribs bowed with the pressure and ready to burst...
...and back out, away from her, down into the abyss as her soul went shooting up.
Ever thicker, life-giving blood turned to life-giving earth, surrounding her and suffocating her as it fell in from all sides.
* * *
Mallory clawed her way through the dirt, gasping and choking on fertile soil.
* * *
Her fingers found roots as thick and strong as knotted webbing and pried it apart, ripping up tussocks of grass and wildflower shrubs, until her face was born from the earth and soaked in the shifting light of the sky at dusk.
She dared to breathe, dared to look, and saw faint and twinkling stars behind scattered clouds, which were made pale and ghostly by the piercing light of four moons. She crawled, then knelt, now stood in a great green meadow. A breeze, both soothingly warm and comfortably cool, blew through the grass and the willow trees within, rattling and swaying their branches, scattering their leaves across thorny wildflowers.
Around here was the forest on all sides, falling away sharply as if she stood on a great hill, or if this were a mere ball of earth little larger than this meadow; the closer she looked, the harder she felt the pull of a great, precipitous fall.
She shrunk backwards from the wave of crippling vertigo, seeking the center. Fairy lights scattered behind her, and when she looked in their wake, she saw a simple well: a low stone ring, a cross-beam, a bucket and a rope. Within, the water was clear and bottomless, and bubbled as if it were a mountain spring. She could see the stars reflected in their surface, as well as her own tired, bloody, haunted face.
She ran her ruined fingers back along her many cuts and gouges, and with an iridescent shimmer in the air, they melted into flawless skin. The damp earth and slick blood fell from her hair, which grew longer, fuller, more beautiful as she brushed it by hand. She traced a spiral over one temple, then the other, and a pair of curly horns emerged smoothly from her splitting skin.
She smiled at her reflection; it smiled back, then smiled less as it looked past her and pointed.
Up, over her shoulder, suspended in the night sky, she could see through the floor of what appeared to be a hospital room. Not modern, no wires or tubes or machines, but the bed and the baskets, the herbs and the vials and the orderlies, all were unmistakable signs. She turned her head, and as she willed it, the room seemed to grow closer in the sky, the angle lower.
A familiar pair of feet stuck out from the blankets at the foot of the bed; in the middle, the blanket rose and fell as the body took labored breaths; at the head, her ashen face.
There was a thin man with long, warm brown hair, faintly silver-white skin and golden eyes, and he was staring down at her soul from where he stood beside her body. He shooed out the orderlies with a wave of his hand, and curled his fingers in the air, and looked away from her at the white plaster ceiling of her hospital room. Markings appeared, new ones replacing old ones, and though the elvish runes that ringed the magic circle were alien to her...
...the shape of a banishing circle was unmistakable.
She seized the thread with both hands and tugged, and he whipped around to face her, golden eyes wide with surprise, then narrowed with anger.
He whipped around again, appearing in the meadow before her.
"You bastard. You prick. You'll pay for ****ing with Mallory St. Martin," she snarled, and reached for invisible components in a bag she did not carry with her. He smirked and grasped her jaw, willing her into weightlessness as he lifted and squeezed.
"Such a foul, poisonous little thing you are," he said, twisting his head to judge her sneeringly from every angle. "So much better to keep your body: brimming with untapped power, the perfect warrior-slave." He looked past her at the meadow and the forest beyond, and she felt another terrible thrill of vertigo as he took a step away from the well: "This paradise, my paradise, is too good for you. Go suffer in hellfire, or perish in oblivion."
"No!" she screamed, terrified, desperate, clutching and grasping at anything she could. His robes, silk and slippery in her grasp; his flesh, suddenly terrible and burning her to touch; then the thread. The way out. She looked up at the twilight sky, and realized with the heavy weight of despair that her thread dangled free, connected but not taut; her fingers clutched the rope in the well.
She screamed her defiance again as he tried to drag her, kicking, clutching the well, until he dashed her head against the stones. She saw his feet in her dazed periphery; before her, coming into focus, a simple wooden bucket, a sprig of leaves and flowers sprouting from its handle.
She released the rope and thread, and tore at her long, flowing hair, suddenly filthy and weakened. She tore out a chunk of it with a cry, and grasped the bucket for dear life as he tried again to drag her away. He seized it from her grasp, ignorant of the dirty lock now knotted around the little sprig, and cast it into the well.
"Die, witchling," he snarled. "Let your body serve a better master." He threw her, and for one brief moment she flew, floating across the grassy meadow, over the trees, over a vast forest that suddenly tumbled away from her.
She fell backwards into darkness, the dusk sky of the fey realm vanishing in a flash, and the pinprick of light up above growing ever smaller.
The slick, slippery air grew thicker and thicker, until the air she drew in bubbled back out of her mouth as blood. The weight of it pushed down on her shoulders, bent her head in a mockery of shame and defeat as her hands slid down the still-swollen thread between body and soul.
This is my power, she reminded herself, and faced down the urge to drown in a thrashing panic by stoking the smouldering embers of her anger. Mine, she scowled, and the blood seeping in through her mouth and nose, into her belly and lungs, flowed into her heart instead. She drew it in, and in, and in until she felt her chest swell with it all, ribs bowed with the pressure and ready to burst...
...and back out, away from her, down into the abyss as her soul went shooting up.
Ever thicker, life-giving blood turned to life-giving earth, surrounding her and suffocating her as it fell in from all sides.
* * *
Mallory clawed her way through the dirt, gasping and choking on fertile soil.
* * *
Her fingers found roots as thick and strong as knotted webbing and pried it apart, ripping up tussocks of grass and wildflower shrubs, until her face was born from the earth and soaked in the shifting light of the sky at dusk.
She dared to breathe, dared to look, and saw faint and twinkling stars behind scattered clouds, which were made pale and ghostly by the piercing light of four moons. She crawled, then knelt, now stood in a great green meadow. A breeze, both soothingly warm and comfortably cool, blew through the grass and the willow trees within, rattling and swaying their branches, scattering their leaves across thorny wildflowers.
Around here was the forest on all sides, falling away sharply as if she stood on a great hill, or if this were a mere ball of earth little larger than this meadow; the closer she looked, the harder she felt the pull of a great, precipitous fall.
She shrunk backwards from the wave of crippling vertigo, seeking the center. Fairy lights scattered behind her, and when she looked in their wake, she saw a simple well: a low stone ring, a cross-beam, a bucket and a rope. Within, the water was clear and bottomless, and bubbled as if it were a mountain spring. She could see the stars reflected in their surface, as well as her own tired, bloody, haunted face.
She ran her ruined fingers back along her many cuts and gouges, and with an iridescent shimmer in the air, they melted into flawless skin. The damp earth and slick blood fell from her hair, which grew longer, fuller, more beautiful as she brushed it by hand. She traced a spiral over one temple, then the other, and a pair of curly horns emerged smoothly from her splitting skin.
She smiled at her reflection; it smiled back, then smiled less as it looked past her and pointed.
Up, over her shoulder, suspended in the night sky, she could see through the floor of what appeared to be a hospital room. Not modern, no wires or tubes or machines, but the bed and the baskets, the herbs and the vials and the orderlies, all were unmistakable signs. She turned her head, and as she willed it, the room seemed to grow closer in the sky, the angle lower.
A familiar pair of feet stuck out from the blankets at the foot of the bed; in the middle, the blanket rose and fell as the body took labored breaths; at the head, her ashen face.
There was a thin man with long, warm brown hair, faintly silver-white skin and golden eyes, and he was staring down at her soul from where he stood beside her body. He shooed out the orderlies with a wave of his hand, and curled his fingers in the air, and looked away from her at the white plaster ceiling of her hospital room. Markings appeared, new ones replacing old ones, and though the elvish runes that ringed the magic circle were alien to her...
...the shape of a banishing circle was unmistakable.
She seized the thread with both hands and tugged, and he whipped around to face her, golden eyes wide with surprise, then narrowed with anger.
He whipped around again, appearing in the meadow before her.
"You bastard. You prick. You'll pay for ****ing with Mallory St. Martin," she snarled, and reached for invisible components in a bag she did not carry with her. He smirked and grasped her jaw, willing her into weightlessness as he lifted and squeezed.
"Such a foul, poisonous little thing you are," he said, twisting his head to judge her sneeringly from every angle. "So much better to keep your body: brimming with untapped power, the perfect warrior-slave." He looked past her at the meadow and the forest beyond, and she felt another terrible thrill of vertigo as he took a step away from the well: "This paradise, my paradise, is too good for you. Go suffer in hellfire, or perish in oblivion."
"No!" she screamed, terrified, desperate, clutching and grasping at anything she could. His robes, silk and slippery in her grasp; his flesh, suddenly terrible and burning her to touch; then the thread. The way out. She looked up at the twilight sky, and realized with the heavy weight of despair that her thread dangled free, connected but not taut; her fingers clutched the rope in the well.
She screamed her defiance again as he tried to drag her, kicking, clutching the well, until he dashed her head against the stones. She saw his feet in her dazed periphery; before her, coming into focus, a simple wooden bucket, a sprig of leaves and flowers sprouting from its handle.
She released the rope and thread, and tore at her long, flowing hair, suddenly filthy and weakened. She tore out a chunk of it with a cry, and grasped the bucket for dear life as he tried again to drag her away. He seized it from her grasp, ignorant of the dirty lock now knotted around the little sprig, and cast it into the well.
"Die, witchling," he snarled. "Let your body serve a better master." He threw her, and for one brief moment she flew, floating across the grassy meadow, over the trees, over a vast forest that suddenly tumbled away from her.
She fell backwards into darkness, the dusk sky of the fey realm vanishing in a flash, and the pinprick of light up above growing ever smaller.
Re: Otherworld's Door
2-15-17 // Old Temple
Sylvan Springs House of Healing had once been a grand riverfront estate, a wide brick building three stories tall that boasted twenty separate bedrooms and an opulent ballroom. But estates in the middle of river ports rarely lasted long, and the lush back garden was carved out for docks and warehouses, and the house itself given away to charity. Now its many rooms housed the sick and healed them with the arcane arts, and since the outbreak of hostilities last night, it was full to bursting.
Saleh approached what had been the carriage entrance years ago, walking beside and slightly ahead of Ed as he went. The young knight's eyes roved the crowd of healers, wounded citizens, and their relatives coming and going, determined not to be ambushed again... but within reach of the door, nothing of the sort had happened. He adjusted his rifle over his shoulder and turned to bow his head to Ed: "I was told that the witch is up on the third floor. God keep you."
For the sake of politeness to those in recovery, Ed had ditched his seventh cigarette a block away. Without it, the scents and sounds of illness made his nose twitch and his eyes dart around wildly, but he was not uncomfortable. This old world sort of set up was terribly familiar in ways he was not yet ready to explain. And though he was at his ease, this was not what he had expected. The little vase of flowers with the Get Well Soon card and metallic balloon he held clutched in one hand felt out of place.
He gave the boy with the gun a crooked smile and polite nod, saying, "Thank you, and you." Assuming this was where they parted ways, he turned to make for the stairs. Saleh shouted something in a language unfamiliar to Ed, seeing one of his fellow knights in the distance, before the door swung shut behind the boy.
Ed quickly ran up three flights of stairs to the third floor landing, where he was passed by several orderlies and a few others -- most people used the three lifts in the house. Down the hallway, past a young gnomish man with fine clockwork implements on his fingers examining a pixie's singed wings, a bed with a familiar backpack at the foot of it was visible through an open door. This house of the sick was full of so many wonders -- especially those clockwork implements on those gnome's fingers -- that Ed spun circles taking it all in as he scurried down the hall. He skidded past the door that was obviously Mallory's room, having nearly gotten side-tracked by some other curiosity, but he doubled back and pivoted into the room.
There was a window facing the RhyDin river (and several plumes of smoke still rising from the buildings on the other side of it), a lidded basket of bloody clothes and sheets in the corner, and the witch herself: eyes shut, hands peacefully folded over where the blanket was turned down, and dressed in a loose-fitting emerald robe of elven design. She looked very pale, almost gray, though with the robe and the blanket, none of the wounds responsible were visible. A faint golden light sparkled just over her head, occasionally washing over her features; a number of mostly empty vials containing clear, green, and golden fluids and various leaves and flowers had been left on the headboard, plus two more that were filled up to their stoppers.
Patrick sat in a chair beside the witch's bed. He appeared, at first, to be asleep, face pressed into the crook of his arm which he'd propped up on the unused sliver of mattress beside her hip, but an emphatic, albeit muffled, sniffle gave him away.
Seeing the witch's condition sobered Ed's expression considerably. Patrick's somber presence tempered it even more. Though the swish and rustle of his get well bouquet probably announced him well enough, he also politely cleared his throat and found another nearby surface to set down the little vase, which doubled as a weight for the balloons. "Hi," he whispered, to make doubly certain Trick knew he was there.
The older boy's voice startled Trick up from his lean against the bed. He uncurled his fingers from where they had been tucked into Mallory's unresponsive palm, and looked up at the tall, lanky boy with a mixture of relief and sadness. The chair's legs scraped against the floor as he rocketed out of his seat and threw himself at Ed. "Hi," he mumbled against the fabric of Ed's sweatshirt. As soon as Trick landed against him, Ed wound his arms tight around him and squeezed.
A slender man with long fingers and long ears that curled to a point stepped in and gave Mallory's two visitors a quick, reassuring smile, though he studied them both with a couple flicks of his golden gaze. He tried his best to be quick, and stay out of their way, as he stepped to Mallory's bedside and gave her a cursory look, hummed quietly at the light over her head, then waved his hand at the ceiling, fingers bent just so. Something glowed gold and green on the white plaster ceiling, a marking that soon faded; Mallory drew in a sudden, deeper breath and winced. He paused, studied her a little longer, then gave another slight smile to the two boys as he slipped out.
Ed gave the slender man, obviously a healer of some sort, a polite smile, curiously watching him work as he pressed his nose to Patrick's hair. Trick waited until the slender man left the room before raising his chin, lips a breath away from the older boy's ear. "I don't like this place."
When the man was gone, Ed nuzzled Trick's cheek while listening to him whisper. Normal people found hospitals and places of healing to be suffocating, visitors and patients alike, he knew. "Want to step out for some air? I can stay with her," he offered quietly. He wasn't quite sure whether that gasp meant Mallory was awake, so he watched her carefully.
Mallory's breathing returned to its normal pattern, though the fluid levels in the vials behind her lowered slightly as another golden wave washed over her. Her eyelids had stopped moving, though: whatever surge in brain activity there had been seemed to have subsided for now.
Patrick shook his head. "No, it's not that." Clutching a fistful of Ed's sweatshirt in one hand, he turned a quarter step toward the bed and eyed the girl lying there, then the light shimmering above her with suspicion. "I don't... trust these people. Whoever they are. And I don't know what they're doing to her, but I know this isn't where she'd want to be. This isn't science, this is magic. No one will tell me anything."
"I knew some people once who'd argue science and magic are the same thing. I'm no expert, but those vials kind of remind me of an IV drip. Instead of having a needle stuck in her arm, there's this light washing over her. Maybe it's magic morphine or something. I don't know. She's breathing. That's a good sign, right?" Ed's curious and investigative mind had his mouth running in an attempt to ease Trick's tension. Look on the bright side! Words he lived by. He gently nudged Patrick closer to the bed, and Mallory, while he babbled. "No news is good news, right? Isn't that what they say? That doctor-y maybe nurse type person who was just in here smiled at us. He didn't look concerned. I don't think."
Trick went wherever Ed led him, but tightened his grip on the boy's sweatshirt -- he wasn't going to let him go. The explanation from Ed's perspective might have helped if he wasn't already convinced that this was not someplace Mallory would want to be. The younger boy was at a loss, however. He pressed his fingers and thumb against his eyelids, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to mask his distress. "Maybe. I don't... I don't know. Maybe you're right. I just don't like it." The boy sighed after a moment and dropped his hand away from his face. "Thanks for coming. Spencer's terrified of hospitals. I didn't want to have to do this alone again."
"Hospitals don't scare me." Catching Trick's dropped hand, Ed gave it a reassuring squeeze and kissed him on the cheek, adding, "You're welcome." He kept hold of the younger boy, but lifted his chin to have a thorough look at their surroundings. There were many similarities to this house of healing and traditional hospitals. The lack of wires and electricity and machines were the largest exceptions and probably the only part that unnerved him.
Mallory's eyes slid open. They seemed vacant, unseeing, much like when she used the Sight to read people's fortunes while the dead borrowed her eyes -- though they remained the same green color. She blinked when needed, but did not turn her head or her gaze. Her breathing changed -- deep breaths in a slow, steady rhythm, almost perfectly timed.
Moments later, a curse sounded out from down the hall -- the mark on the ceiling above Mallory's head flashed again, turning red and black in waves, up until the slender man from earlier stepped into the doorway and made another gesture. Less graceful, more quick, harsh and annoyed. "This will not do," he sighed, though the tension relaxed from his shoulders as the mark returned to its normal color and faded from sight. Then his lips pulled back into an apologetic smile that he turned on Ed and Trick as he clasped his hands together. Mallory's eyes were shut again. "I'm afraid our patient needs further treatment, and rest. It would be better if the two of you visited another time, lest we risk distraction while we heal her." His smile tugged a touch wider. "So sorry." He waited expectantly for them to leave.
When Mallory stirred again, Ed's attention darted right back to fix on her, and the pulsing light. That was obviously an alarm. He tugged Trick back away from the bed to make room for the slender man to do what he needed to do. Whatever it was smelled funny, and in that moment Ed did not much like this place any better than Trick did. He smiled politely at the slender man, though, saying, "Doctor... Is it Doctor? I don't mean to be rude but my friend and I are more used to dealing with scientifically educated medical personnel and not the more magically inclined such as yourself, but do you think maybe you could tell us a little bit more about her condition? It would really, really help ease our minds if you could help us understand what's happening here before we just..." He darted an uncertain look back at Mallory, then again looked at the slender man. "...leave her."
Patrick held his breath and waited, silently hoping Ed would have better luck plying the staff for information. His gaze remained glued to Mallory's face. The color had drained from his after that short, distressing episode, tension and unease worming its way back into his body.
"Your friend has lost a great deal of blood, young man," the fey healer replied, looking up from his place by Mallory's head. "And while we are monitoring it in our own way and should know more soon, we cannot be certain yet as to her mental state, and how the blood loss may have affected it. Unfortunately, as a witch... she is a special case. If she were to awaken in an altered mental state, it could be... extraordinarily dangerous." The slender man folded his hands together, inclining his head to Ed and Trick both. "So we are keeping her under -- as it were -- until we know more."
"I'm not leaving her. I'll sit in the corner and stay out of your way, but I'm not leaving." Trick's eyes slid away from Mallory's face to stare at the fey healer.
The man tucked his hands behind his back and lifted his chin, golden eyes fixed on Trick now. Sizing him up. "I'd really rather you didn't," he replied. "The two of you can sit in the parlor and have complimentary tea while you wait, and I'll have someone fetch you when I'm done."
"I see..." Ed pulled his fingers over his chin as he studied Mallory thoughtfully. He had more questions, but his eyes ticked aside to study Patrick, then the slender man again. He tugged gently on Trick's arm, trying to urge him to the door. "C'mon. He's probably going to do some big mojo jojo and being here could interfere with something on a cosmic level. I don't know."
Patrick frowned at the healer. For a moment, it appeared as though he would dig his heels in in defiance, but Ed's gentle insistence softened him into compliance. "One sec." He scratched at something along his throat and pulled away from the older boy, shuffling back over to Mallory's beside. He linked his pinky with hers and squeezed, leaning over her to press a kiss against her cheek. His lips whispered near the shell of her ear, the message inaudible to the others. Then, when he was finished, he grabbed his jacket and backpack from beside the chair, reaching for Ed's hand as they moved for the door.
Mallory's hand curled into a fist.
Ed took Trick's hand with a gentle smile, squeezed, and stepped first into the hall. Though he had no idea where exactly the parlor was, so for the moment he only stepped aside of the door to think and study their surroundings better. The place was certainly bustling.
The younger boy spared a final glance over his shoulder at the healer before they rounded the corner and both the fey and Mallory were out of sight. He frowned, but squeezed Ed's hand tightly.
"I'm going to step out for a smoke," Ed decided suddenly, once he got his bearings straight. He didn't expect Trick to want to come with him. Leaving the room was one thing, but venturing too far down the hall? Psh. He pressed a kiss on Patrick's cheek, promising, "I'll be quick."
The boy nodded silently in response to Ed's promise, turning his head to steal a kiss from off his mouth before he got away.
Ed then made a break for the stairs, dodging and weaving around other personnel with plenty of "excuse me" and "pardon me" on his way -- not out for a smoke, but -- to the cellar.
(( Edited to death with a chainsaw from live play. Thank you, Trick & Mallory! ))
Sylvan Springs House of Healing had once been a grand riverfront estate, a wide brick building three stories tall that boasted twenty separate bedrooms and an opulent ballroom. But estates in the middle of river ports rarely lasted long, and the lush back garden was carved out for docks and warehouses, and the house itself given away to charity. Now its many rooms housed the sick and healed them with the arcane arts, and since the outbreak of hostilities last night, it was full to bursting.
Saleh approached what had been the carriage entrance years ago, walking beside and slightly ahead of Ed as he went. The young knight's eyes roved the crowd of healers, wounded citizens, and their relatives coming and going, determined not to be ambushed again... but within reach of the door, nothing of the sort had happened. He adjusted his rifle over his shoulder and turned to bow his head to Ed: "I was told that the witch is up on the third floor. God keep you."
For the sake of politeness to those in recovery, Ed had ditched his seventh cigarette a block away. Without it, the scents and sounds of illness made his nose twitch and his eyes dart around wildly, but he was not uncomfortable. This old world sort of set up was terribly familiar in ways he was not yet ready to explain. And though he was at his ease, this was not what he had expected. The little vase of flowers with the Get Well Soon card and metallic balloon he held clutched in one hand felt out of place.
He gave the boy with the gun a crooked smile and polite nod, saying, "Thank you, and you." Assuming this was where they parted ways, he turned to make for the stairs. Saleh shouted something in a language unfamiliar to Ed, seeing one of his fellow knights in the distance, before the door swung shut behind the boy.
Ed quickly ran up three flights of stairs to the third floor landing, where he was passed by several orderlies and a few others -- most people used the three lifts in the house. Down the hallway, past a young gnomish man with fine clockwork implements on his fingers examining a pixie's singed wings, a bed with a familiar backpack at the foot of it was visible through an open door. This house of the sick was full of so many wonders -- especially those clockwork implements on those gnome's fingers -- that Ed spun circles taking it all in as he scurried down the hall. He skidded past the door that was obviously Mallory's room, having nearly gotten side-tracked by some other curiosity, but he doubled back and pivoted into the room.
There was a window facing the RhyDin river (and several plumes of smoke still rising from the buildings on the other side of it), a lidded basket of bloody clothes and sheets in the corner, and the witch herself: eyes shut, hands peacefully folded over where the blanket was turned down, and dressed in a loose-fitting emerald robe of elven design. She looked very pale, almost gray, though with the robe and the blanket, none of the wounds responsible were visible. A faint golden light sparkled just over her head, occasionally washing over her features; a number of mostly empty vials containing clear, green, and golden fluids and various leaves and flowers had been left on the headboard, plus two more that were filled up to their stoppers.
Patrick sat in a chair beside the witch's bed. He appeared, at first, to be asleep, face pressed into the crook of his arm which he'd propped up on the unused sliver of mattress beside her hip, but an emphatic, albeit muffled, sniffle gave him away.
Seeing the witch's condition sobered Ed's expression considerably. Patrick's somber presence tempered it even more. Though the swish and rustle of his get well bouquet probably announced him well enough, he also politely cleared his throat and found another nearby surface to set down the little vase, which doubled as a weight for the balloons. "Hi," he whispered, to make doubly certain Trick knew he was there.
The older boy's voice startled Trick up from his lean against the bed. He uncurled his fingers from where they had been tucked into Mallory's unresponsive palm, and looked up at the tall, lanky boy with a mixture of relief and sadness. The chair's legs scraped against the floor as he rocketed out of his seat and threw himself at Ed. "Hi," he mumbled against the fabric of Ed's sweatshirt. As soon as Trick landed against him, Ed wound his arms tight around him and squeezed.
A slender man with long fingers and long ears that curled to a point stepped in and gave Mallory's two visitors a quick, reassuring smile, though he studied them both with a couple flicks of his golden gaze. He tried his best to be quick, and stay out of their way, as he stepped to Mallory's bedside and gave her a cursory look, hummed quietly at the light over her head, then waved his hand at the ceiling, fingers bent just so. Something glowed gold and green on the white plaster ceiling, a marking that soon faded; Mallory drew in a sudden, deeper breath and winced. He paused, studied her a little longer, then gave another slight smile to the two boys as he slipped out.
Ed gave the slender man, obviously a healer of some sort, a polite smile, curiously watching him work as he pressed his nose to Patrick's hair. Trick waited until the slender man left the room before raising his chin, lips a breath away from the older boy's ear. "I don't like this place."
When the man was gone, Ed nuzzled Trick's cheek while listening to him whisper. Normal people found hospitals and places of healing to be suffocating, visitors and patients alike, he knew. "Want to step out for some air? I can stay with her," he offered quietly. He wasn't quite sure whether that gasp meant Mallory was awake, so he watched her carefully.
Mallory's breathing returned to its normal pattern, though the fluid levels in the vials behind her lowered slightly as another golden wave washed over her. Her eyelids had stopped moving, though: whatever surge in brain activity there had been seemed to have subsided for now.
Patrick shook his head. "No, it's not that." Clutching a fistful of Ed's sweatshirt in one hand, he turned a quarter step toward the bed and eyed the girl lying there, then the light shimmering above her with suspicion. "I don't... trust these people. Whoever they are. And I don't know what they're doing to her, but I know this isn't where she'd want to be. This isn't science, this is magic. No one will tell me anything."
"I knew some people once who'd argue science and magic are the same thing. I'm no expert, but those vials kind of remind me of an IV drip. Instead of having a needle stuck in her arm, there's this light washing over her. Maybe it's magic morphine or something. I don't know. She's breathing. That's a good sign, right?" Ed's curious and investigative mind had his mouth running in an attempt to ease Trick's tension. Look on the bright side! Words he lived by. He gently nudged Patrick closer to the bed, and Mallory, while he babbled. "No news is good news, right? Isn't that what they say? That doctor-y maybe nurse type person who was just in here smiled at us. He didn't look concerned. I don't think."
Trick went wherever Ed led him, but tightened his grip on the boy's sweatshirt -- he wasn't going to let him go. The explanation from Ed's perspective might have helped if he wasn't already convinced that this was not someplace Mallory would want to be. The younger boy was at a loss, however. He pressed his fingers and thumb against his eyelids, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to mask his distress. "Maybe. I don't... I don't know. Maybe you're right. I just don't like it." The boy sighed after a moment and dropped his hand away from his face. "Thanks for coming. Spencer's terrified of hospitals. I didn't want to have to do this alone again."
"Hospitals don't scare me." Catching Trick's dropped hand, Ed gave it a reassuring squeeze and kissed him on the cheek, adding, "You're welcome." He kept hold of the younger boy, but lifted his chin to have a thorough look at their surroundings. There were many similarities to this house of healing and traditional hospitals. The lack of wires and electricity and machines were the largest exceptions and probably the only part that unnerved him.
Mallory's eyes slid open. They seemed vacant, unseeing, much like when she used the Sight to read people's fortunes while the dead borrowed her eyes -- though they remained the same green color. She blinked when needed, but did not turn her head or her gaze. Her breathing changed -- deep breaths in a slow, steady rhythm, almost perfectly timed.
Moments later, a curse sounded out from down the hall -- the mark on the ceiling above Mallory's head flashed again, turning red and black in waves, up until the slender man from earlier stepped into the doorway and made another gesture. Less graceful, more quick, harsh and annoyed. "This will not do," he sighed, though the tension relaxed from his shoulders as the mark returned to its normal color and faded from sight. Then his lips pulled back into an apologetic smile that he turned on Ed and Trick as he clasped his hands together. Mallory's eyes were shut again. "I'm afraid our patient needs further treatment, and rest. It would be better if the two of you visited another time, lest we risk distraction while we heal her." His smile tugged a touch wider. "So sorry." He waited expectantly for them to leave.
When Mallory stirred again, Ed's attention darted right back to fix on her, and the pulsing light. That was obviously an alarm. He tugged Trick back away from the bed to make room for the slender man to do what he needed to do. Whatever it was smelled funny, and in that moment Ed did not much like this place any better than Trick did. He smiled politely at the slender man, though, saying, "Doctor... Is it Doctor? I don't mean to be rude but my friend and I are more used to dealing with scientifically educated medical personnel and not the more magically inclined such as yourself, but do you think maybe you could tell us a little bit more about her condition? It would really, really help ease our minds if you could help us understand what's happening here before we just..." He darted an uncertain look back at Mallory, then again looked at the slender man. "...leave her."
Patrick held his breath and waited, silently hoping Ed would have better luck plying the staff for information. His gaze remained glued to Mallory's face. The color had drained from his after that short, distressing episode, tension and unease worming its way back into his body.
"Your friend has lost a great deal of blood, young man," the fey healer replied, looking up from his place by Mallory's head. "And while we are monitoring it in our own way and should know more soon, we cannot be certain yet as to her mental state, and how the blood loss may have affected it. Unfortunately, as a witch... she is a special case. If she were to awaken in an altered mental state, it could be... extraordinarily dangerous." The slender man folded his hands together, inclining his head to Ed and Trick both. "So we are keeping her under -- as it were -- until we know more."
"I'm not leaving her. I'll sit in the corner and stay out of your way, but I'm not leaving." Trick's eyes slid away from Mallory's face to stare at the fey healer.
The man tucked his hands behind his back and lifted his chin, golden eyes fixed on Trick now. Sizing him up. "I'd really rather you didn't," he replied. "The two of you can sit in the parlor and have complimentary tea while you wait, and I'll have someone fetch you when I'm done."
"I see..." Ed pulled his fingers over his chin as he studied Mallory thoughtfully. He had more questions, but his eyes ticked aside to study Patrick, then the slender man again. He tugged gently on Trick's arm, trying to urge him to the door. "C'mon. He's probably going to do some big mojo jojo and being here could interfere with something on a cosmic level. I don't know."
Patrick frowned at the healer. For a moment, it appeared as though he would dig his heels in in defiance, but Ed's gentle insistence softened him into compliance. "One sec." He scratched at something along his throat and pulled away from the older boy, shuffling back over to Mallory's beside. He linked his pinky with hers and squeezed, leaning over her to press a kiss against her cheek. His lips whispered near the shell of her ear, the message inaudible to the others. Then, when he was finished, he grabbed his jacket and backpack from beside the chair, reaching for Ed's hand as they moved for the door.
Mallory's hand curled into a fist.
Ed took Trick's hand with a gentle smile, squeezed, and stepped first into the hall. Though he had no idea where exactly the parlor was, so for the moment he only stepped aside of the door to think and study their surroundings better. The place was certainly bustling.
The younger boy spared a final glance over his shoulder at the healer before they rounded the corner and both the fey and Mallory were out of sight. He frowned, but squeezed Ed's hand tightly.
"I'm going to step out for a smoke," Ed decided suddenly, once he got his bearings straight. He didn't expect Trick to want to come with him. Leaving the room was one thing, but venturing too far down the hall? Psh. He pressed a kiss on Patrick's cheek, promising, "I'll be quick."
The boy nodded silently in response to Ed's promise, turning his head to steal a kiss from off his mouth before he got away.
Ed then made a break for the stairs, dodging and weaving around other personnel with plenty of "excuse me" and "pardon me" on his way -- not out for a smoke, but -- to the cellar.
(( Edited to death with a chainsaw from live play. Thank you, Trick & Mallory! ))
-
Mallory
- RoH Admin
- Posts: 921
- Joined: Sun Jan 15, 2017 9:25 pm
- Location: The Lyceum or Kabuki Street, most of the time
Re: Otherworld's Door
2-15-17 // The Train
"I'm not leaving her."
Don't leave me.
"I'm not leaving."
Don't leave me!
Mallory fell backwards through the darkness, further and further from the voices that tried to reach her soul, ringing down the rapidly unspooling thread to reach her. Other shapes, like before, plummeted past her now: the screaming, terrified victims of the violence, huddled together or alone as they sped on their way from death to what lay beyond; soldiers and vigilantes, their righteous rage giving way to terror as they fell; each buffeted her on their way down, spinning her away from her own thread whenever she grasped it, prising her free whenever she slowed.
There was so little power left in her soul, not strength enough to climb back from the bottom as she had before, no more tricks up her sleeve. Her fingers scrabbled and slid down the thread as one shape, then two, then three, collided with her and held fast, unwilling to part with this tenuous connection to the physical world, even if they rode her falling soul all the way to Hell.
A groaning woman pulled one arm free, and Mallory felt panic rise again as she started sliding downward faster. She reached an arm out into the darkness, up towards the flickering, fading light...
...and heard a voice whisper into the shell of her ear: "Mallory... listen to me: I'm not leaving."
"Trick," she said to the darkness, as a token of good fortune, her gift to him, fell into her open hand.
She turned her head to face the spirit before her, the woman's mouth twisted in grief and terror... seized her by the jaw, and shoved the coin into her mouth. The specter shrieked and struggled, but Mallory loosed her other hand from the thread, grabbed her head, and forced her jaw shut.
"I have tipped your ferryman," she hissed, "and he will take you to paradise -- but not so long as any debt stands."
The shrieking, the struggling, all of it stopped. The woman's eyes, pale, swirling masses of pain and memory, bore into hers, obedient and expecting a command. Mallory smiled. "Take me back."
* * *
The rattle of a train over a crossing. The smell of Trick's sweat. The cold air, whistling in from the gaps in the doors. As body and soul reunited, a rush of memories flashed before her: swarms of rats, terrified orderlies, Trick half-dragging, half-carrying her dazed form down the stairs of an old healing house as he screamed at her, "We need to go!"
She drew in a deep, gasping breath, eyes wide enough to catch a glimpse of his own eyes widening in surprise, and the near-empty traincar behind him, before she clenched them shut and coughed into the collar of his sweatshirt, burying the noise and pain of the wracking breaths in his shoulder.
Coughing gave way to crying, and she curled into his form as the train rattled away through the darkness, its bright lights cutting a looping path back home.
((Written in connection with, and spanning/following the events of, this playable!))
"I'm not leaving her."
Don't leave me.
"I'm not leaving."
Don't leave me!
Mallory fell backwards through the darkness, further and further from the voices that tried to reach her soul, ringing down the rapidly unspooling thread to reach her. Other shapes, like before, plummeted past her now: the screaming, terrified victims of the violence, huddled together or alone as they sped on their way from death to what lay beyond; soldiers and vigilantes, their righteous rage giving way to terror as they fell; each buffeted her on their way down, spinning her away from her own thread whenever she grasped it, prising her free whenever she slowed.
There was so little power left in her soul, not strength enough to climb back from the bottom as she had before, no more tricks up her sleeve. Her fingers scrabbled and slid down the thread as one shape, then two, then three, collided with her and held fast, unwilling to part with this tenuous connection to the physical world, even if they rode her falling soul all the way to Hell.
A groaning woman pulled one arm free, and Mallory felt panic rise again as she started sliding downward faster. She reached an arm out into the darkness, up towards the flickering, fading light...
...and heard a voice whisper into the shell of her ear: "Mallory... listen to me: I'm not leaving."
"Trick," she said to the darkness, as a token of good fortune, her gift to him, fell into her open hand.
She turned her head to face the spirit before her, the woman's mouth twisted in grief and terror... seized her by the jaw, and shoved the coin into her mouth. The specter shrieked and struggled, but Mallory loosed her other hand from the thread, grabbed her head, and forced her jaw shut.
"I have tipped your ferryman," she hissed, "and he will take you to paradise -- but not so long as any debt stands."
The shrieking, the struggling, all of it stopped. The woman's eyes, pale, swirling masses of pain and memory, bore into hers, obedient and expecting a command. Mallory smiled. "Take me back."
* * *
The rattle of a train over a crossing. The smell of Trick's sweat. The cold air, whistling in from the gaps in the doors. As body and soul reunited, a rush of memories flashed before her: swarms of rats, terrified orderlies, Trick half-dragging, half-carrying her dazed form down the stairs of an old healing house as he screamed at her, "We need to go!"
She drew in a deep, gasping breath, eyes wide enough to catch a glimpse of his own eyes widening in surprise, and the near-empty traincar behind him, before she clenched them shut and coughed into the collar of his sweatshirt, burying the noise and pain of the wracking breaths in his shoulder.
Coughing gave way to crying, and she curled into his form as the train rattled away through the darkness, its bright lights cutting a looping path back home.
((Written in connection with, and spanning/following the events of, this playable!))
Who is online
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest