Today, my play schedule reads that we should have gone over Act one. We did not. In point of fact, we had no rehearsal of any kind. Schultz was gone, and the cast organized a rehearsal amongst themselves that concluded of a read-through. I fear that cast. I tell you here, I tell you here, I fear it! I did not go. I am angry for their gossip and their pretend smiles... well, not all. Most.
So I did not go. I hung with the Katie-bird.
We played smash brothers, and I failed at cleaning. Again. I failed to entertain, I failed to cause laughter, I failed to have anything to help with, was generally boring. Sometimes I feel like a horrible disappointment for myself. Sometimes I worry that when they no longer need me, my friends will leave me, will drop me like a rotten piece of Tupperware.
I hurt Kate today. She and some other people were bad-mouthing Allen, and I am so sick of that. I'm frustrated with him, and he isn't my favorite person, but he has a very valid reason to be unreasonable right now. The world is demanding things of him; and the others have no right to judge upon that demand, yet they do.
I tire of that. I feel angry and confused and sad.
Katie watched Grey's Anatomy... a woman had been hurt. That scene bothered me. She was so beautiful and in so much pain... so trapped... so restricted.
Not to mention Maddy P. Sophie--the character I identify with in I am the Messenger, the one who doesn't wear shoes--is a waste of time, she said in class today. What's the point of her problems? Not wearing shoes or wearing them--she's rich! Who cares!
And I fought with her. I fought hard and I won, right there inclass. Everybody stared at me like I were a sickness they didn't want to catch and I realized I poured my heart--and therefore my sentence structure--into that reply.
I feel like an unwanted freak, and the world has nothing with which to disprove me.
At least I know my lines.
I tried to tell Katie I'm worried that now that she's happy, she'll stop talking to me, today. She didn't know what to say. I guess it's because she doesn't know if it's true or not. Maybe it's even because she knows its right and she wishes it weren't, but she can't stand me. I feel like I needed some reassurance... and she went to bed after reminding me what I'd done for her.
It's not that I'm not happy to hear about how great her life is. It's all I've wanted for months. I just... I just want to be happy, too. I want to have my Katie-friend again, feel happy and confident like I did before these last two times we've hung out where it's more ''um, hi, Payton, forget my heart, okay?'' and less ''This is what hurts me, and this is what I need to say, and this is what I need from you".
I feel inefficent and my heart hurts. What if I lose my friend for not being normal, after all? What if I'm not enough? She could have anybody in the whole world for her friend; who'd dislike a Katie like mine?
I'm paranoid, but tonight, I feel lonely... and it's not the paranoia speaking. I'm alone and my heart went to sleep, both halves.
Ouch.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Special
Read something on somewhere I have sworn not to mention, but I thank the author. I'm honored to be there... I hope I helped.
In other news, it was really hard not to lose it at rehearsal today. People were so... so... disrespectful to the production through their bully and their big-talk. As soon as Director and Katie-of-the-purple-hair went to see about costumes, they were absolute hooligans... and I do not tolerate hooligans well.
For example.
"Shut. Up. Baack. STAGE." Dead silence backstage= me in piss mode on-stage.
"If I hear one more word from there, I WILL SPEAR YOUR BABIES!" Check-mate, stage talking? I think so.
Kate heard me swear for the first time today. She looked at me with fear in her heart, and it stung me. I was relieved when she went to try on some Allegra-dresses, but the respite was brief, as I soon followed. I saw Kate's beautiful dresses.... and I tried on some. Please understand, non-existants, it is not that my dresses were ugly. I'm sure for a sixty-year-old woman, they would be more than fair.
But I'm not sixty. I'm eighteen. I feel ugly every day, every moment in that high school, and now I feel that way at a time I used to love, and tonight I lived it. Schultz and Katie tried to be kind, really they did, and I appreciate their effort, but it still hurts. I feel hurt, and I cried for it.
After rehearsal, Finley and mom forgot me, and everyone left me there for two hours before I was picked up.
Today at Economics, Ms. Lee--she talks to me occasionally after class--said, "School's almost over!" And I grinned.
"Don't remind me. I'm nervous as it is."
"Why're you nervous?" Aww, you're concerned. That's cute. Is the crazy growing on you?
"Portfolios. I have enough trouble convincing my every-day friends that I'm sane, let alone strangers who must suffer four years of me."
She laughs. "Just be yourself, Payton."
I laugh. " 'Just be yourself'? This is High school, Ms. Lee. Nobody does that." And I'd be stabbed if I did...
She smiled, a real, I'm-a-person-and-we're-more-than-we-were smile. "They'll grow out of it. I promise."
Oh, that's refreshing. You want to help me. That's so... unexpected. I mean, I remember... okay.
Mid story. I do this, it's my blog, so deal. Ms. Lee gave us a project awhile back and I took it home, and the next day, (it'd been an in-class assignment, I had to ask for extra time), some kids were REALLY shitty to her, and she took out the map I'd drawn and the diagram and the typed paragraphs of explanation and brought them to me. Her eyes glistening, she said, "Payton... you try.... you try so hard." And she was better.
So I go out of my way to make things better for her, to turn in, because I want to learn from my teachers. And because of that, strangely, she seems to want to like me, now.
"They'll grow out of it. I promise."
"What are you, a psychatrist?"
She grins. "After-school special, and it's all for you."
Tears run and my hands shake as I leave.
Nobody looks, and I wipe them away.
No one ever looks.
In other news, it was really hard not to lose it at rehearsal today. People were so... so... disrespectful to the production through their bully and their big-talk. As soon as Director and Katie-of-the-purple-hair went to see about costumes, they were absolute hooligans... and I do not tolerate hooligans well.
For example.
"Shut. Up. Baack. STAGE." Dead silence backstage= me in piss mode on-stage.
"If I hear one more word from there, I WILL SPEAR YOUR BABIES!" Check-mate, stage talking? I think so.
Kate heard me swear for the first time today. She looked at me with fear in her heart, and it stung me. I was relieved when she went to try on some Allegra-dresses, but the respite was brief, as I soon followed. I saw Kate's beautiful dresses.... and I tried on some. Please understand, non-existants, it is not that my dresses were ugly. I'm sure for a sixty-year-old woman, they would be more than fair.
But I'm not sixty. I'm eighteen. I feel ugly every day, every moment in that high school, and now I feel that way at a time I used to love, and tonight I lived it. Schultz and Katie tried to be kind, really they did, and I appreciate their effort, but it still hurts. I feel hurt, and I cried for it.
After rehearsal, Finley and mom forgot me, and everyone left me there for two hours before I was picked up.
Today at Economics, Ms. Lee--she talks to me occasionally after class--said, "School's almost over!" And I grinned.
"Don't remind me. I'm nervous as it is."
"Why're you nervous?" Aww, you're concerned. That's cute. Is the crazy growing on you?
"Portfolios. I have enough trouble convincing my every-day friends that I'm sane, let alone strangers who must suffer four years of me."
She laughs. "Just be yourself, Payton."
I laugh. " 'Just be yourself'? This is High school, Ms. Lee. Nobody does that." And I'd be stabbed if I did...
She smiled, a real, I'm-a-person-and-we're-more-than-we-were smile. "They'll grow out of it. I promise."
Oh, that's refreshing. You want to help me. That's so... unexpected. I mean, I remember... okay.
Mid story. I do this, it's my blog, so deal. Ms. Lee gave us a project awhile back and I took it home, and the next day, (it'd been an in-class assignment, I had to ask for extra time), some kids were REALLY shitty to her, and she took out the map I'd drawn and the diagram and the typed paragraphs of explanation and brought them to me. Her eyes glistening, she said, "Payton... you try.... you try so hard." And she was better.
So I go out of my way to make things better for her, to turn in, because I want to learn from my teachers. And because of that, strangely, she seems to want to like me, now.
"They'll grow out of it. I promise."
"What are you, a psychatrist?"
She grins. "After-school special, and it's all for you."
Tears run and my hands shake as I leave.
Nobody looks, and I wipe them away.
No one ever looks.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Special
Had lunch with Katie today. She seemed both bored and distracted. At least I got to see her, though. I miss her when she isn't around. Worked on my lines like crazy after school, and Finley brought me food an hour before rehearsal, and I looked at lines some more... and of course, I forget them THE MOMENT I walk onstage. :/ Wasted hours, I guess. I'll work hard, though. I tried to focus on my volume and my firmness and being Beatrice in general tonight; it was easier when I was working with April. I guess because I'm not afraid of April meaning what she says...
Four people said hello to me in the hallways today. Kate still didn't wave. I don't even lift my head up anymore when she walks by me, like I do with others who smile or give some small acknowledgment. She hates me, and I've got to learn to accept that. They don't know how much that means, but it means something to me, and it always has.
Today at rehearsal, Ms. Schultz taught us all about the power of neutrality and stillness. She seemed almost... gentle... with me. She seemed... happy. With me. I'm not used to that. I'm used to leaving play practice feeling like I've been shot. I hope it lasts, because I don't like feeling that I've been shot emotionally. It isn't... a pleasant feeling. I didn't miss it.
I'm going to do homework, start painting my portfolio, and doing Act two lines and THEN act one, given we're doing two tomorrow. I really want to work hard for this show.
I got a ride home with April. She didn't really have a lot to say; I think she was trying to figure me out. She'd never seen me when I wasn't afraid to say something out loud, like I have been at play practice... a lot... lately. So I told her about work, when I was a Spook at Schuster's, and I told her about Johnny being silly and Finley being kind. I spun a web of Payton, and she wore it like a cloak.. and that surprised me. April-and-Morgan are so adorable as friends... they're best-friend loves. They're close-now soulmates. It makes me happy to see it.
Still... I hope it lasts. I want it to last, I really do.
Please?
Embarrassing, though, that I didn't get to shower this morning. :/ In-between Taylor's low and my crappy phone, it didn't work out. I felt gross ALL DAY. Ugh.
Four people said hello to me in the hallways today. Kate still didn't wave. I don't even lift my head up anymore when she walks by me, like I do with others who smile or give some small acknowledgment. She hates me, and I've got to learn to accept that. They don't know how much that means, but it means something to me, and it always has.
Today at rehearsal, Ms. Schultz taught us all about the power of neutrality and stillness. She seemed almost... gentle... with me. She seemed... happy. With me. I'm not used to that. I'm used to leaving play practice feeling like I've been shot. I hope it lasts, because I don't like feeling that I've been shot emotionally. It isn't... a pleasant feeling. I didn't miss it.
I'm going to do homework, start painting my portfolio, and doing Act two lines and THEN act one, given we're doing two tomorrow. I really want to work hard for this show.
I got a ride home with April. She didn't really have a lot to say; I think she was trying to figure me out. She'd never seen me when I wasn't afraid to say something out loud, like I have been at play practice... a lot... lately. So I told her about work, when I was a Spook at Schuster's, and I told her about Johnny being silly and Finley being kind. I spun a web of Payton, and she wore it like a cloak.. and that surprised me. April-and-Morgan are so adorable as friends... they're best-friend loves. They're close-now soulmates. It makes me happy to see it.
Still... I hope it lasts. I want it to last, I really do.
Please?
Embarrassing, though, that I didn't get to shower this morning. :/ In-between Taylor's low and my crappy phone, it didn't work out. I felt gross ALL DAY. Ugh.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Special: Convention, a story I've been working on
Convention
Rain clipped down on burlesque, unflinching buildings in the city. The swirling clouds were thick enough that it was almost a simple matter to pick up the smell of iron and the rancid hopes of middle-aged factory workers, the naïve smiles of tourists hoping for a glimpse of the “real world.”
When it came to tourism, there was no worse place to sightsee. Locals and tourists alike tended to avoid the neighborhood of Hawthorn. At first look, it appeared normal enough. Pigeons with a hungry glare swooped onto grey buildings, the architectural style complex and charming with its gleaming doors of silver, the patrons well-dressed.
However, as one reached The Bridge, it gave way to another guise entirely.
Far from the suave styling of left of The Bridge--also known as the Petronius blocks--the right side was nothing less than a stylized rural.
The buildings were threadbare, snitched out of the wild age of the West, the saloons still brimming with poorly made moonshine and saucy dancers, the General stores still selling the same wares, the roads still of dirt. The citizens of the right section of The Bridge--the Vargulf side--could well have believed in time travel, were it not for the greasy fords and recycle-parts pickup trucks parked along the roads.
Of course, it is people that make the neighborhood.
In the case of the Petronius, there was no better family than the Soucouyant. The devil of the block, they took their women and spirits both with black, Transylvanian smiles. Their velvet cloaks and silk-white shirts were pleated with gold and silver and blue. The citizens of the Petronius held their breath when the boys of the Soucouyant walked with danger through the nights upon The Bridge.
On the right side of Hawthorn Bridge--the only bridge in the neighborhood over the swift-rushing Fox river--there was no more powerful group than the Dermis family. Their sons and even daughters prowled the streets, ‘keeping the peace’ by stretching their fingers and snarling away the trouble. They managed among themselves to cause both the damage and the help of the town, popping across The Bridge occasionally to set fire to a long-held Soucouyant building or home.
And, if it is people that make the neighborhood, it is history that makes the people.
The history of the Hawthorns would take many books and many radio stations to report the nightly damage, let alone the encompassed chaos… for between the harboring power of the Dermis and the sophisticated syndicate of the Soucouyant, there was a deep and unending hatred in the never-ending quest for an order and seniority…
A quest that would soon end.
***
A single boy sat at the counter in an old-fashioned kitchen straight out of the fifties. “Hey Niceros!” Aukoc flashed a fanged grin and messed up his tousled, blue-black hair with a very hairy hand. “We’re on raid tonight. Wanna catch it?”
The wolf-boy answered with a smile. “Raid, huh? Where’s the victim?”
His brother winked.
“Oh, you know,” he said, “the filthy rich.”
“Petronius blocks, eh? Count me in,” said Niceros. He pulled out a plastic lighter, one engraved with strange markings--almost like claw marks. “When do we leave?”
“Sun-down, little brother,” Aukoc replied. Niceros stared at the older boy.
“Sun-down? We’re all but screaming for a tussle with those Soucouyant boys, and I’d really rather not put my clothing through any more of their chicken scratches.”
“They’ll be out,” said the teenager, his forest green eyes sparkling, “and we’ll be in.”
Niceros howled in delight. “Party?”
“You know what they say about Soucouyant parties,” Aukoc said laughingly. “Once they run out of wine, the whole thing”--here, he pulled out a similar lighter to Niceros’, of iron with an engraved cross--“goes up in smoke.”
“I’ve never been on-raid before,” said Niceros. “What should I wear?”
“Something nice, I’d say, ol’ chap,” replied Aukoc in a horrible British accent, adapting his arms into the famous Napoleon pose--then, as Niceros laughed--“What? No need to offend the ladies.”
“You like ladies, man? When did this happen?” A wolf-man walked into the room, this one wearing a maroon vest with a heavy collar of fur and tight-fitting jeans.
He cuffed Aukoc on the shoulder. “Hoping to get some hot vampire action with one of those sexy, sexy Soucouyant boys?”
“Hey, it just occurred to me, Rolf--Think somebody at the table’s projecting, Niceros? That‘s what Freud would advise, after all.”
“Oh dear,” said the third wolf, “I think I’m harming ickie Aukoc’s delicate sensitivity level. New subject?”
“Definitely,” boasted Niceros. “No need to waste too much of our energy before tonight, right, Aukoc?” He offered his hand for a high-five, not noticing his brother’s rapid head shakes and signals to desist.
“….and what’s this I hear,” said the pack leader, “about a raid, Aukoc?”
As Niceros slowly lowered his hand, pretending to scratch his ear, Aukoc cleared his throat nervously. “Uh… nothing, Rolf. We were just… y’know… messing around. Err, really.”
The nice vest and jeans fell to the floor as a huge, maroon-furred wolf leapt on top of him, snarling. “You have heard my order and nearly disobeyed,” said the wolf in Rolf‘s voice as Aukoc’s lighter fell from his hand to the floor, “and if I hear about any Soucouyant party members leaping towards the Heavens, you’ll be following them up with a one-way ticket, spending your eternity offering free refreshment to vampires. Understood?”
Picking up his human coverings with his teeth, the wolf spun three times, stood as a fully-clothed Rolf, and exited, the fur of the vest twitching at the breeze as the screen door shut behind him.
“All bow to the Drama Queen. What the Hell was that about?” asked Niceros.
“Oh yeah,” said Aukoc. “About that--Rolf’s banned raids this week. Moon told him something.”
“What did she say?” Rolf’s wife, Hannah, was a famous seer. She was more commonly known by her spiritual-adviser name, Moon.
“Something about a prophecy that he didn’t want to come true? A Dermis-Soucouyant touch that would have great repercussions.”
“Good or bad?”
“That’s the thing,” said Aukoc, “he doesn’t know.”
“What about you? What do you think?” asked Niceros. Aukoc bent to pick up his lighter, pocketing it as he stood.
“I think that if there’s going to be ‘a touch of Dermis’ involved with Soucouyant, the repercussions will probably be my clothing on the floor,” the elder wolf replied. “What does Rolf expect? I’m a wolf, not a house dog,” and strode towards the door, stopping as his hand grasped the handle. “And Nic?”
“Yes?”
“We’re still going. Meet me at The Bridge at sundown?” Niceros gave another fanged grin as the screen door slammed behind Aukoc.
“Always,” he said to the empty kitchen.
***
Lucina glided down the grand staircase with boredom and a high-raised chin. As she reached the bottom step, she turned left, into the parlor. The cushions of its couch and puffy reading chairs were blood-colored, the carpeting of a soft gold, and the walls a rich purple. An entertainment system sat in the ebony armoire. Looking left, then right, Lucina made her way for the armoire.
Fine dress crinkling, she sank onto the floor and opened the door to reveal an Xbox, which the heiress of the Soucouyant proceeded to load with a Castlevania game. The introduction appeared on the plasma screen television, and just as Lucina attempted to load her game, the screen flickered and died, and a deep voice intoned,
“Video games, precious?”
Lucina was already on her feet. “Father,” she acknowledged. A tall man walked through the matching ebony doorway, stopping to stare at his daughter.
“You know how I feel about this poison,” he said, waving his long, thin fingers towards the console.
“Yes, father,” Lucina answered simply.
“So why do you continue to inhale it, precisely?”
“It staves off the monotony. Spending days glancing through a window and nights waltzing with your business partners’ sons is hardly a gift of social activity, and when I’m not entertaining, I’m learning French or a graceful walk or how to kill properly. It is endless and I am bored. I need an outlet on occasion, Father.”
“Do you think that being a Soucouyant is a life of privilege?” chided Remus. “It is a life of protection and servitude. It is our responsibility to stop the advances of those dreadful wolf-men--”
“Do our sons not also ravage these streets, Remus? I do not see my brothers training to defend our innocents, I see them draining them. ‘Our people’ live in fear of our ‘protection’. What type of servitude does fear require, and why is it mine to pay?”
“Summanus and Qurin are young and restless,” answered the Coven leader. “They will grow into the shoes at their bedside. For now, it is not in me to wake them from their bliss. Let them sleep their women, drink that blood. In the end, dignity of the duty is all that matters. The valiance of our line will stay their tongues and moving hands, and in that window, my dreams for them… will be fulfilled.”
“You really believe that?”
“I can hope,” Remus said with a polished smile. “Walk with me?”
Lucina took his arm as the two of them began to stroll. She continued to walk, struggling to keep pace with his heavy strides while maintaining the expected grace. The heiress waited for her father to speak, and as the pair rounded the corner into the kitchen, he did.
“There is a gathering tonight,” said Remus, “which I think you will greatly enjoy. The invitation merits you.”
“What is the use of drinking from an empty glass?” she said in reply. “One is never full.”
“And if the chaperone is halfway across the community,” continued Remus nonchalantly, “does the glass fill?”
Lucina smiled. “Quickly,” said the vampire‘s daughter. “Whose party this time, Father?”
“Your brothers‘,” he said. “Qurin is taking his turn at welcoming a new set of courtiers visiting Petronius. Also, Lucina, wear the silver, will you? It‘s really very fetching on you.” And, chuckling, Remus swept from the room.
***
The building in which Qurin celebrated the new round of courtiers pledging their allegiance to the Soucouyant family was the most suave in town. It was carved from white marble, beautiful angel carvings rested on the ledges, somehow looking vaguely sinister in the light of the moon. Giant wolves (also of stone) stood as denizens of the door.
The doors, as was custom, had been entirely removed from their frames for the new guests, for no door would be closed them or question denied them tonight, and no blood would be spilt for a fortnight in honor of the peace in the wake of their shadows. There would be magnificent feasts and beautiful music and gifts of precious stones, beautiful servants, gifts of oil sheikdoms in the desert--and beneath it all, a warning not to stand against the Soucouyant.
Among the beauty and laughter, there would be fine silver swords strapped to the shoulder-belts of the guard-men, would be bone-bows inlaid with platinum already strung with arrows in embroidered quivers, would be eyes turned to the windows in case of an appearance from the very unwelcome Dermis.
It was for this reason that most Soucouyants and their friends felt totally and completely safe, hardly aware of their surroundings in the midst of the revel. Lucina wasn’t, though. As she glided from one area to the next, she was more and more unhinged by the new allies her father had charmed into subservience.
They were, in number, with more female members than men, but all of them were in bright, red cloaks (some hoods raised, some hoods lowered) and all of them with violet eyes. Their leader was in a translucent cloak that trailed the ground, paired with a purple dress. Scales of a gilded gold on the plunging v-shaped neckline jingled as she moved through the crowds easily, inattentive to the appreciative stares of the men, her bare feet stealthily quiet on the thick carpeting.
As of now, the witch--known only as Varro--was conversing with Remus, a grin spread over her delicate features that made Lucina uneasy. The Soucouyant heir could see hunger in that smile, a hunger that she feared could not easily be sated. What was more frightening was what the witch-leader was really hungry for. No one seemed to know, and Lucina was afraid to find out.
Chiding herself for her fear, she slowly made her way to the pair.
Though Varro’s beautiful eyes did not stray from Remus’ face in their conversation, the female vampire felt like she were being stared at, like she were being forced to bare her soul naked on top of a stage.
“Lucina Soucouyant,” stated the witch with a smile, her melodious voice ripped straight from every stereotype of the Greek muses, “you were right, Remus! Every bit as beautiful as my kindred here--and twice the trouble, I‘m sure.” Lucina smiled stiffly in acknowledgement of the compliment.
“And you must be Varro. I’ve heard so much about you.” The familiar comfort of untruth came easily to the Heiress’ lips. She’d been speaking them since shortly after birth, after all, what else was to be expected from the daughter of a man who led a powerful syndicate?
“I suppose you have.” Varro’s violet eyes had flecks of gold and blue that shimmered with the hunger Lucina could not name, and she shivered against her will. “You know how the men talk: endlessly and without purpose. But don‘t worry. I have a feeling you‘ll know a different type of man soon, won‘t you, Lucy-lie?”
“W-what?” she stammered in response, and the witch laughed, a beauty strangely tainted with regret and guilt.
“Ah, children,” the witch said and eyed Remus pointedly. “Rarely keeping in-tune with the conversations of wheezing buffoons.”
Remus cleared his throat (almost nervously, Lucina thought). “Lucina… perhaps you should attend the other guests.”
Quietly, the vampire slipped from their company just as easily as she’d entered it. She meandered over to the punch table just in time to see two unfamiliar men enter the room. The first one, a buff fellow in a white suit with black undershirt, tie, and mafia hat, had blue-black hair and wild-green eyes, did not draw her focus. This one did not overly draw attention to himself, and yet his stance was somehow aggressive against everyone.
However, this did not cause undue alarm. The Soucouyants, after all, were famous for their security.
Her father, Lucina knew, went to great lengths to keep hidden the damage of the Dermis pack from the village--and more importantly, the village politicians.
No, Lucina thought. It was the second one that drew her attention. At first glance, he appeared entirely ordinary.
White eyes that at first seemed colorless turned out to glimmer depending on the light, the pale skin flushed with pink when he flashed a fanged smile, flipping his long, dexterous fingers through untamed red hair, the gesture somehow holding an oddly misplaced grace. He wasn’t in white like the other boy. Rather, he seemed bored to be present, blending in the back in a fine blue doublet.
Lucina didn’t know them, and suddenly, something inside of her screamed with the hunger trapped inside the witch’s eyes.
“Luke,” she said, leaning over to one of the more muscular guards, “Who are those gentlemen? What family paid their tokens?”
Luke grimaced as he processed the taller fellow, the one with the blue-black hair. “I’d better get to your father,” he said. “You see that ring on his finger? Yeah. It’s not decoration--it’s a special tool covered in cursed water. Those shiny silver wolf teeth will stop your heart in a mere matter of moments, so it’s a good thing you pointed them out, especially because I think those are Dermis boys--Lucina!” For the girl was fleeing him, was walking toward the wolves!
“I am of Soucyouant line,” she said. “I will tame the beasts. So if you could manage to, say, pour yourself another glass and forget your Heiress took up duties…” Luke bit his lip with sharp, sharp teeth.
“You have half an hour,” he said quietly, looking around anxiously like he were accepting a bribe. “After that, Varro can have them.”
“I’ll make sure and walk quickly,” said the vampire in reply.
***
Niceros had been amazed about the ease of Soucouyant security. All Aukoc had had to do was smile and joke with the right people, and they were in the party in under an hour. Hardly record time, but he still found himself bamboozled by the arrogance that all the security wore despite their laxity.
Walking in, however, he had been drawn--not to the strange guest who smelled heavily of enchantment and charisma--but the tall, formal woman walking in front of the pair. She had hair so dark a blue it was almost purple, curled and randomly braided with wild white flowers that grew along the banks of the Hawthorn’s river.
Her dress was of a flowing material that moved like water, a white that matched the flowers, and as the vampire--for surely, Niceros thought, this one must be a vampire--moved here to there, she ran her tongue nervously over her bright, red lips, the only bright-colored feature on her otherwise empty face. Her red eyes glimmered in the dim light.
As the wind is drawn to fire, so was this wolf, this intruder, drawn to the power of the call the white-dressed woman claimed him with.
Moving his booted feet over towards her, he sank onto an expensive-looking chair and stared with those strange, blank eyes of his, not quite realizing what he did, or even that he had been mad enough to move from the door.
Then, suddenly, a miracle--for the fire-woman made her way to him, moved toward him willingly, stopped before his feet and tilted her head with a full, entrancing smile more beautiful than the moon.
“Am I forever?” She said lightly, in an odd sort of sing-song voice the wolf assumed was meant to be mocking. “Am I tomorrow? Will I be yours?”
“You are already mine,” Niceros said, not knowing where the words came from but knowing they were true. Aukoc had told him that the pyre died for poetry; he only hoped it was the case with this one.
He stared at her, unperturbed by the various stares of disapproval he was getting from the other vampires--and also a strangely awe-struck Aukoc, for Niceros was not one to fight for prizes, tending to live quietly… and alone. “From this moment on, you are my world, and I will always ache… to see you.” Possessed by a madness he did not recognize, Niceros slowly extended his hand towards her cheek, a promise of truth in his patient speed.
Lucina stared at him, the hunger in her eyes dissipating, her head slowly straightening itself upward at a normal, almost-human angle. While she seemed interested, she was also unimpressed.
“Who are you?” she whispered. One of the flowers fell from her hair. “What is your name?”
The wolf-boy smiled, his hand slowly dropping like it were falling through water. “Niceros,” he said, taking her hand. His rough lips brushed longingly against her polished hand, and--strangely, even to his surprise--the Heiress made no move to stop him; her red eyes closing.
Given it was a secret of the Petronius blocks, Niceros had no idea that the vampires of the Soucouyant felt the souls of the guests of their parties through skin contact, no idea that normally Lucina and the other women would be veiled and gloved until their engagements for their politically-forced marriages--no idea who she was.
Lucina didn’t stop him. She threw herself into his soul like a shot of whisky, bitter and wild and different but short-lasting and somehow cruel on her stomach. Lucina hadn’t tasted any like him before: tasted wolves and endless revels, oddly mixed with quiet inner reflections, a deep respect for human life, being taken with beautiful things… and then, a horrible fire. A bright, green fire…
At this last revelation, her eyes flickered open in a strange mixture of shock and disgust. She pulled her hand back with a screech of anger, leaping from her chair.
“DERMIS!” cried Luke, seeing Niceros’ lips upon that pale hand, half expecting Lucina to be unconscious and on the verge of abduction, “DERMIS! THEY HAVE BROKEN THE LINES!”
Chaos. The world erupted as witches cackled and Varro smiled, as the Soucouyant drew their weapons and aimed them toward the pair of wolves.
“Time to go!” Shouted Aukoc, spinning rapidly. A large black wolf with a tuxedo in his teeth shattered a glass window, followed by a bright red one with a white flower.
“My lady!” cried the guests and servants, gathering around her as the guards and her brothers gave pursuit, “my lady, are you all right?”
Lucina stared at her hand in confusion, shaking her head as though she willing it not to be there.
“He didn’t hurt me,” said the vampire softly. She raised her hand against her cheek, nuzzling it as though it were precious.
“Lucina,” said her father, “who was it? What happened? How did they get in?”
“He didn’t,” said Lucina, still relishing the acrid taste of wolf soul upon her tongue, “hurt me.”
***
As Niceros and Aukoc reached the bridge, Aukoc spun from his wolf-form and stared at his brother.
“Are you out of your mind, Niceros?” he asked, strangely gentle, “do you even know who she was?”
Niceros did not answer him, in fact, he had not changed back. His attention was not even focused in the tuxedoed man calling him back to reality, his blank eyes staring back across the bridge.
“That broad was Lucina Soucouyant!” said Aukoc. “Remus’ daughter, man! Remus’! I’m all for aiming high, but the daughter of the syndicate! Not the way to go, Niceros!”
The wolf brushed by him, walking distractedly back towards his house.
“Something happened,” he said, like his brother weren’t really there at all. “Something’s different, Aukoc. She… stripped away… everything, and it fell all away… was gone… was life…” Aukoc’s night vision was good enough to see his brother’s Adam’s apple throb with the swallow. “I’m hungry. Good-night, Aukoc.”
“Niceros?” Aukoc called after him, “Niceros!”
But his brother had gone, the wild flower in his hand.
“Damn it,” he said. “Rolf was right--contact with a Soucouyant.” As if on queue, the pack leader emerged from the trees with a scowl that would frighten a king.
“I told you,” he said threateningly, “not to go. Half the Soucouyant lines are in an uproar--something about a pact with those weird women is stopping Remus from launching an answer. You touched his daughter! In public, surrounded by guards!”
Aukoc shook his head, mistaking the soul-touch secret precisely as his master had done, obliviously dismissing the touch to carnal intentions. “Cut the reprimand, all right, Rolf? Niceros did that damage. He saw Lucina and just had to be closer to her. It was like…” he trailed off, unsure exactly what it was like.
“He’s in love,” said Rolf. “Your brother’s heart will be broken by this, wait and see. That touch is to mark us. Soon.” He turned and walked towards the village.
“Perhaps,” called the pack leader as he walked, “this will teach you not to disobey my orders, Aukoc.”
***
As she sank into bed that night, leaning against her headboard, Lucina kept staring at her hand.
Her father had told her to wait up for him so they might talk, and this Lucina did, staring at the moonlight on her floor as though she hoped it‘d give her answers. What had happened with Niceros’ soul? Why had it struck her with such a horrible wonderfulness? Why was her heart in her throat?
Remus walked into the room, still in his party clothes. He folded his fingertips together, the lace cuffs looking scratchy against his skin.
“Lucina,” he said, “Do you know who that boy was?” His daughter shook her head.
After all, what father suspects a lie?
Remus had not noticed that she had followed custom to the letter, not sheltering her long, frail hands with the leather gloves she normally wore (so as to not feel everyone’s souls, as was insult without permission in the Petronius block areas) in honor of the witches that night. He had only noticed her silver dress, the sparkling laugh, Varros’ dismissal…
“I’ll tell you,” answered the Coven leader, impatient with her feigned ignorance. “That was Niceros. Niceros’ uncle is Romulus, the leader of the Dermis, better known as Rolf.”
“Romulus?” repeated Lucina, vaguely surprised but still remembering the flames she‘d glimpsed while knowing Niceros‘ soul, “Romulus Dermis? He had a brother?”
Remus narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Had?”
“I--well, if I hadn’t heard of him recently”--she struggled, bound to the rapidly-crashing lie--“then… I mean, he must be dead…. Fires can happen to anyone…”
Snarling like a mountain cat, Remus leapt upon her, seizing her hand. “Fires!” His red eyes--identical to the detail in comparison his daughter’s--went blank for a moment.
Slowly, every bit the leader of the Soucouyant syndicate, he rose from the bed with the grace of a Victorian gentleman, all traces of his temper vanished.
“Your touch,” said Remus, “has marked a wolf. Do you know what this means?”
“I-I didn’t know he was a wolf…” said Lucina slowly… “Only that the boy he was with was Dermis. It’s so difficult to tell, he seemed so charming. …And father, something drew me to him, held me to him. I tasted the wild in him and did not shudder or back away. Something’s different… Something wonderful, something…”
Her father snarled again. “Soul-giver! Whore!” he spat. “I’ll talk to you when there is no more wolf to poison those hands of yours.” Remus walked towards the door, which he proceeded to slam behind him. “Qurin! Summanus!” Lucina’s brothers appeared out of nowhere, as young vampires are wont to do.
“How many times have I told you to call me Sam!” snapped Summanus.
“How is she?” asked Qurin. News of ‘the condition’ had spread like wildfire, but not (and for this, the family was grateful and relieved) that Lucina had touched a Dermis.
“It was as we feared, son.” Qurin swore.
“I’ll kill that stupid wolf,” he said. “Stupid god-damned Dermis….!”
“Now, now,” said Remus, staring deep at him. “Wolves have a very redeeming quality, gentlemen, one I think our kind should really not be so loathe to remember.”
Always the warrior, Sam’s interest improved immediately. A horrible, fanged smile crossed his caw; every bit his father’s son.
“How.” It wasn’t a question, really, that Sam demanded--or was it offered?--Remus now. It was a promise, a statement of action. Their father shrugged, heading towards the stairs.
“They bleed,” he said, and out of nowhere, a giant blue bat--blue like the eyes of a hungry squid, blue like the toes of hypothermic children--sped into the night.
Qurin turned to Summanus. “Sam?”
“Let‘s hunt some wolves.”
“Yeah,” agreed the younger brother. “You know what Dermis hate? The smell of burning fur….”
Oblivious to the ironic blood-thirst of her brothers, Lucina sat in her dark bedroom, hugging her hand to her chest like it were human--and therefore, precious.
Preciously tainted. Preciously flawed.
Preciously… vulnerable.
“Niceros,” she whispered, still clutching that hand. “Niceros.”
***
When Niceros stared at the sun the next morning, he found himself wishing it were night. Over and over he’d hugged the white flower to his body, touching the white petals until they were almost dirty from his hands. The stem was still green, though. The wolf-boy had hopefully placed it in a vase, and set that vase in the sun; light streaming through the blue glass to create a ghost of itself on the table.
There was a knock at the door.
“Niceros! It’s Romulus. Open the door.” The growl was firm and left no room for argument. Niceros glided towards the door, surprised at his lack of noise and the increase in speed.
He opened the door, stepping aside to let the wolf in.
Rolf gestured at the flower almost at once.
“You must forget this, my son,” said the elder wolf. “She’s beautiful; but all the bloodsuckers are beautiful. She’s graceful, but that grace doesn’t go away when she drinks the life of an entire village.”
Rain clipped down on burlesque, unflinching buildings in the city. The swirling clouds were thick enough that it was almost a simple matter to pick up the smell of iron and the rancid hopes of middle-aged factory workers, the naïve smiles of tourists hoping for a glimpse of the “real world.”
When it came to tourism, there was no worse place to sightsee. Locals and tourists alike tended to avoid the neighborhood of Hawthorn. At first look, it appeared normal enough. Pigeons with a hungry glare swooped onto grey buildings, the architectural style complex and charming with its gleaming doors of silver, the patrons well-dressed.
However, as one reached The Bridge, it gave way to another guise entirely.
Far from the suave styling of left of The Bridge--also known as the Petronius blocks--the right side was nothing less than a stylized rural.
The buildings were threadbare, snitched out of the wild age of the West, the saloons still brimming with poorly made moonshine and saucy dancers, the General stores still selling the same wares, the roads still of dirt. The citizens of the right section of The Bridge--the Vargulf side--could well have believed in time travel, were it not for the greasy fords and recycle-parts pickup trucks parked along the roads.
Of course, it is people that make the neighborhood.
In the case of the Petronius, there was no better family than the Soucouyant. The devil of the block, they took their women and spirits both with black, Transylvanian smiles. Their velvet cloaks and silk-white shirts were pleated with gold and silver and blue. The citizens of the Petronius held their breath when the boys of the Soucouyant walked with danger through the nights upon The Bridge.
On the right side of Hawthorn Bridge--the only bridge in the neighborhood over the swift-rushing Fox river--there was no more powerful group than the Dermis family. Their sons and even daughters prowled the streets, ‘keeping the peace’ by stretching their fingers and snarling away the trouble. They managed among themselves to cause both the damage and the help of the town, popping across The Bridge occasionally to set fire to a long-held Soucouyant building or home.
And, if it is people that make the neighborhood, it is history that makes the people.
The history of the Hawthorns would take many books and many radio stations to report the nightly damage, let alone the encompassed chaos… for between the harboring power of the Dermis and the sophisticated syndicate of the Soucouyant, there was a deep and unending hatred in the never-ending quest for an order and seniority…
A quest that would soon end.
***
A single boy sat at the counter in an old-fashioned kitchen straight out of the fifties. “Hey Niceros!” Aukoc flashed a fanged grin and messed up his tousled, blue-black hair with a very hairy hand. “We’re on raid tonight. Wanna catch it?”
The wolf-boy answered with a smile. “Raid, huh? Where’s the victim?”
His brother winked.
“Oh, you know,” he said, “the filthy rich.”
“Petronius blocks, eh? Count me in,” said Niceros. He pulled out a plastic lighter, one engraved with strange markings--almost like claw marks. “When do we leave?”
“Sun-down, little brother,” Aukoc replied. Niceros stared at the older boy.
“Sun-down? We’re all but screaming for a tussle with those Soucouyant boys, and I’d really rather not put my clothing through any more of their chicken scratches.”
“They’ll be out,” said the teenager, his forest green eyes sparkling, “and we’ll be in.”
Niceros howled in delight. “Party?”
“You know what they say about Soucouyant parties,” Aukoc said laughingly. “Once they run out of wine, the whole thing”--here, he pulled out a similar lighter to Niceros’, of iron with an engraved cross--“goes up in smoke.”
“I’ve never been on-raid before,” said Niceros. “What should I wear?”
“Something nice, I’d say, ol’ chap,” replied Aukoc in a horrible British accent, adapting his arms into the famous Napoleon pose--then, as Niceros laughed--“What? No need to offend the ladies.”
“You like ladies, man? When did this happen?” A wolf-man walked into the room, this one wearing a maroon vest with a heavy collar of fur and tight-fitting jeans.
He cuffed Aukoc on the shoulder. “Hoping to get some hot vampire action with one of those sexy, sexy Soucouyant boys?”
“Hey, it just occurred to me, Rolf--Think somebody at the table’s projecting, Niceros? That‘s what Freud would advise, after all.”
“Oh dear,” said the third wolf, “I think I’m harming ickie Aukoc’s delicate sensitivity level. New subject?”
“Definitely,” boasted Niceros. “No need to waste too much of our energy before tonight, right, Aukoc?” He offered his hand for a high-five, not noticing his brother’s rapid head shakes and signals to desist.
“….and what’s this I hear,” said the pack leader, “about a raid, Aukoc?”
As Niceros slowly lowered his hand, pretending to scratch his ear, Aukoc cleared his throat nervously. “Uh… nothing, Rolf. We were just… y’know… messing around. Err, really.”
The nice vest and jeans fell to the floor as a huge, maroon-furred wolf leapt on top of him, snarling. “You have heard my order and nearly disobeyed,” said the wolf in Rolf‘s voice as Aukoc’s lighter fell from his hand to the floor, “and if I hear about any Soucouyant party members leaping towards the Heavens, you’ll be following them up with a one-way ticket, spending your eternity offering free refreshment to vampires. Understood?”
Picking up his human coverings with his teeth, the wolf spun three times, stood as a fully-clothed Rolf, and exited, the fur of the vest twitching at the breeze as the screen door shut behind him.
“All bow to the Drama Queen. What the Hell was that about?” asked Niceros.
“Oh yeah,” said Aukoc. “About that--Rolf’s banned raids this week. Moon told him something.”
“What did she say?” Rolf’s wife, Hannah, was a famous seer. She was more commonly known by her spiritual-adviser name, Moon.
“Something about a prophecy that he didn’t want to come true? A Dermis-Soucouyant touch that would have great repercussions.”
“Good or bad?”
“That’s the thing,” said Aukoc, “he doesn’t know.”
“What about you? What do you think?” asked Niceros. Aukoc bent to pick up his lighter, pocketing it as he stood.
“I think that if there’s going to be ‘a touch of Dermis’ involved with Soucouyant, the repercussions will probably be my clothing on the floor,” the elder wolf replied. “What does Rolf expect? I’m a wolf, not a house dog,” and strode towards the door, stopping as his hand grasped the handle. “And Nic?”
“Yes?”
“We’re still going. Meet me at The Bridge at sundown?” Niceros gave another fanged grin as the screen door slammed behind Aukoc.
“Always,” he said to the empty kitchen.
***
Lucina glided down the grand staircase with boredom and a high-raised chin. As she reached the bottom step, she turned left, into the parlor. The cushions of its couch and puffy reading chairs were blood-colored, the carpeting of a soft gold, and the walls a rich purple. An entertainment system sat in the ebony armoire. Looking left, then right, Lucina made her way for the armoire.
Fine dress crinkling, she sank onto the floor and opened the door to reveal an Xbox, which the heiress of the Soucouyant proceeded to load with a Castlevania game. The introduction appeared on the plasma screen television, and just as Lucina attempted to load her game, the screen flickered and died, and a deep voice intoned,
“Video games, precious?”
Lucina was already on her feet. “Father,” she acknowledged. A tall man walked through the matching ebony doorway, stopping to stare at his daughter.
“You know how I feel about this poison,” he said, waving his long, thin fingers towards the console.
“Yes, father,” Lucina answered simply.
“So why do you continue to inhale it, precisely?”
“It staves off the monotony. Spending days glancing through a window and nights waltzing with your business partners’ sons is hardly a gift of social activity, and when I’m not entertaining, I’m learning French or a graceful walk or how to kill properly. It is endless and I am bored. I need an outlet on occasion, Father.”
“Do you think that being a Soucouyant is a life of privilege?” chided Remus. “It is a life of protection and servitude. It is our responsibility to stop the advances of those dreadful wolf-men--”
“Do our sons not also ravage these streets, Remus? I do not see my brothers training to defend our innocents, I see them draining them. ‘Our people’ live in fear of our ‘protection’. What type of servitude does fear require, and why is it mine to pay?”
“Summanus and Qurin are young and restless,” answered the Coven leader. “They will grow into the shoes at their bedside. For now, it is not in me to wake them from their bliss. Let them sleep their women, drink that blood. In the end, dignity of the duty is all that matters. The valiance of our line will stay their tongues and moving hands, and in that window, my dreams for them… will be fulfilled.”
“You really believe that?”
“I can hope,” Remus said with a polished smile. “Walk with me?”
Lucina took his arm as the two of them began to stroll. She continued to walk, struggling to keep pace with his heavy strides while maintaining the expected grace. The heiress waited for her father to speak, and as the pair rounded the corner into the kitchen, he did.
“There is a gathering tonight,” said Remus, “which I think you will greatly enjoy. The invitation merits you.”
“What is the use of drinking from an empty glass?” she said in reply. “One is never full.”
“And if the chaperone is halfway across the community,” continued Remus nonchalantly, “does the glass fill?”
Lucina smiled. “Quickly,” said the vampire‘s daughter. “Whose party this time, Father?”
“Your brothers‘,” he said. “Qurin is taking his turn at welcoming a new set of courtiers visiting Petronius. Also, Lucina, wear the silver, will you? It‘s really very fetching on you.” And, chuckling, Remus swept from the room.
***
The building in which Qurin celebrated the new round of courtiers pledging their allegiance to the Soucouyant family was the most suave in town. It was carved from white marble, beautiful angel carvings rested on the ledges, somehow looking vaguely sinister in the light of the moon. Giant wolves (also of stone) stood as denizens of the door.
The doors, as was custom, had been entirely removed from their frames for the new guests, for no door would be closed them or question denied them tonight, and no blood would be spilt for a fortnight in honor of the peace in the wake of their shadows. There would be magnificent feasts and beautiful music and gifts of precious stones, beautiful servants, gifts of oil sheikdoms in the desert--and beneath it all, a warning not to stand against the Soucouyant.
Among the beauty and laughter, there would be fine silver swords strapped to the shoulder-belts of the guard-men, would be bone-bows inlaid with platinum already strung with arrows in embroidered quivers, would be eyes turned to the windows in case of an appearance from the very unwelcome Dermis.
It was for this reason that most Soucouyants and their friends felt totally and completely safe, hardly aware of their surroundings in the midst of the revel. Lucina wasn’t, though. As she glided from one area to the next, she was more and more unhinged by the new allies her father had charmed into subservience.
They were, in number, with more female members than men, but all of them were in bright, red cloaks (some hoods raised, some hoods lowered) and all of them with violet eyes. Their leader was in a translucent cloak that trailed the ground, paired with a purple dress. Scales of a gilded gold on the plunging v-shaped neckline jingled as she moved through the crowds easily, inattentive to the appreciative stares of the men, her bare feet stealthily quiet on the thick carpeting.
As of now, the witch--known only as Varro--was conversing with Remus, a grin spread over her delicate features that made Lucina uneasy. The Soucouyant heir could see hunger in that smile, a hunger that she feared could not easily be sated. What was more frightening was what the witch-leader was really hungry for. No one seemed to know, and Lucina was afraid to find out.
Chiding herself for her fear, she slowly made her way to the pair.
Though Varro’s beautiful eyes did not stray from Remus’ face in their conversation, the female vampire felt like she were being stared at, like she were being forced to bare her soul naked on top of a stage.
“Lucina Soucouyant,” stated the witch with a smile, her melodious voice ripped straight from every stereotype of the Greek muses, “you were right, Remus! Every bit as beautiful as my kindred here--and twice the trouble, I‘m sure.” Lucina smiled stiffly in acknowledgement of the compliment.
“And you must be Varro. I’ve heard so much about you.” The familiar comfort of untruth came easily to the Heiress’ lips. She’d been speaking them since shortly after birth, after all, what else was to be expected from the daughter of a man who led a powerful syndicate?
“I suppose you have.” Varro’s violet eyes had flecks of gold and blue that shimmered with the hunger Lucina could not name, and she shivered against her will. “You know how the men talk: endlessly and without purpose. But don‘t worry. I have a feeling you‘ll know a different type of man soon, won‘t you, Lucy-lie?”
“W-what?” she stammered in response, and the witch laughed, a beauty strangely tainted with regret and guilt.
“Ah, children,” the witch said and eyed Remus pointedly. “Rarely keeping in-tune with the conversations of wheezing buffoons.”
Remus cleared his throat (almost nervously, Lucina thought). “Lucina… perhaps you should attend the other guests.”
Quietly, the vampire slipped from their company just as easily as she’d entered it. She meandered over to the punch table just in time to see two unfamiliar men enter the room. The first one, a buff fellow in a white suit with black undershirt, tie, and mafia hat, had blue-black hair and wild-green eyes, did not draw her focus. This one did not overly draw attention to himself, and yet his stance was somehow aggressive against everyone.
However, this did not cause undue alarm. The Soucouyants, after all, were famous for their security.
Her father, Lucina knew, went to great lengths to keep hidden the damage of the Dermis pack from the village--and more importantly, the village politicians.
No, Lucina thought. It was the second one that drew her attention. At first glance, he appeared entirely ordinary.
White eyes that at first seemed colorless turned out to glimmer depending on the light, the pale skin flushed with pink when he flashed a fanged smile, flipping his long, dexterous fingers through untamed red hair, the gesture somehow holding an oddly misplaced grace. He wasn’t in white like the other boy. Rather, he seemed bored to be present, blending in the back in a fine blue doublet.
Lucina didn’t know them, and suddenly, something inside of her screamed with the hunger trapped inside the witch’s eyes.
“Luke,” she said, leaning over to one of the more muscular guards, “Who are those gentlemen? What family paid their tokens?”
Luke grimaced as he processed the taller fellow, the one with the blue-black hair. “I’d better get to your father,” he said. “You see that ring on his finger? Yeah. It’s not decoration--it’s a special tool covered in cursed water. Those shiny silver wolf teeth will stop your heart in a mere matter of moments, so it’s a good thing you pointed them out, especially because I think those are Dermis boys--Lucina!” For the girl was fleeing him, was walking toward the wolves!
“I am of Soucyouant line,” she said. “I will tame the beasts. So if you could manage to, say, pour yourself another glass and forget your Heiress took up duties…” Luke bit his lip with sharp, sharp teeth.
“You have half an hour,” he said quietly, looking around anxiously like he were accepting a bribe. “After that, Varro can have them.”
“I’ll make sure and walk quickly,” said the vampire in reply.
***
Niceros had been amazed about the ease of Soucouyant security. All Aukoc had had to do was smile and joke with the right people, and they were in the party in under an hour. Hardly record time, but he still found himself bamboozled by the arrogance that all the security wore despite their laxity.
Walking in, however, he had been drawn--not to the strange guest who smelled heavily of enchantment and charisma--but the tall, formal woman walking in front of the pair. She had hair so dark a blue it was almost purple, curled and randomly braided with wild white flowers that grew along the banks of the Hawthorn’s river.
Her dress was of a flowing material that moved like water, a white that matched the flowers, and as the vampire--for surely, Niceros thought, this one must be a vampire--moved here to there, she ran her tongue nervously over her bright, red lips, the only bright-colored feature on her otherwise empty face. Her red eyes glimmered in the dim light.
As the wind is drawn to fire, so was this wolf, this intruder, drawn to the power of the call the white-dressed woman claimed him with.
Moving his booted feet over towards her, he sank onto an expensive-looking chair and stared with those strange, blank eyes of his, not quite realizing what he did, or even that he had been mad enough to move from the door.
Then, suddenly, a miracle--for the fire-woman made her way to him, moved toward him willingly, stopped before his feet and tilted her head with a full, entrancing smile more beautiful than the moon.
“Am I forever?” She said lightly, in an odd sort of sing-song voice the wolf assumed was meant to be mocking. “Am I tomorrow? Will I be yours?”
“You are already mine,” Niceros said, not knowing where the words came from but knowing they were true. Aukoc had told him that the pyre died for poetry; he only hoped it was the case with this one.
He stared at her, unperturbed by the various stares of disapproval he was getting from the other vampires--and also a strangely awe-struck Aukoc, for Niceros was not one to fight for prizes, tending to live quietly… and alone. “From this moment on, you are my world, and I will always ache… to see you.” Possessed by a madness he did not recognize, Niceros slowly extended his hand towards her cheek, a promise of truth in his patient speed.
Lucina stared at him, the hunger in her eyes dissipating, her head slowly straightening itself upward at a normal, almost-human angle. While she seemed interested, she was also unimpressed.
“Who are you?” she whispered. One of the flowers fell from her hair. “What is your name?”
The wolf-boy smiled, his hand slowly dropping like it were falling through water. “Niceros,” he said, taking her hand. His rough lips brushed longingly against her polished hand, and--strangely, even to his surprise--the Heiress made no move to stop him; her red eyes closing.
Given it was a secret of the Petronius blocks, Niceros had no idea that the vampires of the Soucouyant felt the souls of the guests of their parties through skin contact, no idea that normally Lucina and the other women would be veiled and gloved until their engagements for their politically-forced marriages--no idea who she was.
Lucina didn’t stop him. She threw herself into his soul like a shot of whisky, bitter and wild and different but short-lasting and somehow cruel on her stomach. Lucina hadn’t tasted any like him before: tasted wolves and endless revels, oddly mixed with quiet inner reflections, a deep respect for human life, being taken with beautiful things… and then, a horrible fire. A bright, green fire…
At this last revelation, her eyes flickered open in a strange mixture of shock and disgust. She pulled her hand back with a screech of anger, leaping from her chair.
“DERMIS!” cried Luke, seeing Niceros’ lips upon that pale hand, half expecting Lucina to be unconscious and on the verge of abduction, “DERMIS! THEY HAVE BROKEN THE LINES!”
Chaos. The world erupted as witches cackled and Varro smiled, as the Soucouyant drew their weapons and aimed them toward the pair of wolves.
“Time to go!” Shouted Aukoc, spinning rapidly. A large black wolf with a tuxedo in his teeth shattered a glass window, followed by a bright red one with a white flower.
“My lady!” cried the guests and servants, gathering around her as the guards and her brothers gave pursuit, “my lady, are you all right?”
Lucina stared at her hand in confusion, shaking her head as though she willing it not to be there.
“He didn’t hurt me,” said the vampire softly. She raised her hand against her cheek, nuzzling it as though it were precious.
“Lucina,” said her father, “who was it? What happened? How did they get in?”
“He didn’t,” said Lucina, still relishing the acrid taste of wolf soul upon her tongue, “hurt me.”
***
As Niceros and Aukoc reached the bridge, Aukoc spun from his wolf-form and stared at his brother.
“Are you out of your mind, Niceros?” he asked, strangely gentle, “do you even know who she was?”
Niceros did not answer him, in fact, he had not changed back. His attention was not even focused in the tuxedoed man calling him back to reality, his blank eyes staring back across the bridge.
“That broad was Lucina Soucouyant!” said Aukoc. “Remus’ daughter, man! Remus’! I’m all for aiming high, but the daughter of the syndicate! Not the way to go, Niceros!”
The wolf brushed by him, walking distractedly back towards his house.
“Something happened,” he said, like his brother weren’t really there at all. “Something’s different, Aukoc. She… stripped away… everything, and it fell all away… was gone… was life…” Aukoc’s night vision was good enough to see his brother’s Adam’s apple throb with the swallow. “I’m hungry. Good-night, Aukoc.”
“Niceros?” Aukoc called after him, “Niceros!”
But his brother had gone, the wild flower in his hand.
“Damn it,” he said. “Rolf was right--contact with a Soucouyant.” As if on queue, the pack leader emerged from the trees with a scowl that would frighten a king.
“I told you,” he said threateningly, “not to go. Half the Soucouyant lines are in an uproar--something about a pact with those weird women is stopping Remus from launching an answer. You touched his daughter! In public, surrounded by guards!”
Aukoc shook his head, mistaking the soul-touch secret precisely as his master had done, obliviously dismissing the touch to carnal intentions. “Cut the reprimand, all right, Rolf? Niceros did that damage. He saw Lucina and just had to be closer to her. It was like…” he trailed off, unsure exactly what it was like.
“He’s in love,” said Rolf. “Your brother’s heart will be broken by this, wait and see. That touch is to mark us. Soon.” He turned and walked towards the village.
“Perhaps,” called the pack leader as he walked, “this will teach you not to disobey my orders, Aukoc.”
***
As she sank into bed that night, leaning against her headboard, Lucina kept staring at her hand.
Her father had told her to wait up for him so they might talk, and this Lucina did, staring at the moonlight on her floor as though she hoped it‘d give her answers. What had happened with Niceros’ soul? Why had it struck her with such a horrible wonderfulness? Why was her heart in her throat?
Remus walked into the room, still in his party clothes. He folded his fingertips together, the lace cuffs looking scratchy against his skin.
“Lucina,” he said, “Do you know who that boy was?” His daughter shook her head.
After all, what father suspects a lie?
Remus had not noticed that she had followed custom to the letter, not sheltering her long, frail hands with the leather gloves she normally wore (so as to not feel everyone’s souls, as was insult without permission in the Petronius block areas) in honor of the witches that night. He had only noticed her silver dress, the sparkling laugh, Varros’ dismissal…
“I’ll tell you,” answered the Coven leader, impatient with her feigned ignorance. “That was Niceros. Niceros’ uncle is Romulus, the leader of the Dermis, better known as Rolf.”
“Romulus?” repeated Lucina, vaguely surprised but still remembering the flames she‘d glimpsed while knowing Niceros‘ soul, “Romulus Dermis? He had a brother?”
Remus narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Had?”
“I--well, if I hadn’t heard of him recently”--she struggled, bound to the rapidly-crashing lie--“then… I mean, he must be dead…. Fires can happen to anyone…”
Snarling like a mountain cat, Remus leapt upon her, seizing her hand. “Fires!” His red eyes--identical to the detail in comparison his daughter’s--went blank for a moment.
Slowly, every bit the leader of the Soucouyant syndicate, he rose from the bed with the grace of a Victorian gentleman, all traces of his temper vanished.
“Your touch,” said Remus, “has marked a wolf. Do you know what this means?”
“I-I didn’t know he was a wolf…” said Lucina slowly… “Only that the boy he was with was Dermis. It’s so difficult to tell, he seemed so charming. …And father, something drew me to him, held me to him. I tasted the wild in him and did not shudder or back away. Something’s different… Something wonderful, something…”
Her father snarled again. “Soul-giver! Whore!” he spat. “I’ll talk to you when there is no more wolf to poison those hands of yours.” Remus walked towards the door, which he proceeded to slam behind him. “Qurin! Summanus!” Lucina’s brothers appeared out of nowhere, as young vampires are wont to do.
“How many times have I told you to call me Sam!” snapped Summanus.
“How is she?” asked Qurin. News of ‘the condition’ had spread like wildfire, but not (and for this, the family was grateful and relieved) that Lucina had touched a Dermis.
“It was as we feared, son.” Qurin swore.
“I’ll kill that stupid wolf,” he said. “Stupid god-damned Dermis….!”
“Now, now,” said Remus, staring deep at him. “Wolves have a very redeeming quality, gentlemen, one I think our kind should really not be so loathe to remember.”
Always the warrior, Sam’s interest improved immediately. A horrible, fanged smile crossed his caw; every bit his father’s son.
“How.” It wasn’t a question, really, that Sam demanded--or was it offered?--Remus now. It was a promise, a statement of action. Their father shrugged, heading towards the stairs.
“They bleed,” he said, and out of nowhere, a giant blue bat--blue like the eyes of a hungry squid, blue like the toes of hypothermic children--sped into the night.
Qurin turned to Summanus. “Sam?”
“Let‘s hunt some wolves.”
“Yeah,” agreed the younger brother. “You know what Dermis hate? The smell of burning fur….”
Oblivious to the ironic blood-thirst of her brothers, Lucina sat in her dark bedroom, hugging her hand to her chest like it were human--and therefore, precious.
Preciously tainted. Preciously flawed.
Preciously… vulnerable.
“Niceros,” she whispered, still clutching that hand. “Niceros.”
***
When Niceros stared at the sun the next morning, he found himself wishing it were night. Over and over he’d hugged the white flower to his body, touching the white petals until they were almost dirty from his hands. The stem was still green, though. The wolf-boy had hopefully placed it in a vase, and set that vase in the sun; light streaming through the blue glass to create a ghost of itself on the table.
There was a knock at the door.
“Niceros! It’s Romulus. Open the door.” The growl was firm and left no room for argument. Niceros glided towards the door, surprised at his lack of noise and the increase in speed.
He opened the door, stepping aside to let the wolf in.
Rolf gestured at the flower almost at once.
“You must forget this, my son,” said the elder wolf. “She’s beautiful; but all the bloodsuckers are beautiful. She’s graceful, but that grace doesn’t go away when she drinks the life of an entire village.”
Special
Katie's home. She said she a great week. I don't have a lot to say lately, if you haven't noticed.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Special
Found the show 'Gargoyles' on the Youtube and have been watching it while my life is sold again. I envy them their close relationships amid the pain of living, or worse, not living.
I envy them that, and my heart hurts tonight.... but I will help him if I may.
I envy them that, and my heart hurts tonight.... but I will help him if I may.
Special
Beat my high score on Solitare today after watching (Yet another) bad re-run of a teenNick show.
...God, I'm bored.
...God, I'm bored.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Special
Finley held me in his arms tonight, and there was peace in my heart and soul. Sometimes, when we are held, and know we are truly love, the discord settles.
But it always strikes back.
I was overwhelmed with a hunger, a true and utter lust for intrigue I have not felt for a very long time. I watched the Tudors, I remembered the Roses, and now I'm reading Sherlock Holmes. I need... a worthy adversary. My head spins with it, people-who-aren't-reading. My blood is pounding in my ears.
Even to create a world again, start fresh like I did with the Roses--it wouldn't be enough. I need someone else's world, need to take it down and own it... because I can.
When I am like this, a dark part of my soul dances with the idea that those who challenge me, who oppose me, were very foolish indeed.
"When you think you know the story...."
But it always strikes back.
I was overwhelmed with a hunger, a true and utter lust for intrigue I have not felt for a very long time. I watched the Tudors, I remembered the Roses, and now I'm reading Sherlock Holmes. I need... a worthy adversary. My head spins with it, people-who-aren't-reading. My blood is pounding in my ears.
Even to create a world again, start fresh like I did with the Roses--it wouldn't be enough. I need someone else's world, need to take it down and own it... because I can.
When I am like this, a dark part of my soul dances with the idea that those who challenge me, who oppose me, were very foolish indeed.
"When you think you know the story...."
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Special: "Leave the Play, Payton. Please? For me?"
Finley tried very hard to make my day happy yesterday. He took me to Ben Eaton's house, and they killed some Zombies, and the world was filled with acceptance and laughter.
Then he took me home. He'd gotten me food (why does he always bring me food?), and we were eating, and all of a sudden, after I was telling him about the latest dress Schultz had put me in (the blue one I mentioned earlier) he turned to me and said, "Payton...."
Very much the way Katie had. You remember my stipulations on that tone of voice, non-existant peoples?
"You've been really unhappy lately," he said, his eyes glistening, "Especially after you go to play practice. Payton... no matter what you tell me or how you try and laugh it off, these people... they treat you awfully." I open my mouth, he cuts me off. "No, let me talk now, okay? Out of the cast members, people... they treat you badly. They really do. You go in smiling, laughing, blowing me kisses, hugging your script.. and you come out sad, and lonely, and feeling like a monster again. Even I can't make you happy... and there's not a lot I can't make you happy after, Payton. Not a lot."
This time, I do answer.
"I understand Beatrice," I said quietly, "people... people don't like her. They... tolerate her. She's... crazy. I know what it is like to be treated as... to feel... crazy. I was cast like her because I understand her."
"You might understand the role, but you shouldn't have to!" my husband exclaimed. "Play practice is a place made for acceptance and love, and people aren't treating you like that. They don't know you well enough to do anything else, and they don't want to. They don't love you! Not like you love them! You can't just give your heart to everyone like this. The people who love you, that's who deserves to have your heart... but everyone-! Payton, that's how you get hurt. You can't keep doing this."
Huh. Katie said the ''acceptance'' part, too, that night after rehearsal. Both halves of my heart feel that way? Maybe something is wrong.
"They may not love me," I said, more firmly now, "but I love them. They will always have a piece of me, if they need it. It is not in me, to take it from them."
"Payton... I'm watching you fall into a hole, and I don't know what to do. What if I can't pull you up anymore? Please... don't do this to yourself. You shouldn't have to feel like you're crazy, because... because you're not, Payton! If the world would just take the time to know you, they'd see you like I do. You read much better for other things than Beatrice. You really did. You can't live in that. You know I don't like to tell people, once they've really committed to something...." A very long pause tells me where he's going.
"You can't... you can't do this to yourself. Leave the play, Payton. Talk to Schultz, get out of there, and feel happy again. Feel loved. I can't.... I can't watch you do this to yourself. Leave the Play, Payton. Please? For me?"
My eyes fill with tears. "Don't tell me I'm hurting you, too."
"Darling... wife... oh, no, don't...." He takes me in his arms, and I cry. Strange. This seems to happen a lot more than usual lately, this apparition of tears. I suppose the new part is that I've had people to comfort me.
"I won't abandon them, Finley," I say, tears running, "Not even for you, I will not abandon my cast. Don't you think I've had these thoughts? But I won't... I won't leave them to find a new Beatrice, not this late in the show. No one can play her like I do."
"Yes, someone very well bloody can," snaps Finley. "You shouldn't be putting yourself through this. In the end, though, it has to be your choice, because no matter how much I want to just walk up to Schultz and say, 'that's it, she's quitting', I don't have that power."
I close my eyes and run my fingers over his face.
You always, my heart promises, have that power to me, Finley.
I sip my soda.
"I won't be another Allen," I said. "I won't do that to Schultz and to my cast members. I love them, Finley. And nobody... nobody can play a heartbreak like I can. Nobody. Also, when it comes to Beatrice..."
His eyes open and look at me for a moment, scared, and then close again.
"I was thinking on basing her on Betty white," I confess, and his eyes open for real, and he grins. That's how we work, Finley and I. We bare our hearts and are sad, and then we do something to make each other outrageously happy. If that's dancing in my basement to 'Dancing in the Moonlight' at two in the morning, we do it. If that's sitting on the couch with him in my arms or me in his, we do it. If that's skivving ten minutes off a rehearsal to play an extra round of Smash brothers... we do.
In my opinion, that's how love should be.... finding joy in every moment, and finding new ways to find that joy. Because the initial excitement we feel for that big first kiss or holding hands in a public hallway, that isn't love. That's being afraid to be happy. That's being afraid to let our walls down. But Finley... he always had mine down, from the moment we first lay eyes on each other. God smiled on me--why me, I'll never really know--when He gave me Finley.
Finley, like Katie-bird, looks past the inital awkwardness I feel around people. Until I know they won't hurt me, I do that. But once I know you're willing to love me, love me like I love you, strangers out there, those walls come down, and I'm happy... I'm wonderful. Truly beautiful, sometimes. Finley knows my heart.
Do you know my heart, strangers? Cast members? Schultz? Family?
....
Do you even want to?
Then he took me home. He'd gotten me food (why does he always bring me food?), and we were eating, and all of a sudden, after I was telling him about the latest dress Schultz had put me in (the blue one I mentioned earlier) he turned to me and said, "Payton...."
Very much the way Katie had. You remember my stipulations on that tone of voice, non-existant peoples?
"You've been really unhappy lately," he said, his eyes glistening, "Especially after you go to play practice. Payton... no matter what you tell me or how you try and laugh it off, these people... they treat you awfully." I open my mouth, he cuts me off. "No, let me talk now, okay? Out of the cast members, people... they treat you badly. They really do. You go in smiling, laughing, blowing me kisses, hugging your script.. and you come out sad, and lonely, and feeling like a monster again. Even I can't make you happy... and there's not a lot I can't make you happy after, Payton. Not a lot."
This time, I do answer.
"I understand Beatrice," I said quietly, "people... people don't like her. They... tolerate her. She's... crazy. I know what it is like to be treated as... to feel... crazy. I was cast like her because I understand her."
"You might understand the role, but you shouldn't have to!" my husband exclaimed. "Play practice is a place made for acceptance and love, and people aren't treating you like that. They don't know you well enough to do anything else, and they don't want to. They don't love you! Not like you love them! You can't just give your heart to everyone like this. The people who love you, that's who deserves to have your heart... but everyone-! Payton, that's how you get hurt. You can't keep doing this."
Huh. Katie said the ''acceptance'' part, too, that night after rehearsal. Both halves of my heart feel that way? Maybe something is wrong.
"They may not love me," I said, more firmly now, "but I love them. They will always have a piece of me, if they need it. It is not in me, to take it from them."
"Payton... I'm watching you fall into a hole, and I don't know what to do. What if I can't pull you up anymore? Please... don't do this to yourself. You shouldn't have to feel like you're crazy, because... because you're not, Payton! If the world would just take the time to know you, they'd see you like I do. You read much better for other things than Beatrice. You really did. You can't live in that. You know I don't like to tell people, once they've really committed to something...." A very long pause tells me where he's going.
"You can't... you can't do this to yourself. Leave the play, Payton. Talk to Schultz, get out of there, and feel happy again. Feel loved. I can't.... I can't watch you do this to yourself. Leave the Play, Payton. Please? For me?"
My eyes fill with tears. "Don't tell me I'm hurting you, too."
"Darling... wife... oh, no, don't...." He takes me in his arms, and I cry. Strange. This seems to happen a lot more than usual lately, this apparition of tears. I suppose the new part is that I've had people to comfort me.
"I won't abandon them, Finley," I say, tears running, "Not even for you, I will not abandon my cast. Don't you think I've had these thoughts? But I won't... I won't leave them to find a new Beatrice, not this late in the show. No one can play her like I do."
"Yes, someone very well bloody can," snaps Finley. "You shouldn't be putting yourself through this. In the end, though, it has to be your choice, because no matter how much I want to just walk up to Schultz and say, 'that's it, she's quitting', I don't have that power."
I close my eyes and run my fingers over his face.
You always, my heart promises, have that power to me, Finley.
I sip my soda.
"I won't be another Allen," I said. "I won't do that to Schultz and to my cast members. I love them, Finley. And nobody... nobody can play a heartbreak like I can. Nobody. Also, when it comes to Beatrice..."
His eyes open and look at me for a moment, scared, and then close again.
"I was thinking on basing her on Betty white," I confess, and his eyes open for real, and he grins. That's how we work, Finley and I. We bare our hearts and are sad, and then we do something to make each other outrageously happy. If that's dancing in my basement to 'Dancing in the Moonlight' at two in the morning, we do it. If that's sitting on the couch with him in my arms or me in his, we do it. If that's skivving ten minutes off a rehearsal to play an extra round of Smash brothers... we do.
In my opinion, that's how love should be.... finding joy in every moment, and finding new ways to find that joy. Because the initial excitement we feel for that big first kiss or holding hands in a public hallway, that isn't love. That's being afraid to be happy. That's being afraid to let our walls down. But Finley... he always had mine down, from the moment we first lay eyes on each other. God smiled on me--why me, I'll never really know--when He gave me Finley.
Finley, like Katie-bird, looks past the inital awkwardness I feel around people. Until I know they won't hurt me, I do that. But once I know you're willing to love me, love me like I love you, strangers out there, those walls come down, and I'm happy... I'm wonderful. Truly beautiful, sometimes. Finley knows my heart.
Do you know my heart, strangers? Cast members? Schultz? Family?
....
Do you even want to?
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Special: Sorry, Kate
I'm updating the titling habit. If it's an apology, or something like a revelation, it'll get a different title. That said?
This is for you, non-reader-who-won't-see-this. :'(
I wish Kate were my friend. Maybe we could hang out, now that I'm just Payton. Not that I don't... I don't have to be Eliac anymore.
I don't think she'd see the difference, or even care.
Despite of the happiness I've experienced today... that still hurts. I think of it often; who else do I have to think of?
God, just let her talk to me once. Let her know I'm sorry if I've done something or thought something to offend her. Let her know that I'm trying to think good thoughts for her and I want her future to be happy. Let her know the first time I mentioned Dan in this blog, it wasn't all "I want to rip his guts out", it was, "I love you," because I do everyone... even him. Even if there are times I've been mad he exists, my thoughts for him are generally good.
Please?
I know it shouldn't bother me this much, it's just... Finley and Katie are the only people who knew that secret, and they were so kind to me; but I gave it to her and she threw it back. What if I'm not cool enough for her? What if she was hurt by knowing me? It isn't even that I'd be all, "get back with Katie, B@atch!" Because that's not... how I roll. I just want to help her. She's in trouble. I tend to focus more on the people that are a lost cause to me, who never wanted that heart piece to begin with.
I don't think she did.
Sorry, Kate.
P.S. the comment on LIAO, the "more than she knows" shit.... I hope you realize that I wasn't saying you don't know yourself, because I've been thinking whilst re-titling, and it came to me--I only meant that I wish you could see that you were, yourself, beautiful. You always are, to me. You hate yourself a lot, and I want that to change. You're wrong about your flaws, in general... more than I think you realize.
More than I think you know.
This is for you, non-reader-who-won't-see-this. :'(
I wish Kate were my friend. Maybe we could hang out, now that I'm just Payton. Not that I don't... I don't have to be Eliac anymore.
I don't think she'd see the difference, or even care.
Despite of the happiness I've experienced today... that still hurts. I think of it often; who else do I have to think of?
God, just let her talk to me once. Let her know I'm sorry if I've done something or thought something to offend her. Let her know that I'm trying to think good thoughts for her and I want her future to be happy. Let her know the first time I mentioned Dan in this blog, it wasn't all "I want to rip his guts out", it was, "I love you," because I do everyone... even him. Even if there are times I've been mad he exists, my thoughts for him are generally good.
Please?
I know it shouldn't bother me this much, it's just... Finley and Katie are the only people who knew that secret, and they were so kind to me; but I gave it to her and she threw it back. What if I'm not cool enough for her? What if she was hurt by knowing me? It isn't even that I'd be all, "get back with Katie, B@atch!" Because that's not... how I roll. I just want to help her. She's in trouble. I tend to focus more on the people that are a lost cause to me, who never wanted that heart piece to begin with.
I don't think she did.
Sorry, Kate.
P.S. the comment on LIAO, the "more than she knows" shit.... I hope you realize that I wasn't saying you don't know yourself, because I've been thinking whilst re-titling, and it came to me--I only meant that I wish you could see that you were, yourself, beautiful. You always are, to me. You hate yourself a lot, and I want that to change. You're wrong about your flaws, in general... more than I think you realize.
More than I think you know.
Special: An owed summer, a pledged love, magnificent sons
They approached the cave: the dark-haired barbarian, the fair-haired elf, the ork with a pipe and the Sherlock Holmes uniform, the brown-haired human with a severe chin, level-headed gaze.
"We proceed as planned," said the last, his voice strong and manly.
"But, Orion--the Undead walk those caverns," reminded the Sherlock-ork, taking a swig of his pipe.
"We go regardless, Watson," said the elf, drawing his sword with an air of challenge. "We must reach the Lake of dreams and the Haven in the Village."
The dark-haired barbarian smiles. "We can find light in those caves," he said. "Mark me."
"What say you, Finley?" Asks Orion, "What light is there in a cave of Death?"
He gestured behind them, towards the setting sun in the Valley below, and suddenly, a beautiful woman appeared, dazzling sunlight traveling in Celtic patterns over her skin; her hair a soft blond, her skin pale, her eyes--bright--and grey-green. She was clad in a white dress that flowed like angels' wings, translucent enough that the sun glimmered in it in an on odd blue light--and she smiled.
A beautiful, perfect smile from this attractive, thin woman, more beautiful than any before.
"My wife," said Barbarian-Finley, "Payton Wiese."
Hey, a girl can dream, right?
Today, Finley told me his mother wants him to work at housework all throughout Spring Break. That made me pissed, so I told him that his mother didn't have a lot to worry about. I said, maybe I don't know her so well, maybe she has stress I don't know about; like dealing with Derek and his business, but she has two beautiful, strong, healthy sons, and she should really be proud of them. She was mad that Riley stayed away for an extra night?
That's shit to me. If I didn't come home, my mother's worry isn't about how she's going to punish me; it's if I'm lying dead in a ditch somewhere after seizing... my mother's worry when I leave my house at any time is if I'm going to die alone, in the dark.
She's mad they don't do housework? Her job's stressful? My mom looks after a house with seven people and three animals, and runs her own section of a company.
Point two: Nan's stressed in general life.
Fuck you. Don't tell me about stressed. You wanna know stress? You give your baby a syringe full of insulin. You listen to him say, "Mommy, please don't hurt me anymore." You watch your other son draw pictures with dark eyes and blood dripping from their teeth. You pack your son's ass full of bandages, after removing the ones covered in blood EVERY DAY, and then put new ones in while he tries not to scream because it hurts so bad EVERY DAY, you take that blood on your hands, and then go back to work. Start smiling again.
You have healthy, strong, sons, sons that, were I their mother, I would be so proud of. Even if Finley weren't mine, it wouldn't matter. They work hard for you. They clean house for you, and whatever you ask of them, they do it. You know they are safe more than ninety-nine percent of the time. They gave up one--now two--spring breaks, one winter break, and an entire summer being slave labor to build you a new house while you barely did anything. I gave up my winter break and spring break, and my summer, and now I'm going to have to give up another one.
How dare you. How dare you take the last time we have before we're plunged into responsibility like this. How dare you!
Riley? Finley? You are magnificent sons, and were I your mother, I would be so... so proud of you.
I'm angry she's not--and she owes me a summer. At least, she owes me that summer. At least. She owes me all the plans Finley and I had to give up for her--all the frivolity, camping trips, picnics, Lake Ripley parties, Renascence fairs, everything, she owes it to us.
Katie left for Georgia today. I'll miss her... Live free, friend. See the world through your special eyes... and know I love you.
Always, know that.
"We proceed as planned," said the last, his voice strong and manly.
"But, Orion--the Undead walk those caverns," reminded the Sherlock-ork, taking a swig of his pipe.
"We go regardless, Watson," said the elf, drawing his sword with an air of challenge. "We must reach the Lake of dreams and the Haven in the Village."
The dark-haired barbarian smiles. "We can find light in those caves," he said. "Mark me."
"What say you, Finley?" Asks Orion, "What light is there in a cave of Death?"
He gestured behind them, towards the setting sun in the Valley below, and suddenly, a beautiful woman appeared, dazzling sunlight traveling in Celtic patterns over her skin; her hair a soft blond, her skin pale, her eyes--bright--and grey-green. She was clad in a white dress that flowed like angels' wings, translucent enough that the sun glimmered in it in an on odd blue light--and she smiled.
A beautiful, perfect smile from this attractive, thin woman, more beautiful than any before.
"My wife," said Barbarian-Finley, "Payton Wiese."
Hey, a girl can dream, right?
Today, Finley told me his mother wants him to work at housework all throughout Spring Break. That made me pissed, so I told him that his mother didn't have a lot to worry about. I said, maybe I don't know her so well, maybe she has stress I don't know about; like dealing with Derek and his business, but she has two beautiful, strong, healthy sons, and she should really be proud of them. She was mad that Riley stayed away for an extra night?
That's shit to me. If I didn't come home, my mother's worry isn't about how she's going to punish me; it's if I'm lying dead in a ditch somewhere after seizing... my mother's worry when I leave my house at any time is if I'm going to die alone, in the dark.
She's mad they don't do housework? Her job's stressful? My mom looks after a house with seven people and three animals, and runs her own section of a company.
Point two: Nan's stressed in general life.
Fuck you. Don't tell me about stressed. You wanna know stress? You give your baby a syringe full of insulin. You listen to him say, "Mommy, please don't hurt me anymore." You watch your other son draw pictures with dark eyes and blood dripping from their teeth. You pack your son's ass full of bandages, after removing the ones covered in blood EVERY DAY, and then put new ones in while he tries not to scream because it hurts so bad EVERY DAY, you take that blood on your hands, and then go back to work. Start smiling again.
You have healthy, strong, sons, sons that, were I their mother, I would be so proud of. Even if Finley weren't mine, it wouldn't matter. They work hard for you. They clean house for you, and whatever you ask of them, they do it. You know they are safe more than ninety-nine percent of the time. They gave up one--now two--spring breaks, one winter break, and an entire summer being slave labor to build you a new house while you barely did anything. I gave up my winter break and spring break, and my summer, and now I'm going to have to give up another one.
How dare you. How dare you take the last time we have before we're plunged into responsibility like this. How dare you!
Riley? Finley? You are magnificent sons, and were I your mother, I would be so... so proud of you.
I'm angry she's not--and she owes me a summer. At least, she owes me that summer. At least. She owes me all the plans Finley and I had to give up for her--all the frivolity, camping trips, picnics, Lake Ripley parties, Renascence fairs, everything, she owes it to us.
Katie left for Georgia today. I'll miss her... Live free, friend. See the world through your special eyes... and know I love you.
Always, know that.
Special: Beautiful listener
After work, Katie came to pick me up at home.
On the way there, we talk about things--to pretend one is flying while sitting in a car, one needs only to close their eyes and imagine their arms flung out and running, then open your eyes and look straight out the window. It's the best way to feel free in the world. She tells me about how she remembers when she were funny easily and could make people laugh. If she made people laugh, she said, people would come back to her... and I think she wanted them to come back. Like most of us, she's changed a lot in the past year. Not all of it's for the better, but I love her for it, regardless. With people, she says, that's what she is; either emo and self-centered, or funny and happy. She says I get a mix of both, which makes me happy.
Katie bought me eggs last night at the Cone. I'm happy about that; I hadn't eaten all day. After seeing Taylor's newest battle scar, even listening to 'My Life would suck without you' didn't cheer me up. Finley couldn't come; but Katie could--and she did. Even though she's leaving for Georgia today and still had to pack... she gave up that peaceful time to drive me around and sing together and generally be a pair of friends. My heart hurts for her; she lost someone she loved a lot--a Lady Elaine--and, while I know that she's gone to Heaven and is with God, it doesn't make it any less painful for her.
I've got to learn to be more politically correct; that's the message of the night. I can't be called trustworthy if I open my mouth to everybody--not that I ever had or would, but she, for whatever reason, had to say that, and I listened. I assured her that apart from this blog, I don't scream to the world anything. If it was bad enough for her to mention it, that probably didn't help, but...
Anyway.
While I was just starting to do Katie's dishes, we talked about a beautiful thing she'd written, and then Katie (who was going to run to her house) stopped me from pouring more scalding water into the sink and looked at me and said, "Payton..." slowly, hesitantly.
Whenever somebody mentions my name, in that particular voice, and we've been close, my gut reaction is that I've done something wrong, or that they've only been talking to me because they feel sorry for me.
"You make me feel okay to be weak," she says, while not saying (but I realize she's trying to say), you help me a lot Payton; you've given me a lot, "and... well.... I want to help you, too."
Katie told me that we could make me really beautiful if I tried to be, a little more. She said maybe part of the reason people don't like me is because I wear clothes that don't fit me well, things like that. It might be a way to present myself confidently, so maybe people will stop and listen to me.
Ouch. I had felt particularly pretty on that day; I wore a colored shirt which matched my eyes and a pair of jeans that weren't... well, flattering, but... I felt decently pretty.
Katie amends, maybe from the look on my face. "Not that you aren't already..."
I haven't said a word in response yet. It's fear, that thing that closes even the loosest of lips, that takes me now. My hands shake as I begin on the silverware. Finley texts me to sing him a lullaby, even if he won't hear it, he'll know it's there... and I hum one for him. Katie says, "Opinions, woman! Say something?" Fear on her face, too. "Oh, c'mon, Payton. Say something."
"Something," I say obediently, turning back to the dishes. I throw my hands in the water, which isn't hot enough anymore. I scowl, annoyed, turn on the hot water, and mentally warn it it'd better stay hot or I'd go for its babies.
"That's not what I meant and you know it, Payton. Come on... what are you thinking? Are you angry?" I shake my head. "Annoyed? Frustrated?" Two more head shakes. I want to say,
Are you sure you could make me pretty? A lot of people have tried, but I feel more ugly by the day. Especially next to people as beautiful as Kate, and Ms. Schultz, and confident as Hannah Nathan, and well-practiced as Brodi, and people like Morgan and April, who are beautiful with little to no effort. My heart feels ugly; why shouldn't I be? I am anyway. When your heart is refused for trying to make friendship, what else can you be?
And,
I don't think it'd make a difference. People hurt me without even realizing it. The world isn't you, Katie, no matter how much I wish that were the difference.
Instead, I say, "I don't feel like I'm worth being beautiful, Katie."
"You could try it," she suggested. "I mean, you have Finley, so you're not going for any special person's attention, but..."
She looks at me.
"Still thinking about that letter?"
I nod.
"Payton.... it's not.... it's not you, you know that, right? She's just..." Katie's made a very valiant effort not to talk about Kate tonight. "...she's not ready for people like you, Payton." I wish Katie would leave. I kinda want to cry after the combination of hope-which-stung thing. Make me beautiful? Are you kidding? I love you, honey, and I appreciate the intention, but... Katie, even the people I beg to see my heart won't look at me. They pass me in the hallways without so much as a smile. They don't see me, and they don't want to. Especially the ones who I wish would give me a chance. Did you know that Kate's been avoiding me? I'm almost tempted to ask if I'm right on that, but I don't. I won't have Katie betray her friend's confidence.
Now, of all times; after I tried to tell someone else the truth about me and they threw it back in my face with a relieved expression, someone I love and my heart hurts for doesn't care--NOW is the time to suggest this?
Oh, Katie. Thank you.
I realize there's been a lapse in the conversation as I collapse toward tears. "Katie, you've seen my prom pictures, right?" I ask, and she nods.
"You know what my mother told me while we were taking those pictures?" Head shake. I turn back to her sink, focusing on a stubborn, pizza-stained spoon. The water is scalding. Perfect. "She told me that if I hadn't been so clumsy, maybe I wouldn't have that band-aid, and they'd be better. I'd be a decent match for Finley." I set the spoon aside, pick up a fork (I always start with the silverware).
Katie stares at me a minute; I can feel her gaze on my neck the way lovers feel a caress.
I continue, "It is my mother's way to find the one flaw, the one issue, and point it to me. No matter how hard I try, I'm not good enough. I feel insufficient, all the time." I set down the fork, reach for another spoon.
Brad comes home just as I open my mouth to go, again.
Katie's off-put by his arrival (so am I, if truth is to be told). She talks to him about Hannah, and he's confused. Katie? Ask about Hannah? He gives a glance at the hot water and the spoon with gratitude. He's very cute, sometimes. I love him.
I start singing 'Sing, sweet nightingale' as I clean, and then, Katie turns to me and goes, "I still have to go to the house. Wanna come with me?" The underlying message being, 'dangnabit, you never gave me an answer, younger me!'
"No," I say, sadly, because I really just want to clean up her kitchen. She raises an eyebrow; I realize I'm being unintentionally rude.
"B-but... your dishes..." Brad glances at us.
"They'll be here when you get back," he smile-speaks. Aww, Brad!
"Then yes," I say, "I will go." I put on my shoes, and walk towards Katie... we get in her car.
I start singing again. "A dream... is a wish your heart makes.... when you're fast asleep; in dreams, we can lose our heartaches--whatever we wish for, we keep..."
Katie frowns. "What is that from?" I smile at her, my best, fullest Payton smile. When I'm around Katie, I don't have to try for that smile. It just... comes out.
"Cinderella," I reply.
"Rags-to-riches? That's Cinderella, right?" I nod.
"Oh my God, I should be your freakin' Fairy Godmother!" I giggle.
"Works for me." She asks me who my favorite broadway artist is, and I first reply Victoria clark (Light in the Piazza, Clara's mother), and then switch to Sierra Boggess (Ariel, Christine). She tells me her favorite is from Spam-a-lot, she sang the song of the Ladies of the Lake. Funny song, and pretty voice. I can't remember her name... Sara Rameriez, I think.
When we quietly walk inside (it's after midnight, now), my phone rings. It's mom. She's in Madison and will be until the wee hours of the morning, so I need to get home, Taylor's in trouble. Time to diffuse a situation, play mom. ...I do that more often than I should.
Katie takes me home, and we talk in her car.
"You really think you could make me beautiful?" I ask, and she replies,
"Payton, you already are."
When we get home, I don't get out. We talk in her car about life, each other, ourselves. She's got a big life, and when she really wants to, she can reach into her pocket and throw them into the air like stars. And suddenly, you're surrounded by those stars. You can look into those Heavens and the world... is wonderful. To touch one is to be reminded of the Hope we get--not only from God, but from living.
We talk a long time, and then I fix my home again. Stop mom and pops from fighting, distract Taylor... wake up to screaming the next morning. Peacekeeper; always peacekeeper.
World, I want you to love me... and I deserve to be loved. Please.
Just give me a chance, okay? I give you chances. All of you. Each and every day, when you walk away from me, my heart gives you a piece of it to treasure. That is my weakness. That is my flaw. You have a piece of my heart, right now, whether you want it or not. I'm here for you, no matter who you are or how you've hurt me... I will always love you. I will listen without words or give you words for listening.
I want you to be happy.
I know you don't read this, but right now, that includes you, Kate. I wrote that letter because I wanted you to be happy. I see that you need help, and I knew... I knew it wouldn't be from me. I know you don't like me... but I wanted you to. I wanted you to so badly, because you talked to me when I was nothing. Even though I feel like nothing around you now... I still want to help you. Even if that just means... listening.
I live in silence; after all, how can one be a better listener than that?
On the way there, we talk about things--to pretend one is flying while sitting in a car, one needs only to close their eyes and imagine their arms flung out and running, then open your eyes and look straight out the window. It's the best way to feel free in the world. She tells me about how she remembers when she were funny easily and could make people laugh. If she made people laugh, she said, people would come back to her... and I think she wanted them to come back. Like most of us, she's changed a lot in the past year. Not all of it's for the better, but I love her for it, regardless. With people, she says, that's what she is; either emo and self-centered, or funny and happy. She says I get a mix of both, which makes me happy.
Katie bought me eggs last night at the Cone. I'm happy about that; I hadn't eaten all day. After seeing Taylor's newest battle scar, even listening to 'My Life would suck without you' didn't cheer me up. Finley couldn't come; but Katie could--and she did. Even though she's leaving for Georgia today and still had to pack... she gave up that peaceful time to drive me around and sing together and generally be a pair of friends. My heart hurts for her; she lost someone she loved a lot--a Lady Elaine--and, while I know that she's gone to Heaven and is with God, it doesn't make it any less painful for her.
I've got to learn to be more politically correct; that's the message of the night. I can't be called trustworthy if I open my mouth to everybody--not that I ever had or would, but she, for whatever reason, had to say that, and I listened. I assured her that apart from this blog, I don't scream to the world anything. If it was bad enough for her to mention it, that probably didn't help, but...
Anyway.
While I was just starting to do Katie's dishes, we talked about a beautiful thing she'd written, and then Katie (who was going to run to her house) stopped me from pouring more scalding water into the sink and looked at me and said, "Payton..." slowly, hesitantly.
Whenever somebody mentions my name, in that particular voice, and we've been close, my gut reaction is that I've done something wrong, or that they've only been talking to me because they feel sorry for me.
"You make me feel okay to be weak," she says, while not saying (but I realize she's trying to say), you help me a lot Payton; you've given me a lot, "and... well.... I want to help you, too."
Katie told me that we could make me really beautiful if I tried to be, a little more. She said maybe part of the reason people don't like me is because I wear clothes that don't fit me well, things like that. It might be a way to present myself confidently, so maybe people will stop and listen to me.
Ouch. I had felt particularly pretty on that day; I wore a colored shirt which matched my eyes and a pair of jeans that weren't... well, flattering, but... I felt decently pretty.
Katie amends, maybe from the look on my face. "Not that you aren't already..."
I haven't said a word in response yet. It's fear, that thing that closes even the loosest of lips, that takes me now. My hands shake as I begin on the silverware. Finley texts me to sing him a lullaby, even if he won't hear it, he'll know it's there... and I hum one for him. Katie says, "Opinions, woman! Say something?" Fear on her face, too. "Oh, c'mon, Payton. Say something."
"Something," I say obediently, turning back to the dishes. I throw my hands in the water, which isn't hot enough anymore. I scowl, annoyed, turn on the hot water, and mentally warn it it'd better stay hot or I'd go for its babies.
"That's not what I meant and you know it, Payton. Come on... what are you thinking? Are you angry?" I shake my head. "Annoyed? Frustrated?" Two more head shakes. I want to say,
Are you sure you could make me pretty? A lot of people have tried, but I feel more ugly by the day. Especially next to people as beautiful as Kate, and Ms. Schultz, and confident as Hannah Nathan, and well-practiced as Brodi, and people like Morgan and April, who are beautiful with little to no effort. My heart feels ugly; why shouldn't I be? I am anyway. When your heart is refused for trying to make friendship, what else can you be?
And,
I don't think it'd make a difference. People hurt me without even realizing it. The world isn't you, Katie, no matter how much I wish that were the difference.
Instead, I say, "I don't feel like I'm worth being beautiful, Katie."
"You could try it," she suggested. "I mean, you have Finley, so you're not going for any special person's attention, but..."
She looks at me.
"Still thinking about that letter?"
I nod.
"Payton.... it's not.... it's not you, you know that, right? She's just..." Katie's made a very valiant effort not to talk about Kate tonight. "...she's not ready for people like you, Payton." I wish Katie would leave. I kinda want to cry after the combination of hope-which-stung thing. Make me beautiful? Are you kidding? I love you, honey, and I appreciate the intention, but... Katie, even the people I beg to see my heart won't look at me. They pass me in the hallways without so much as a smile. They don't see me, and they don't want to. Especially the ones who I wish would give me a chance. Did you know that Kate's been avoiding me? I'm almost tempted to ask if I'm right on that, but I don't. I won't have Katie betray her friend's confidence.
Now, of all times; after I tried to tell someone else the truth about me and they threw it back in my face with a relieved expression, someone I love and my heart hurts for doesn't care--NOW is the time to suggest this?
Oh, Katie. Thank you.
I realize there's been a lapse in the conversation as I collapse toward tears. "Katie, you've seen my prom pictures, right?" I ask, and she nods.
"You know what my mother told me while we were taking those pictures?" Head shake. I turn back to her sink, focusing on a stubborn, pizza-stained spoon. The water is scalding. Perfect. "She told me that if I hadn't been so clumsy, maybe I wouldn't have that band-aid, and they'd be better. I'd be a decent match for Finley." I set the spoon aside, pick up a fork (I always start with the silverware).
Katie stares at me a minute; I can feel her gaze on my neck the way lovers feel a caress.
I continue, "It is my mother's way to find the one flaw, the one issue, and point it to me. No matter how hard I try, I'm not good enough. I feel insufficient, all the time." I set down the fork, reach for another spoon.
Brad comes home just as I open my mouth to go, again.
Katie's off-put by his arrival (so am I, if truth is to be told). She talks to him about Hannah, and he's confused. Katie? Ask about Hannah? He gives a glance at the hot water and the spoon with gratitude. He's very cute, sometimes. I love him.
I start singing 'Sing, sweet nightingale' as I clean, and then, Katie turns to me and goes, "I still have to go to the house. Wanna come with me?" The underlying message being, 'dangnabit, you never gave me an answer, younger me!'
"No," I say, sadly, because I really just want to clean up her kitchen. She raises an eyebrow; I realize I'm being unintentionally rude.
"B-but... your dishes..." Brad glances at us.
"They'll be here when you get back," he smile-speaks. Aww, Brad!
"Then yes," I say, "I will go." I put on my shoes, and walk towards Katie... we get in her car.
I start singing again. "A dream... is a wish your heart makes.... when you're fast asleep; in dreams, we can lose our heartaches--whatever we wish for, we keep..."
Katie frowns. "What is that from?" I smile at her, my best, fullest Payton smile. When I'm around Katie, I don't have to try for that smile. It just... comes out.
"Cinderella," I reply.
"Rags-to-riches? That's Cinderella, right?" I nod.
"Oh my God, I should be your freakin' Fairy Godmother!" I giggle.
"Works for me." She asks me who my favorite broadway artist is, and I first reply Victoria clark (Light in the Piazza, Clara's mother), and then switch to Sierra Boggess (Ariel, Christine). She tells me her favorite is from Spam-a-lot, she sang the song of the Ladies of the Lake. Funny song, and pretty voice. I can't remember her name... Sara Rameriez, I think.
When we quietly walk inside (it's after midnight, now), my phone rings. It's mom. She's in Madison and will be until the wee hours of the morning, so I need to get home, Taylor's in trouble. Time to diffuse a situation, play mom. ...I do that more often than I should.
Katie takes me home, and we talk in her car.
"You really think you could make me beautiful?" I ask, and she replies,
"Payton, you already are."
When we get home, I don't get out. We talk in her car about life, each other, ourselves. She's got a big life, and when she really wants to, she can reach into her pocket and throw them into the air like stars. And suddenly, you're surrounded by those stars. You can look into those Heavens and the world... is wonderful. To touch one is to be reminded of the Hope we get--not only from God, but from living.
We talk a long time, and then I fix my home again. Stop mom and pops from fighting, distract Taylor... wake up to screaming the next morning. Peacekeeper; always peacekeeper.
World, I want you to love me... and I deserve to be loved. Please.
Just give me a chance, okay? I give you chances. All of you. Each and every day, when you walk away from me, my heart gives you a piece of it to treasure. That is my weakness. That is my flaw. You have a piece of my heart, right now, whether you want it or not. I'm here for you, no matter who you are or how you've hurt me... I will always love you. I will listen without words or give you words for listening.
I want you to be happy.
I know you don't read this, but right now, that includes you, Kate. I wrote that letter because I wanted you to be happy. I see that you need help, and I knew... I knew it wouldn't be from me. I know you don't like me... but I wanted you to. I wanted you to so badly, because you talked to me when I was nothing. Even though I feel like nothing around you now... I still want to help you. Even if that just means... listening.
I live in silence; after all, how can one be a better listener than that?
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Special: Wands
Went back to stare, with longing, at some of the wands at Alivan's, today. They are so beautiful, and really made with the right wood and materials, and... man... they sell healing wands. Did you hear me? Wands that heal. I think that if there's any magic in the whole world God would sanction, it'd be healing. It'd be helping others. Did not his own son conjure for that purpose?
I want the Padauk wand. It's energy fluxuates, from what I know of Padauk... like me. It's plain, but it is beautiful if you look--if you really look hard--like me, also. In the Harry Potter series, you look at the wands the Noble collection's made with awe because they match the characters so well. Alivan's does that, too. You can look at the pictures, but when you see the right one... you know.
None of that resin-made crap from them with the metal inerds, either. None of that shit. They have youtube videos showing them carving up their wands, making them specially. They're very beautiful. They even come with a box that's engraved with their seal, wrapped in velvet... Of course, if I buy one, I'll also be buying the sheath. Shoulder-to-hip, it's perfect ''for the wizard on the go.'' Well, I'm not a wizard on the go, but I'd love to wear it on Halloween or even to the Ren faires I'm so partial to.
I entered a contest today. The Padauk wand is one of the wands you can chose to have sent to you if you win. This is the SAME COMPANY that legitimately made the Wands for the Movies (they're pretty proud about it), so I think it's safe enough.
I entered it. I really did it. Man, that wand is so...
me.
Go ahead, folks. If you're in my head, give me a holler to live in my fantasy world.
See if I care; it's right to want to help people.
http://www.alivans.com/custom/cart/edit.asp?p=97587
http://www.alivans.com/custom/cart/edit.asp?p=96952
I want the Padauk wand. It's energy fluxuates, from what I know of Padauk... like me. It's plain, but it is beautiful if you look--if you really look hard--like me, also. In the Harry Potter series, you look at the wands the Noble collection's made with awe because they match the characters so well. Alivan's does that, too. You can look at the pictures, but when you see the right one... you know.
None of that resin-made crap from them with the metal inerds, either. None of that shit. They have youtube videos showing them carving up their wands, making them specially. They're very beautiful. They even come with a box that's engraved with their seal, wrapped in velvet... Of course, if I buy one, I'll also be buying the sheath. Shoulder-to-hip, it's perfect ''for the wizard on the go.'' Well, I'm not a wizard on the go, but I'd love to wear it on Halloween or even to the Ren faires I'm so partial to.
I entered a contest today. The Padauk wand is one of the wands you can chose to have sent to you if you win. This is the SAME COMPANY that legitimately made the Wands for the Movies (they're pretty proud about it), so I think it's safe enough.
I entered it. I really did it. Man, that wand is so...
me.
Go ahead, folks. If you're in my head, give me a holler to live in my fantasy world.
See if I care; it's right to want to help people.
http://www.alivans.com/custom/cart/edit.asp?p=97587
http://www.alivans.com/custom/cart/edit.asp?p=96952
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Special: Forget the letter, Kate (Don't worry, no one likes me anyway)
Mr. Noll put a ban on rhetorical question openers for our essays, so I will use one here.
Have you ever been simultaneously run over by a bear claw, showered with poisoned needles, drowned in a pool, and had everyone laugh at you while it happened?
I haven't either, but I sure feel like it on the inside. Earlier this year, before play rehearsals started, I felt.. confident. I had a friend like Katie, I had a love to devour me like Finley's. They warmed my heart, made me happy.. and the world was different. Lately, though, it hasn't felt like the world was different. It's like the world has been trying to stop itself from smoking.... it starts, it stops, it starts again with nary a thought as to why they stopped in the first place. It grumbles at the foolishness of that silly thing called Will power.
The thing is, when I went into play rehearsal.. well, I thought it would be just like Sophomore year, when people smiled, talked to me. But they didn't. They tolerated me, but as soon as I spoke...
I felt heavy, inwardly. Like their tolerance was burning a hole in my skin. If you have a problem with me, please, just tell me. Just... just say it. I'll tell you. I'll give you my soul in a red-painted box, sing you a ballad, dance to show myself truly, without a thought. I am honest, occasionally valiant, good.
So why does this hurt?
Ms. Schultz gave me a dress-over shirt combination to try on today that looked rather like it had been Ms. Steiner's prom dress. I remember how many times she has promised that Allegra will be beautiful, that Debra would be beautiful, that Justine would be proud of herself.... not me. For someone who wanted to give me self-confidence so much last year, she sure has a funny way of showing it. I waited a long time before I tried on that dress, just staring. I pictured Kate at Winter Ball, then glanced at the mirror... wiped away a tear... threw on the dress.
The fit wasn't terrible, it was just... I looked... felt... pudgy. Old. Ugly.
That fits, I remind myself. That's what we want, for my character. The old woman that nobody likes, who doesn't understand what real life is like, who confuses guests with the Avon lady, who doesn't get out much... who the adults politely tolerate.
I do understand, and I shouldn't have to. Kate gets to bare her entire soul on stage. I could even have managed it a little with Mrs. Vickers, if Kelli weren't a spot-on match for the character. Dominic is even managing to portray himself through Edward, Walter, Lt. McMillian. But I know Beatrice not enough in some parts and too much in others. I'm not sixty. All I think about is what it would be like to be free, some days... at least, a lot more than I think about why I'm confused.
During today's show, I went up to Kate. She hadn't even looked at me once, and she looked slightly annoyed I was there, like I were an olive slice she could stomp on. I felt like nothing, and my heart ached for it.
There were bruises on her arms.
"Kate?"
"Yes." I don't write a question mark, because there wasn't one. It was a statement. The underlying tone was, 'Go away, Payton. Gaaaawd!'
"Would you do me a favor?" The fear creeps into my voice, I can't help it. Roy and Connie are causing a show-down. Then:
"Sure, Payton," she says politely, as though I'd asked the weather; but her eyes--beautiful eyes--are wary, "What?"
"Forget about that letter, okay?"
She glances at me suspiciously. Her eyebrows seem to be shouting, 'Drama!' "Maybe."
"No. No Maybe. Forget it."
"Why should I?" Oh, of course. This is America, the land of instant gratification. Why shouldn't you get something for helping a human being? She seems relieved. Her whole face just lit up, and she delivers her lines better afterward.
"No. None of that. Just... forget it. Okay?"
"If you want me to forget it, why did you write it?" I've written and thought out so many answers to that question, Kate. If only you knew.
"I just wanted you to know that you could count on me, and I tried to explain a few things," I hedged. "I didn't mean... I just wanted you to know I was there. By the way, you looked really great in Pink yesterday." But if it means your disapproval, I don't want it, I think, sullenness creeping into the edges of my vision. Go back to ignoring me; at least I'm only invisible, then.
At least you don't hate me.
"Bruises?" I ask, gesturing. "From what?"
"Daniel," she says. Then, seeing my expression, "--he didn't do it on purpose..."
As she explains some bull about wrestling, I see her face. I see her eyes. A chill passes over me; I think of Finley after the first time he accidentally hurt me as the Wolf... how he cried...
She's lying.
"You know, Payton, you're really intense."
Kelli comes over, they talk. Stupidly, I keep trying to get a word in edge-wise, like I had this silly delusion this would matter to her, my friend. Why would it?
"I'm not intense normally," I said. "I actually laugh more often than not." But why would I take off my mask around you?, I think. Why, when you don't even trust anyone, yourself?
Kelli and Kate laugh about something that would have earned me emptiness in the heart and jokes made at my expense, if I'd said it. If I'd tried to be human, at all.
"That's... all I wanted to say," I tell her, heartbroken. With a small bow--my mask, you know--I walk towards the kitchen, wait for my entrance.
I'll say the lines.
There are a lot of alumni today. It makes me happy. Katie even came. I ask Kate for a ride home, because I know Katie's probably busy. She tells me to go ask Katie.
Of course. Why accept it from me? I might try and talk to her again; God save her. I just feel like such a terrible monster, such an ugly problem...
I do ask Katie. Katie agrees. I stand patiently, wait for conversations to end--I don't take part in them at Play, not anymore, not after that night at the mall, where I learned I was still a freak, after all--and leave with her. Nick and Brad and Katie talk. I listen.
Katie tells them over and over she's just taking me home, and then, when we head for her car, she says, "I won't drink with you, Payton." But Katie, you're my best friend. There's nothing I wouldn't do if you asked me. If we're best friends, shouldn't I see the dark parts of your soul, too? And don't drink. Don't tear yourself down like that.
I don't say that. I tighten my grip on the folder, my book.
"What's wrong, sweetie?"
"Nothing." I fasten my seatbelt.
"Payton..." she warns. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing... interesting," I amend.
"Your definition of interesting and mine are very different, dear."
"You're busy," I remind.
"Payton, just tell me what's wrong? You're not bubbly or happy or... you. Instead, you're... like... emo and quiet." I don't have people remain focus on me... but this is Katie, I remind myself, and the tears come as we reach the bridge edge; this is my friend.
"I'm not emo." I almost snap it at her, but don't. "I'm reserved."
"Reserved?" Katie purses her lips in amusement. "Just tell me what it is, Payton."
I hesitate.
"My heart hurts," I settle on, the hole in my heart getting bigger for saying it.
"For you, or someone else?"
"Both," I decide.
I tell her what's really been going on at play rehearsal. I literally sob. I tell her how relieved Kate was to be rid of me. I tell her how wrong I feel at play rehearsal, that they don't hate me; they just don't like me. I don't think Katie knows what to do with a sobbing teenager with her passenger seat, but she tries. She listens. She tells me I have to fight for that, that I shouldn't care about what Kate thinks and shouldn't base my happiness on that.
She congratulates me on finally talking to Kate.
I don't think I can explain why having someone throw my heart back at me, and done it happily, hurts. You've either experienced it, or you haven't.
I experience it a lot.
She tells me I should talk to Schultz about it. I tell her no, and she rephrases and re-words over and over again, but I won't accept. Whenever she tries, a new image of Schultz's disapproval or personal heart-sores pops into my head. I won't be another Allen. I'm just... I'm just over sensitive. After all, no one's been outright cruel to me. I'm sure... I'm sure it's nothing. They don't mean to...
Well. What each of them do is different, but you get the idea. They'd never hurt me on purpose... it just hurts. I'm going to focus really hard on this play.
Katie asks me to write a letter, telling her only about how I feel at rehearsal, and I slip my mask back on, go back to the figurative language, but Katie tears it off again.... Katie hugs me. It's pretty hard to feel bad about yourself, to feel like a monster, when someone willingly hugs you. Music gently floats on the air with a song by Franchesca. I snuggle a moment, and I'm a little more myself... a little Payton again. Just a little. She tells me how awesome I am, and she seems to be saying other things without saying them, too. Things my heart feels.
She's busy this week, though, so I won't see her.
That makes me sad after tonight. I could use... someone like Katie. I could really be happy with her, like I have before. We talk awhile more about this conversation, and then I turn to her and say, "Don't drink tonight, Katie."
"I won't."
I look at her gently, because I can't be anything else right then. "Promise."
"Promise," she says firmly. I believe her.
So I write for her. I tell her truths I'd rather not when she seemed so happy before my selfish tears... but I won't talk to Schultz. I won't. I won't cause her more pain, more drama, more reason to complain about me when I'm not around... like a lot of other people do. I don't want my Katie to be hurt, either, and in Schultz's eyes--she is, after all, surrounded by teenagers throughout the work week, is she not?--asscioation with me is bad.
So I write. While I pour it out, word on word to form a blog city, I'm listening to 'Learning to be Silent', from the Footloose musical. It fits well. If you wanted them, here are the lyrics.
"Vi
Swallowing my words
Staring at the floor
Counting little cracks in the tile
Struggling to smile without choking
Learning to be silent
Ethel
Watching how the dust
Dances out the door
Noticing my hands start to shake
Contemplating taking up smoking
Learning to be silent
Vi & Ethel
Always hearing
Ethel
"Hush, Ethel!"
Vi
"Please, Vi!"
Vi & Ethel
"Let's not have this conversation"
Ethel
And so I stand by
While my mind takes a small vacation
Vi & Ethel
La la la la la la la la
Vi
Making little sounds
Other folks ignore
Ethel
Quieting the beat of my heart
Never being part of the moment
Vi & Ethel
Learning to be silent
Vi
Learning there are some topics that we don't even mention
Ethel
And if they come up, then we try to be vague
Vi
There are subjects from which we divert all attention
Ethel
And some we avoid like the plague
Vi & Ethel
I'm
Becoming a mime
Vi
Biting my tongue
Ethel
Biding my time
Vi
Trying not to scream
Ethel
Managed it before
Vi & Ethel
Knowing if I'm going to survive
Then, dammit
Ethel
I've got to practice
Vi
Practice
Vi & Ethel
Learning hmm hmm hmm..."
I understand those two really well, after being in a Play. It's really been a long time since I've felt like that... felt repressed... and alone. At least Katie's having fun, I think, glancing around my empty basement.
I can always read my book.
"Swallowing my words... staring at the floor. Counting little cracks in the tile..."
I'm learning to be silent.
...Happy Saint Patrick's day.
Have you ever been simultaneously run over by a bear claw, showered with poisoned needles, drowned in a pool, and had everyone laugh at you while it happened?
I haven't either, but I sure feel like it on the inside. Earlier this year, before play rehearsals started, I felt.. confident. I had a friend like Katie, I had a love to devour me like Finley's. They warmed my heart, made me happy.. and the world was different. Lately, though, it hasn't felt like the world was different. It's like the world has been trying to stop itself from smoking.... it starts, it stops, it starts again with nary a thought as to why they stopped in the first place. It grumbles at the foolishness of that silly thing called Will power.
The thing is, when I went into play rehearsal.. well, I thought it would be just like Sophomore year, when people smiled, talked to me. But they didn't. They tolerated me, but as soon as I spoke...
I felt heavy, inwardly. Like their tolerance was burning a hole in my skin. If you have a problem with me, please, just tell me. Just... just say it. I'll tell you. I'll give you my soul in a red-painted box, sing you a ballad, dance to show myself truly, without a thought. I am honest, occasionally valiant, good.
So why does this hurt?
Ms. Schultz gave me a dress-over shirt combination to try on today that looked rather like it had been Ms. Steiner's prom dress. I remember how many times she has promised that Allegra will be beautiful, that Debra would be beautiful, that Justine would be proud of herself.... not me. For someone who wanted to give me self-confidence so much last year, she sure has a funny way of showing it. I waited a long time before I tried on that dress, just staring. I pictured Kate at Winter Ball, then glanced at the mirror... wiped away a tear... threw on the dress.
The fit wasn't terrible, it was just... I looked... felt... pudgy. Old. Ugly.
That fits, I remind myself. That's what we want, for my character. The old woman that nobody likes, who doesn't understand what real life is like, who confuses guests with the Avon lady, who doesn't get out much... who the adults politely tolerate.
I do understand, and I shouldn't have to. Kate gets to bare her entire soul on stage. I could even have managed it a little with Mrs. Vickers, if Kelli weren't a spot-on match for the character. Dominic is even managing to portray himself through Edward, Walter, Lt. McMillian. But I know Beatrice not enough in some parts and too much in others. I'm not sixty. All I think about is what it would be like to be free, some days... at least, a lot more than I think about why I'm confused.
During today's show, I went up to Kate. She hadn't even looked at me once, and she looked slightly annoyed I was there, like I were an olive slice she could stomp on. I felt like nothing, and my heart ached for it.
There were bruises on her arms.
"Kate?"
"Yes." I don't write a question mark, because there wasn't one. It was a statement. The underlying tone was, 'Go away, Payton. Gaaaawd!'
"Would you do me a favor?" The fear creeps into my voice, I can't help it. Roy and Connie are causing a show-down. Then:
"Sure, Payton," she says politely, as though I'd asked the weather; but her eyes--beautiful eyes--are wary, "What?"
"Forget about that letter, okay?"
She glances at me suspiciously. Her eyebrows seem to be shouting, 'Drama!' "Maybe."
"No. No Maybe. Forget it."
"Why should I?" Oh, of course. This is America, the land of instant gratification. Why shouldn't you get something for helping a human being? She seems relieved. Her whole face just lit up, and she delivers her lines better afterward.
"No. None of that. Just... forget it. Okay?"
"If you want me to forget it, why did you write it?" I've written and thought out so many answers to that question, Kate. If only you knew.
"I just wanted you to know that you could count on me, and I tried to explain a few things," I hedged. "I didn't mean... I just wanted you to know I was there. By the way, you looked really great in Pink yesterday." But if it means your disapproval, I don't want it, I think, sullenness creeping into the edges of my vision. Go back to ignoring me; at least I'm only invisible, then.
At least you don't hate me.
"Bruises?" I ask, gesturing. "From what?"
"Daniel," she says. Then, seeing my expression, "--he didn't do it on purpose..."
As she explains some bull about wrestling, I see her face. I see her eyes. A chill passes over me; I think of Finley after the first time he accidentally hurt me as the Wolf... how he cried...
She's lying.
"You know, Payton, you're really intense."
Kelli comes over, they talk. Stupidly, I keep trying to get a word in edge-wise, like I had this silly delusion this would matter to her, my friend. Why would it?
"I'm not intense normally," I said. "I actually laugh more often than not." But why would I take off my mask around you?, I think. Why, when you don't even trust anyone, yourself?
Kelli and Kate laugh about something that would have earned me emptiness in the heart and jokes made at my expense, if I'd said it. If I'd tried to be human, at all.
"That's... all I wanted to say," I tell her, heartbroken. With a small bow--my mask, you know--I walk towards the kitchen, wait for my entrance.
I'll say the lines.
There are a lot of alumni today. It makes me happy. Katie even came. I ask Kate for a ride home, because I know Katie's probably busy. She tells me to go ask Katie.
Of course. Why accept it from me? I might try and talk to her again; God save her. I just feel like such a terrible monster, such an ugly problem...
I do ask Katie. Katie agrees. I stand patiently, wait for conversations to end--I don't take part in them at Play, not anymore, not after that night at the mall, where I learned I was still a freak, after all--and leave with her. Nick and Brad and Katie talk. I listen.
Katie tells them over and over she's just taking me home, and then, when we head for her car, she says, "I won't drink with you, Payton." But Katie, you're my best friend. There's nothing I wouldn't do if you asked me. If we're best friends, shouldn't I see the dark parts of your soul, too? And don't drink. Don't tear yourself down like that.
I don't say that. I tighten my grip on the folder, my book.
"What's wrong, sweetie?"
"Nothing." I fasten my seatbelt.
"Payton..." she warns. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing... interesting," I amend.
"Your definition of interesting and mine are very different, dear."
"You're busy," I remind.
"Payton, just tell me what's wrong? You're not bubbly or happy or... you. Instead, you're... like... emo and quiet." I don't have people remain focus on me... but this is Katie, I remind myself, and the tears come as we reach the bridge edge; this is my friend.
"I'm not emo." I almost snap it at her, but don't. "I'm reserved."
"Reserved?" Katie purses her lips in amusement. "Just tell me what it is, Payton."
I hesitate.
"My heart hurts," I settle on, the hole in my heart getting bigger for saying it.
"For you, or someone else?"
"Both," I decide.
I tell her what's really been going on at play rehearsal. I literally sob. I tell her how relieved Kate was to be rid of me. I tell her how wrong I feel at play rehearsal, that they don't hate me; they just don't like me. I don't think Katie knows what to do with a sobbing teenager with her passenger seat, but she tries. She listens. She tells me I have to fight for that, that I shouldn't care about what Kate thinks and shouldn't base my happiness on that.
She congratulates me on finally talking to Kate.
I don't think I can explain why having someone throw my heart back at me, and done it happily, hurts. You've either experienced it, or you haven't.
I experience it a lot.
She tells me I should talk to Schultz about it. I tell her no, and she rephrases and re-words over and over again, but I won't accept. Whenever she tries, a new image of Schultz's disapproval or personal heart-sores pops into my head. I won't be another Allen. I'm just... I'm just over sensitive. After all, no one's been outright cruel to me. I'm sure... I'm sure it's nothing. They don't mean to...
Well. What each of them do is different, but you get the idea. They'd never hurt me on purpose... it just hurts. I'm going to focus really hard on this play.
Katie asks me to write a letter, telling her only about how I feel at rehearsal, and I slip my mask back on, go back to the figurative language, but Katie tears it off again.... Katie hugs me. It's pretty hard to feel bad about yourself, to feel like a monster, when someone willingly hugs you. Music gently floats on the air with a song by Franchesca. I snuggle a moment, and I'm a little more myself... a little Payton again. Just a little. She tells me how awesome I am, and she seems to be saying other things without saying them, too. Things my heart feels.
She's busy this week, though, so I won't see her.
That makes me sad after tonight. I could use... someone like Katie. I could really be happy with her, like I have before. We talk awhile more about this conversation, and then I turn to her and say, "Don't drink tonight, Katie."
"I won't."
I look at her gently, because I can't be anything else right then. "Promise."
"Promise," she says firmly. I believe her.
So I write for her. I tell her truths I'd rather not when she seemed so happy before my selfish tears... but I won't talk to Schultz. I won't. I won't cause her more pain, more drama, more reason to complain about me when I'm not around... like a lot of other people do. I don't want my Katie to be hurt, either, and in Schultz's eyes--she is, after all, surrounded by teenagers throughout the work week, is she not?--asscioation with me is bad.
So I write. While I pour it out, word on word to form a blog city, I'm listening to 'Learning to be Silent', from the Footloose musical. It fits well. If you wanted them, here are the lyrics.
"Vi
Swallowing my words
Staring at the floor
Counting little cracks in the tile
Struggling to smile without choking
Learning to be silent
Ethel
Watching how the dust
Dances out the door
Noticing my hands start to shake
Contemplating taking up smoking
Learning to be silent
Vi & Ethel
Always hearing
Ethel
"Hush, Ethel!"
Vi
"Please, Vi!"
Vi & Ethel
"Let's not have this conversation"
Ethel
And so I stand by
While my mind takes a small vacation
Vi & Ethel
La la la la la la la la
Vi
Making little sounds
Other folks ignore
Ethel
Quieting the beat of my heart
Never being part of the moment
Vi & Ethel
Learning to be silent
Vi
Learning there are some topics that we don't even mention
Ethel
And if they come up, then we try to be vague
Vi
There are subjects from which we divert all attention
Ethel
And some we avoid like the plague
Vi & Ethel
I'm
Becoming a mime
Vi
Biting my tongue
Ethel
Biding my time
Vi
Trying not to scream
Ethel
Managed it before
Vi & Ethel
Knowing if I'm going to survive
Then, dammit
Ethel
I've got to practice
Vi
Practice
Vi & Ethel
Learning hmm hmm hmm..."
I understand those two really well, after being in a Play. It's really been a long time since I've felt like that... felt repressed... and alone. At least Katie's having fun, I think, glancing around my empty basement.
I can always read my book.
"Swallowing my words... staring at the floor. Counting little cracks in the tile..."
I'm learning to be silent.
...Happy Saint Patrick's day.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Special: Nice things for Kate (I'm negative too often)
Today, I'm going to write some nice things about Kate. She wore pink today. I wonder if that means she, too, is trying to improve her soul-life? I'd tell her it's a good thing to try, but I think she'd hit me for it... doesn't really seem the type to accept advice, so far. I've even decided what to do about her... and me. You know, the 'ugh, Payton!' thing? Yeah. I think I'm going to just... just walk up to her and say, "Look, I just want to be your friend. I don't know about how to say that, so maybe I oughta just say it: I want to be your friend. I want to help you when you're down, and I think you might be right now. I just want you to know that you can trust me."
Something like that. She'd listen. There's a possibility she'd forget and even disregard, even roll her eyes like Schultz has when she graces me that common lie ("I'm fine"), but that's okay. All I can do is try... and I think, sometimes, all she needs is a real friend... someone to talk to. Not that her friends aren't real, but more I'm a different type of friend than a lot of people have. She's probably under a lot of pressure. Her life is full, from that pressure... from trying to live up to herself all the time, and not think about how (I'm pretty sure) she's been hurt in the past, aside from... from Katie, and what they could have had together.
Oh, Love. How fickle thou art!
I've got to make this okay. I just want a little more happiness. I just want Kate to know that there are good qualities about her, and she ignores them. But I won't tell her. She doesn't want that... I'll just show her. One good moment at a time.
Let me be her friend, God.
Please?
Something like that. She'd listen. There's a possibility she'd forget and even disregard, even roll her eyes like Schultz has when she graces me that common lie ("I'm fine"), but that's okay. All I can do is try... and I think, sometimes, all she needs is a real friend... someone to talk to. Not that her friends aren't real, but more I'm a different type of friend than a lot of people have. She's probably under a lot of pressure. Her life is full, from that pressure... from trying to live up to herself all the time, and not think about how (I'm pretty sure) she's been hurt in the past, aside from... from Katie, and what they could have had together.
Oh, Love. How fickle thou art!
I've got to make this okay. I just want a little more happiness. I just want Kate to know that there are good qualities about her, and she ignores them. But I won't tell her. She doesn't want that... I'll just show her. One good moment at a time.
Let me be her friend, God.
Please?
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Special: A hopeless dream for Schultz
Today, I'm writing a letter.
Dear Ms. Schultz,
I love you. I don't want this to be weird, I'm not a lesbian. I don't have amorous intentions towards you. But I love you, anyway. I love everyone like most only love in reserve, romantically. My whole heart and soul scours the world, every day, every moment, every breath and pulse... but none of that matters when I'm hurt. When I'm hurt, all of that world hurts, all the breaths and pulses come around me like water when one is drowning.
When things happen like that, they happen in the blink of an eye. Because I know the heart-songs of so many, I feel the anguish twice as much. You do not blink, Ms. Schultz. I love you so much, and I would do so much for even a glimpse of respect from your heart. I want you to realize how wonderful you are to us. A lot of us, but especially me, would do anything to protect you... but there's not a lot we can do when you're hurt.
You hurt me. I've spent the last year trying to be myself and found love for it, but when I'm with the play kids--and especially you--every word I say is wrong, and my every gesture reeks of awkward. I try so hard to fit in, and you correct me for trying to fit in. You mean to fix me. You mean to... FIX... me. Do you have any idea how much that hurts me? How much I envy people like Hannah Nathan or Kate Murley or Conner Staples or even Katie-bird, who have your respect? Your trust?
Do you have any idea how much it hurt me that you once gave me an award for being like Betsy Larson, only to later tell me you hate her? She has no respect for you? She bitches about you? She has no courage to speak to your face? ...That you don't like her at all?
Why?
Why me?
Don't you understand? I love you. I want to make you happy, I want to be your friend, and... and I'm invisible to you. I go to play practice and you ask me why my face is timid and my voice soft? That's why. I don't belong there. A lot of people are kind to me, but none of that matters if it is merely a gentle tolerance that they could offer any man upon a street. I'd die for them--for any of them, for you, for your mother if you asked me. If you gave me your social security number, I'd burn it and buy you ice cream.
I have an unyielding loyalty and devotion. You've made me cry three times this year alone, and I come to rehearsal the next day, or set construction or whatever the hell it is, and I offer you my heart.. and you take it. And then you set it on a shelf, and you forget it. You stamp on it when it suits you, but you can still keep it. It's yours. I want to help you. I want to make your heart stop hurting.... and I want you to trust me.
It won't happen. You see, you'll never read this. You don't want to know my heart, and I don't blame you. I don't blame you for not trusting me, either, since Kate Murley thinks I"m a liar. A lot of people probably think I'm a liar. I can ask you to stop hurting me, but as I've written, your eyes make me invisible. I am invisible to you... you don't even notice me enough to hurt me. No, not even enough to do that.
So I'm sorry I'm awkward. I'm sorry I embarrass you, and try to share my books with you that I love, the music I love... me in general. You've made it clear you do not want to be my friend, that I do not understand you on the complex level you allow others... no matter how much I wish things were different? They aren't. Dalton still grimaces when he has to hold my hand. You'll never know how much drama I save you, or how I pray for your heart every night.
As for Finley, I do not appreciate your insinuations. I'm not saying our relationship is perfect, but I do not appreciate this.... this... mockery of every time he takes my hand to smile at me. He's kind to me. He makes me human again... and you laugh at me while degrading him. I don't... I don't deserve that. You don't have to approve of our relationship and the direction its headed, but I do deserve respect from you. And so... so does my future husband.
Because I haven't told you about how Adam cheated on me, or what... what happened to Ryan. I haven't told you anything. I'm sorry you won't listen, because sometimes... sometimes I do have a beautiful heart.
So I'm writing this. A harmless letter filled with harmful words. Please be happy for yourself. Please? It's all I've ever really wanted for you.... to realize how beautiful you are.
You are to me.
Your invisible freak,
Payton
Dear Ms. Schultz,
I love you. I don't want this to be weird, I'm not a lesbian. I don't have amorous intentions towards you. But I love you, anyway. I love everyone like most only love in reserve, romantically. My whole heart and soul scours the world, every day, every moment, every breath and pulse... but none of that matters when I'm hurt. When I'm hurt, all of that world hurts, all the breaths and pulses come around me like water when one is drowning.
When things happen like that, they happen in the blink of an eye. Because I know the heart-songs of so many, I feel the anguish twice as much. You do not blink, Ms. Schultz. I love you so much, and I would do so much for even a glimpse of respect from your heart. I want you to realize how wonderful you are to us. A lot of us, but especially me, would do anything to protect you... but there's not a lot we can do when you're hurt.
You hurt me. I've spent the last year trying to be myself and found love for it, but when I'm with the play kids--and especially you--every word I say is wrong, and my every gesture reeks of awkward. I try so hard to fit in, and you correct me for trying to fit in. You mean to fix me. You mean to... FIX... me. Do you have any idea how much that hurts me? How much I envy people like Hannah Nathan or Kate Murley or Conner Staples or even Katie-bird, who have your respect? Your trust?
Do you have any idea how much it hurt me that you once gave me an award for being like Betsy Larson, only to later tell me you hate her? She has no respect for you? She bitches about you? She has no courage to speak to your face? ...That you don't like her at all?
Why?
Why me?
Don't you understand? I love you. I want to make you happy, I want to be your friend, and... and I'm invisible to you. I go to play practice and you ask me why my face is timid and my voice soft? That's why. I don't belong there. A lot of people are kind to me, but none of that matters if it is merely a gentle tolerance that they could offer any man upon a street. I'd die for them--for any of them, for you, for your mother if you asked me. If you gave me your social security number, I'd burn it and buy you ice cream.
I have an unyielding loyalty and devotion. You've made me cry three times this year alone, and I come to rehearsal the next day, or set construction or whatever the hell it is, and I offer you my heart.. and you take it. And then you set it on a shelf, and you forget it. You stamp on it when it suits you, but you can still keep it. It's yours. I want to help you. I want to make your heart stop hurting.... and I want you to trust me.
It won't happen. You see, you'll never read this. You don't want to know my heart, and I don't blame you. I don't blame you for not trusting me, either, since Kate Murley thinks I"m a liar. A lot of people probably think I'm a liar. I can ask you to stop hurting me, but as I've written, your eyes make me invisible. I am invisible to you... you don't even notice me enough to hurt me. No, not even enough to do that.
So I'm sorry I'm awkward. I'm sorry I embarrass you, and try to share my books with you that I love, the music I love... me in general. You've made it clear you do not want to be my friend, that I do not understand you on the complex level you allow others... no matter how much I wish things were different? They aren't. Dalton still grimaces when he has to hold my hand. You'll never know how much drama I save you, or how I pray for your heart every night.
As for Finley, I do not appreciate your insinuations. I'm not saying our relationship is perfect, but I do not appreciate this.... this... mockery of every time he takes my hand to smile at me. He's kind to me. He makes me human again... and you laugh at me while degrading him. I don't... I don't deserve that. You don't have to approve of our relationship and the direction its headed, but I do deserve respect from you. And so... so does my future husband.
Because I haven't told you about how Adam cheated on me, or what... what happened to Ryan. I haven't told you anything. I'm sorry you won't listen, because sometimes... sometimes I do have a beautiful heart.
So I'm writing this. A harmless letter filled with harmful words. Please be happy for yourself. Please? It's all I've ever really wanted for you.... to realize how beautiful you are.
You are to me.
Your invisible freak,
Payton
Monday, March 14, 2011
Special: Dancing through life
I had a very, very happy day with my Katie-bird today. Initially, we meandered to Katie's first house and other house. While we were at the first, Katie told me about a conversation between her and Kate. Apparently Dan is Kate's back friend (before, or after the... well...?), and it sounded like Kate used that as a strike after Katie told her that she was close to me. I hope Kate didn't hurt Katie because we are friends... but apparently, I am Katie's best friend!
If only for today, if only for a moment, I am in Katie-friend's heart. That warms me, and too often, I am cold. Sometimes, it feels like I'm always cold. Speaking of cold, we went to Culver's after that, met Finley there. My whole heart in one place was... I felt loved again. And ever since that day I went to get tuxedo's with the cast and Schultz, my director, I haven't felt like that. I've felt awkward... discarded... like a freak.
After that, we went home and I changed into the velvet dress Finley had given me--the one who reminds me of Example--
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bAgegxdVdFU
Watch the sun come up.
Except, Katie and I more watched it go down. We took pictures and it was cold and our hands didn't want to move over our cameras, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that we were happy together, were right together in that way that only real friends can ever be.We were companions, and no matter what waited for us outside that realm of faerie; that realm of gold-tainted trees and singing owls, as long as we were skipping over those mud puddles, it could not travel past the gate.
Amongst our pictures, we were happy. With our cameras, we were free.
We were there.
She took me home, and when we got in her red car, I pictured she and I dancing down the path to music, singing songs that didn't matter, because we knew each other's hearts. Afterward, when I got home, I read Katie's blog. I saw what had happened to her... I was sad for my friend. My heart hurt for my friend.
She's such a good person.. and she's my friend! I have made her herself, just a little more, just a little better... and I want her to be happy. I want her to be happy so much.
It's a better Monday than I've had for a long time, minus the fact that there were absolutely no dishes for me to help Katie and Brad with. I got to be a silly bird and ramshackle the sky of its colors and greet the moon, I got to be wild and climb trees with Katie. I smiled, I laughed; and I was absolutely myself. I think she was, too. I think of her being happy and not being afraid of me, of just being there, and my heart's all right. The things I hear about myself in the hallways don't matter, because I have my friend.
I love you, Katie. And I'm looking for Glee, and my background on the lappytoppy is Cinderella's slipper, and you give me hope. Every day, you give me hope and smiles.
Be happy, okay? Because you'll always be the Wizard to my Princess.
If only for today, if only for a moment, I am in Katie-friend's heart. That warms me, and too often, I am cold. Sometimes, it feels like I'm always cold. Speaking of cold, we went to Culver's after that, met Finley there. My whole heart in one place was... I felt loved again. And ever since that day I went to get tuxedo's with the cast and Schultz, my director, I haven't felt like that. I've felt awkward... discarded... like a freak.
After that, we went home and I changed into the velvet dress Finley had given me--the one who reminds me of Example--
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bAgegxdVdFU
Watch the sun come up.
Except, Katie and I more watched it go down. We took pictures and it was cold and our hands didn't want to move over our cameras, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that we were happy together, were right together in that way that only real friends can ever be.We were companions, and no matter what waited for us outside that realm of faerie; that realm of gold-tainted trees and singing owls, as long as we were skipping over those mud puddles, it could not travel past the gate.
Amongst our pictures, we were happy. With our cameras, we were free.
We were there.
She took me home, and when we got in her red car, I pictured she and I dancing down the path to music, singing songs that didn't matter, because we knew each other's hearts. Afterward, when I got home, I read Katie's blog. I saw what had happened to her... I was sad for my friend. My heart hurt for my friend.
She's such a good person.. and she's my friend! I have made her herself, just a little more, just a little better... and I want her to be happy. I want her to be happy so much.
It's a better Monday than I've had for a long time, minus the fact that there were absolutely no dishes for me to help Katie and Brad with. I got to be a silly bird and ramshackle the sky of its colors and greet the moon, I got to be wild and climb trees with Katie. I smiled, I laughed; and I was absolutely myself. I think she was, too. I think of her being happy and not being afraid of me, of just being there, and my heart's all right. The things I hear about myself in the hallways don't matter, because I have my friend.
I love you, Katie. And I'm looking for Glee, and my background on the lappytoppy is Cinderella's slipper, and you give me hope. Every day, you give me hope and smiles.
Be happy, okay? Because you'll always be the Wizard to my Princess.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Special: a weak list for life
Yesterday was heading for a bad day, and I made it better. I forced away the bad. I'm tired of living in a blanket woven from my shortcomings. I sang my heart at solo-ensemble. The judge was dumbstruck and hardly had two words to say to me.... I felt like a siren when his eyes searched my soul with a hunger I don't want to understand. "Such a beautiful voice...."
I got a 2. The solo-ensemble F is 2, and I got that. Not even a one, or the one starred I'd been expecting.
Every other Chamber choir soloist--no really, I've checked; Tiffany, John, Maddy--has made it to state, but I do not even pass with a worthy recognition. He told me little to nothing to improve, and yet I have failed the test, have smote my body upon a mountain side. I heard so many beautiful voices there, in that building... and I did not want to sing anymore. I felt that if I could not even ascend here, not even at state, how could I do it in the real world? I wanted to give up on my dream. I did not even smile.
Finley waits patiently after we leave. He has a job interview Wednesday, there's a new Base he really wants, and I'm helping him save for it. Whatever he can have of mine, I'll give him. It's that simple. That's what a wife should do, for her husband. It shouldn't have mattered. Mr. Engstrom swore when he saw the number on the sheet for my name. Muttered horrible things about the judge, never knowing we were behind him.
But it doesn't make my voice better, I explain calmly to the crest-fallen group who'd heard my soul in that strange way that men give women jewels and smile for it; if I had without doubt performed well enough to go to State, I'd be going.
And secretly I thought, God, this hurts me. Please guide me towards happiness today. I thought it not even consciously, but more in the secret recesses of my heart, where I knew it. Where God has always known me.
Afterward, Finley and I went to Wedl's, a burger joint that has melting burgers (no seriously, they're melting, but it is soooo delicious!!!) and ordering fried onions was an option. Um, hells yes? Finley and I talk. He starts with the night before... when I went with a play kids group to look at a mall.... but I don't want to talk about that. I'm sensitive, perhaps, but that hurt me a lot. I will not write it here, because I do not want to remember that I'm just as much a freak to them as I have been. I don't think that'll ever change, and I cannot speak to you on why that hurts me much more than it should. I couldn't even make it to the Glass cage afterward, and it felt like I'd been locked away from my dreams.
Not the thing to think of to make me happy.
And Finley says, "Payton, has Katie ever played Super Smash brothers?"
"I don't know," I said, a slow smile creeping up at the mere mention of her judge. Peverse being I am, I imagine Katie shouting down that judge until he changes his mind, his three chins wobbling as he exits. Paul Bertel....
"We should teach her," he said, nudging me towards his un-eaten french fries. "It'd be fun."
I take one. "You wouldn't mind?" I asked, staring at him, nibbling half-heartedly at the food, "Really?"
"We're hardly third-wheel acting, Payton... and I don't think only your heart is enough right now." He takes my hand, puts it on his chest. "I may be your heart, but you know, I don't know if I can make you laughing and happy again. Katie can. Call her."
I text instead. Yes, she can come!
No, she can't.
Oh.
Wait, maybe!
Actually, no. See you later. Sorry.
Stupid Payton, trying to force some Katie time like that on the fly. She's a very demanded person!
So we went to Ben's and played Zombie flux... told Blue-snuggie'd Schiffy he looked a lot like Schmendrick... Halo. I'm not so good at Halo; I was killed many a time, but I held my own in the new type of battle. I'm very good at stealth, too. Afterward, the men played Rockband, and I read the end of a book. Then I got home, Finley let me, I went to sleep. Katie texts me, actually has the nerve to apologize for being loved.
But then I read her blog. And she has this beautiful, beautiful list of things people (people like me) have told her, things she knows about herself, a horrible thing Kate wrote to her that makes me want to strangle, how she wants to change, why she does. And I thought, that is a beautiful thing!
To often lately, I have been wrapped inside myself. I'm trying to come out, but the knots are thick, and I realize a lot of it is me WANTING people to want ME to come out, at all. So I thought I'd try to make a list, too. Not a hundred things... just however many I end up with.
1. I love you. That is who I am and if I lose it the real part of my soul will die. "Do not forget me?" "Oh Thumbelina, I could never forget you."
2. People need help. Many of them I cannot reach and could do nothing for, but there are people here that, maybe, I can help. I can make them better for themselves, because they deserve it... each and every one.
"Payton you're making me cry"
3. People are afraid and skeptical. Too many try to take advantage without giving ground, and the result is that the earth is puffy with a cloud of mistrust to the common man. I must remember that when they are angry, it isn't automatically at me. Indeed, perhaps I should revel in the honor that I may sate their appetites for anger in a healthy way--for what Princess should strike back? I will not.
4. The Roses weren't real, self. Ryan didn't really love you and he still wants to hurt you, but he's wrong. Magic does exist in your heart, your soul, and it'll always be there. You helped people with that. Do not forget them, but don't miss them so much, either.
5. I can't forget that there are good things about me. Even though people won't let me help them and make fun of me, it doesn't matter. I am beautiful, if not stunning. I am balanced. I am a lady. I am my Finley's wife. I am Katie's heart-song, sometimes, on those rare days when I can help... when I know what to say. I may not be the best at art, music, writing; but I can do and love them. Even Marius was not always a great painter.
6. I can gain power. Maybe, just maybe, I have enough ''power'' as Payton. Maybe Eliac didn't have anything I didn't give her. Maybe I'm a princess after all.
6.5. And yes, Katie, if you read this, that means I'm still doing your dishes. Deal with it.
7. God Loves me. He's going to see me through my heart-hearts, I know he will.
So you see, I have no hundred great-truths. I only have seven.
But they are a marvelous seven; would not you say?
I got a 2. The solo-ensemble F is 2, and I got that. Not even a one, or the one starred I'd been expecting.
Every other Chamber choir soloist--no really, I've checked; Tiffany, John, Maddy--has made it to state, but I do not even pass with a worthy recognition. He told me little to nothing to improve, and yet I have failed the test, have smote my body upon a mountain side. I heard so many beautiful voices there, in that building... and I did not want to sing anymore. I felt that if I could not even ascend here, not even at state, how could I do it in the real world? I wanted to give up on my dream. I did not even smile.
Finley waits patiently after we leave. He has a job interview Wednesday, there's a new Base he really wants, and I'm helping him save for it. Whatever he can have of mine, I'll give him. It's that simple. That's what a wife should do, for her husband. It shouldn't have mattered. Mr. Engstrom swore when he saw the number on the sheet for my name. Muttered horrible things about the judge, never knowing we were behind him.
But it doesn't make my voice better, I explain calmly to the crest-fallen group who'd heard my soul in that strange way that men give women jewels and smile for it; if I had without doubt performed well enough to go to State, I'd be going.
And secretly I thought, God, this hurts me. Please guide me towards happiness today. I thought it not even consciously, but more in the secret recesses of my heart, where I knew it. Where God has always known me.
Afterward, Finley and I went to Wedl's, a burger joint that has melting burgers (no seriously, they're melting, but it is soooo delicious!!!) and ordering fried onions was an option. Um, hells yes? Finley and I talk. He starts with the night before... when I went with a play kids group to look at a mall.... but I don't want to talk about that. I'm sensitive, perhaps, but that hurt me a lot. I will not write it here, because I do not want to remember that I'm just as much a freak to them as I have been. I don't think that'll ever change, and I cannot speak to you on why that hurts me much more than it should. I couldn't even make it to the Glass cage afterward, and it felt like I'd been locked away from my dreams.
Not the thing to think of to make me happy.
And Finley says, "Payton, has Katie ever played Super Smash brothers?"
"I don't know," I said, a slow smile creeping up at the mere mention of her judge. Peverse being I am, I imagine Katie shouting down that judge until he changes his mind, his three chins wobbling as he exits. Paul Bertel....
"We should teach her," he said, nudging me towards his un-eaten french fries. "It'd be fun."
I take one. "You wouldn't mind?" I asked, staring at him, nibbling half-heartedly at the food, "Really?"
"We're hardly third-wheel acting, Payton... and I don't think only your heart is enough right now." He takes my hand, puts it on his chest. "I may be your heart, but you know, I don't know if I can make you laughing and happy again. Katie can. Call her."
I text instead. Yes, she can come!
No, she can't.
Oh.
Wait, maybe!
Actually, no. See you later. Sorry.
Stupid Payton, trying to force some Katie time like that on the fly. She's a very demanded person!
So we went to Ben's and played Zombie flux... told Blue-snuggie'd Schiffy he looked a lot like Schmendrick... Halo. I'm not so good at Halo; I was killed many a time, but I held my own in the new type of battle. I'm very good at stealth, too. Afterward, the men played Rockband, and I read the end of a book. Then I got home, Finley let me, I went to sleep. Katie texts me, actually has the nerve to apologize for being loved.
But then I read her blog. And she has this beautiful, beautiful list of things people (people like me) have told her, things she knows about herself, a horrible thing Kate wrote to her that makes me want to strangle, how she wants to change, why she does. And I thought, that is a beautiful thing!
To often lately, I have been wrapped inside myself. I'm trying to come out, but the knots are thick, and I realize a lot of it is me WANTING people to want ME to come out, at all. So I thought I'd try to make a list, too. Not a hundred things... just however many I end up with.
1. I love you. That is who I am and if I lose it the real part of my soul will die. "Do not forget me?" "Oh Thumbelina, I could never forget you."
2. People need help. Many of them I cannot reach and could do nothing for, but there are people here that, maybe, I can help. I can make them better for themselves, because they deserve it... each and every one.
"Payton you're making me cry"
3. People are afraid and skeptical. Too many try to take advantage without giving ground, and the result is that the earth is puffy with a cloud of mistrust to the common man. I must remember that when they are angry, it isn't automatically at me. Indeed, perhaps I should revel in the honor that I may sate their appetites for anger in a healthy way--for what Princess should strike back? I will not.
4. The Roses weren't real, self. Ryan didn't really love you and he still wants to hurt you, but he's wrong. Magic does exist in your heart, your soul, and it'll always be there. You helped people with that. Do not forget them, but don't miss them so much, either.
5. I can't forget that there are good things about me. Even though people won't let me help them and make fun of me, it doesn't matter. I am beautiful, if not stunning. I am balanced. I am a lady. I am my Finley's wife. I am Katie's heart-song, sometimes, on those rare days when I can help... when I know what to say. I may not be the best at art, music, writing; but I can do and love them. Even Marius was not always a great painter.
6. I can gain power. Maybe, just maybe, I have enough ''power'' as Payton. Maybe Eliac didn't have anything I didn't give her. Maybe I'm a princess after all.
6.5. And yes, Katie, if you read this, that means I'm still doing your dishes. Deal with it.
7. God Loves me. He's going to see me through my heart-hearts, I know he will.
So you see, I have no hundred great-truths. I only have seven.
But they are a marvelous seven; would not you say?
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Special: more Democrat than ever
I held a crying Finley in my arms tonight. The bill has been passed, and his future resides in teaching. Finley's hope for his future--for our future--having an apartment in two years suddenly is unavailable. Even with our combined Schuster's money from next year (roughly six hundred dollars and some eighty-dollars in addition, plus whatever we can earn in the summer), it won't do us any good to have college bills and medical bills and utilities AND rent. We couldn't do it all for sure, and certainly not with the month-ahead rent schedule we need to have.
Want to have, more like. So we sat in my basement before he went back to his house, because he just didn't want to be here, apparently, and I couldn't go with him; and I whispered it's okay, and he said that I was his only strength. Without me, he wasn't sure he could go on like he was, living on so little hope and so much love. It isn't enough to earn it or to hope for tomorrow without a today... and I was in his heart always, so surely I was that? I am hope to him.
He left then.
Now I'm alone and it's late and everyone I know is busy, and mom forgot she was taking me shopping to feed the kiddies and play patty-cake for a few hours... not to mention I completely fucked over my solo and ensemble piece.
Today sucks.
Want to have, more like. So we sat in my basement before he went back to his house, because he just didn't want to be here, apparently, and I couldn't go with him; and I whispered it's okay, and he said that I was his only strength. Without me, he wasn't sure he could go on like he was, living on so little hope and so much love. It isn't enough to earn it or to hope for tomorrow without a today... and I was in his heart always, so surely I was that? I am hope to him.
He left then.
Now I'm alone and it's late and everyone I know is busy, and mom forgot she was taking me shopping to feed the kiddies and play patty-cake for a few hours... not to mention I completely fucked over my solo and ensemble piece.
Today sucks.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Special: Azrael didn't forget
Today, during Study Hall I opened up Gmail. I needed to be near a friend, and I email friends. My morning hadn't been so keen. I'd completely butchered my math, and Taylor'd had a seizure, and I almost missed the Senior Picture, and I won't have money for the Senior trip or Finley's birthday... Stupid things like that, but they were all piling up after I'd seen Taylor go purple. And I got a weird email from an address I didn't immediately recognize, so I went through my old email's contacts and found out... Ryan.
The email dictated that he was in charge of my Roses now, and that there was a matter of great importance that I alone, as the Eliac, even on Hiatus, could deal away with. To such a plea, the temptation to return gathered like fireflies to a streetlight just before a hurricane. I answered immediately, and was met with a chat on the Gmail. A chat with Ryan? Not good.
But I was hopeful... maybe, just maybe, they'd forgiven themselves for the injustices done my heart.
I was wrong. This is copy and pasted (with proper spacing in-between, I hate the ''this is right here'' and here are the 'Azrael:' shit)
"My Lady, it harkens me wholesomely to see you so happy and in such a light as so seeming. How fare you?"
"Well enough, my Azrael. Yet I am doubting very much you come here for the frivolity of my company. I am no longer partaking in the sport of remembering our home-woods; our revels and our feasts, our walks among the sweet-tongues...."
"Yes, so I hear, so I hear. Human as the rest of them."
For these typed words, I smelled trouble. I debated contacting Tolien, who I'd left in charge, on another window, but decided not to. This boy had been my pupil, once. He had no great power over me anymore, not now that my heart belonged to my loved ones; my Finley, my Katie, my husband and my heart-friend. I could puzzle his lies, myself.
I was wrong.
"Human as the rest? Do not I remain as Eliac? The wave-servant? The visionary of the waves?"
Oh, how I missed these words. As Thorneveld when he rose from the ice and ash in the cold winter back to earth, Ryan was my Marius. Above all, I longed to revel in the sweetness of his words and the promise of his languor-fill, intrigue.
"Of course, my love. Such would be far from us, to take your birthright as bestowed you by tradition and blood."
"In that event... my lor--Ryan.... what may I do to serve your purposes?"
"You may remind me what we had, Payton."
"You melted my heart with promises, Ryan. You took my hand when I had none to take. You lifted me with wings that kept me warm and day, and through the nights. We were together in our hearts, and for every cruelty done me--both in our world and out--you were my heart. I gave you my heart, but it was glass, was sand struck by lightning... and you dropped it."
"And if I promised to renew myself to your heart? To take your hand again? If I made to feel your face against my skin, today? Now? This instant? *Reaches to carress her face*
"*Turns away* I would not take your touch, your lips, would not let you melt my heart."
"Whore! Liar! You liar who preached forgiveness and love, above all love, you will not forgive me! *Takes her in his arms anyway* And yet, how I love you, you selfish one who made me whole. How I love the hatred I feel when you are here to me, when I know your heart again. I have to ask, Pa--Eliac. Why did you make me so? Why choose to raise me above the others?"
"You needed love, my Ryan. You needed to be lead with a different direction and road, and I was the road and the flowers beside, too. You needed to take my hand, needed to talk to and trust me. And I made you what you were in your dreams only. I made you powerful, strong, and handsome... to yourself. You always were to me. I could say that I, alone, knew the power in your heart, Ryan. I could say that not once did I think of myself during that time, that time when I made you Lord Azrael for the world I made to save those just like you, but I did. Often. I thought of a Lord and Lady ruling a world where Good and Evil were clear..."
"Oh, yes, the sob-story. I've heard it before. 'Poor Me! Alas, alack! He has forsaken the dreams I left him! I am the death to the man he would have become, but he hurt me first! He did it! Only him!' Do you find me death, faery, my darling? Am I death to you, still? Would that I were in the room with you now, to remind you exactly how much death I Could be. Would that I were there, this very, damned instant, to sink my teeth into you again...."
"Is it commonly your business to renew old wounds, my Lord? I recall that there was duty at question here, so stated you. If it is your duty so given to hack at me with your rusty knives, so let be you so. It is not in me to shield myself. Not from you. Not from the boy who took his meals in bathrooms for fear of interaction, the fool who only slowly learned to grasp my devious intrigues and last at best; the man who could not hold a sword. Do you think I fear you because you have hurt me? Your pain has made me stronger for it. I lead the Roses, Ryan. Only me! Only me! I will put you back from whence you came with a snap of my fingers! A blink of my eyes! You will not bite me again, Ryan. In any way.
Eternity promises."
"You are very wrong, Eliac, whore-sucker. You do not hold the Roses anymore. Perhaps it should be my duty to inform you that we--the true Roses--have elected new leadership among us."
"Ryan..."
"Answer me!"
"I should suspect that you would tell me whether I would hear it or not. Such is the danger from idiots with open mouths; sound comes quickly."
"You would silence the truth-teller?"
"Far be it from me to silence a man with truth in his heart giving opposition, Azrael, dark-mongerer; but you are not one. I would silence you if it were my only need remaining."
"No need, my Lady. We are under new Leadership, one that surpasses by far your own."
"And whose is that?"
"Why, mine, Soul-faery. Who else would be destined to lead your fools through lie-made laws?"
"Ryan..."
"It's Azrael, bitch. Let me be that angel of Death to your dreams. Let those you love forget you, as I have... and as your Roses will. Let them know that you created a world to manipulate them into false soldiers with false powers, false politicans with false laws. Let it be you who tells them that, that they are not who they have grown to be, fought to be. Let it be you who tells them so. Say it!"
"It is not in my heart to disobey my principles. Do you even realize why the Roses were made at all, Azrael?"
"To give you power. Because no one else was daft enough to proffer it to an irristible, soul-stealing witch like you--! Whore! Liar! Fiend!"
"Far be it from me to remind you that not two hours ago, you offered me love, my Lord."
"If I were to offer you any remaining loving gesture, it would be to end you. It would be loving to the world that it should no longer bare such a poison as your gruesome heart. Oh, don't you see! It would have been better if I had died! If you had not made me so "
"What reply is there to that? End me if you desire it so. I challenge you."
"No. I would have you see what your darling little pupil is capable of first. And by the end, the world will know your truth, and you will be alone. Your friends, your family, my allies the Roses; even--"
"Oh, right! I've just remembered! Ryan likes to threaten. Particularly when there is no power. Do you forget who you adress, boy-child?"
"*Snorts* Even that man-consort of yours that Ignio spread like fire through the villages. I feel sorry for him. I know his madness! I know what it is like to run fingers through your hair and listen to promises." (There is a pause, here. Then:) "I know what it is like to believe that you are the only person worth loving in the entire world, that life is an exciting adventure and we are pawns to play the course. But even he will know your lies soon, bitch. Even he!"
"Ryan, you had business. Give it hence or I shall withdraw presently--and permantely, one hopes--from your company."
"Azrael, fool! I am your Lord!"
"You will always be Ryan to me. Ryan, the sully goat who couldn't know a sword or the words 'I love you'. Ryan, the one who took the gifts I forged him to bed more women than I had lives."
"AZRAEL!"
"An angel to death. The death of his future, the death of his wrongs..."
"Your Roses will be crushed, and your magic with it. I curse you. I curse you from the bottom of the heart you tore to make again, I curse you from that very heart. Let your magic perish on the wilting wings of this, your Angel. Oh, would that I could tear that magic now! Your faith! Your hope in the world! But I will begin with your precious Roses, Eliac... Payton. And then, slowly, like a lost game to gamblers, I will come for you--step by step, breath by breath, pulse by pulse. And one night you will find yourself alone. One night you will find me there with no one who would come for you. And I will laugh, and then I will leave, and I will leave you alone in your nights where your lips still cry for me--don't think I don't know! And I will leave you, broken. I'll leave you to do the honorable thing and end. I'll tear your life to pieces."
"I do not fear you. I will never fear you or them! Never again! My magic is was it always was, it has not perish, and no angel of darkness will take it from me--especially not you!"
"I came to warn you. I came to be civil, to attempt reconcilation, but it is clear to me now that your heart is as closed as my hands will be to you. It is a promise. Your heart will die by me. I will tear your dear life apart, but by bit. Make you a monster like you made me, see how you like it. I will enact my revenge for leaving me these wretched ones to make Knights, Ladies, Lords, faeries. See if I won't! Damn you! Know my curse, Payton, human, liar. Know it now."
And then, dramatic to the end, he left.
And all I could think was:
"...Let me be that angel of Death to your dreams. Let those you love forget you, as I have... and as your Roses will."
A repeated threat. A simple curse. And what power he has now. Look at what I've made! Look at what I made him. Look at the power he took from the words I spun him so long ago.
I look at them, I remember them now, and think, "Oh, God... what have I done?"
What have I done?
The email dictated that he was in charge of my Roses now, and that there was a matter of great importance that I alone, as the Eliac, even on Hiatus, could deal away with. To such a plea, the temptation to return gathered like fireflies to a streetlight just before a hurricane. I answered immediately, and was met with a chat on the Gmail. A chat with Ryan? Not good.
But I was hopeful... maybe, just maybe, they'd forgiven themselves for the injustices done my heart.
I was wrong. This is copy and pasted (with proper spacing in-between, I hate the ''this is right here'' and here are the 'Azrael:' shit)
"My Lady, it harkens me wholesomely to see you so happy and in such a light as so seeming. How fare you?"
"Well enough, my Azrael. Yet I am doubting very much you come here for the frivolity of my company. I am no longer partaking in the sport of remembering our home-woods; our revels and our feasts, our walks among the sweet-tongues...."
"Yes, so I hear, so I hear. Human as the rest of them."
For these typed words, I smelled trouble. I debated contacting Tolien, who I'd left in charge, on another window, but decided not to. This boy had been my pupil, once. He had no great power over me anymore, not now that my heart belonged to my loved ones; my Finley, my Katie, my husband and my heart-friend. I could puzzle his lies, myself.
I was wrong.
"Human as the rest? Do not I remain as Eliac? The wave-servant? The visionary of the waves?"
Oh, how I missed these words. As Thorneveld when he rose from the ice and ash in the cold winter back to earth, Ryan was my Marius. Above all, I longed to revel in the sweetness of his words and the promise of his languor-fill, intrigue.
"Of course, my love. Such would be far from us, to take your birthright as bestowed you by tradition and blood."
"In that event... my lor--Ryan.... what may I do to serve your purposes?"
"You may remind me what we had, Payton."
"You melted my heart with promises, Ryan. You took my hand when I had none to take. You lifted me with wings that kept me warm and day, and through the nights. We were together in our hearts, and for every cruelty done me--both in our world and out--you were my heart. I gave you my heart, but it was glass, was sand struck by lightning... and you dropped it."
"And if I promised to renew myself to your heart? To take your hand again? If I made to feel your face against my skin, today? Now? This instant? *Reaches to carress her face*
"*Turns away* I would not take your touch, your lips, would not let you melt my heart."
"Whore! Liar! You liar who preached forgiveness and love, above all love, you will not forgive me! *Takes her in his arms anyway* And yet, how I love you, you selfish one who made me whole. How I love the hatred I feel when you are here to me, when I know your heart again. I have to ask, Pa--Eliac. Why did you make me so? Why choose to raise me above the others?"
"You needed love, my Ryan. You needed to be lead with a different direction and road, and I was the road and the flowers beside, too. You needed to take my hand, needed to talk to and trust me. And I made you what you were in your dreams only. I made you powerful, strong, and handsome... to yourself. You always were to me. I could say that I, alone, knew the power in your heart, Ryan. I could say that not once did I think of myself during that time, that time when I made you Lord Azrael for the world I made to save those just like you, but I did. Often. I thought of a Lord and Lady ruling a world where Good and Evil were clear..."
"Oh, yes, the sob-story. I've heard it before. 'Poor Me! Alas, alack! He has forsaken the dreams I left him! I am the death to the man he would have become, but he hurt me first! He did it! Only him!' Do you find me death, faery, my darling? Am I death to you, still? Would that I were in the room with you now, to remind you exactly how much death I Could be. Would that I were there, this very, damned instant, to sink my teeth into you again...."
"Is it commonly your business to renew old wounds, my Lord? I recall that there was duty at question here, so stated you. If it is your duty so given to hack at me with your rusty knives, so let be you so. It is not in me to shield myself. Not from you. Not from the boy who took his meals in bathrooms for fear of interaction, the fool who only slowly learned to grasp my devious intrigues and last at best; the man who could not hold a sword. Do you think I fear you because you have hurt me? Your pain has made me stronger for it. I lead the Roses, Ryan. Only me! Only me! I will put you back from whence you came with a snap of my fingers! A blink of my eyes! You will not bite me again, Ryan. In any way.
Eternity promises."
"You are very wrong, Eliac, whore-sucker. You do not hold the Roses anymore. Perhaps it should be my duty to inform you that we--the true Roses--have elected new leadership among us."
"Ryan..."
"Answer me!"
"I should suspect that you would tell me whether I would hear it or not. Such is the danger from idiots with open mouths; sound comes quickly."
"You would silence the truth-teller?"
"Far be it from me to silence a man with truth in his heart giving opposition, Azrael, dark-mongerer; but you are not one. I would silence you if it were my only need remaining."
"No need, my Lady. We are under new Leadership, one that surpasses by far your own."
"And whose is that?"
"Why, mine, Soul-faery. Who else would be destined to lead your fools through lie-made laws?"
"Ryan..."
"It's Azrael, bitch. Let me be that angel of Death to your dreams. Let those you love forget you, as I have... and as your Roses will. Let them know that you created a world to manipulate them into false soldiers with false powers, false politicans with false laws. Let it be you who tells them that, that they are not who they have grown to be, fought to be. Let it be you who tells them so. Say it!"
"It is not in my heart to disobey my principles. Do you even realize why the Roses were made at all, Azrael?"
"To give you power. Because no one else was daft enough to proffer it to an irristible, soul-stealing witch like you--! Whore! Liar! Fiend!"
"Far be it from me to remind you that not two hours ago, you offered me love, my Lord."
"If I were to offer you any remaining loving gesture, it would be to end you. It would be loving to the world that it should no longer bare such a poison as your gruesome heart. Oh, don't you see! It would have been better if I had died! If you had not made me so "
"What reply is there to that? End me if you desire it so. I challenge you."
"No. I would have you see what your darling little pupil is capable of first. And by the end, the world will know your truth, and you will be alone. Your friends, your family, my allies the Roses; even--"
"Oh, right! I've just remembered! Ryan likes to threaten. Particularly when there is no power. Do you forget who you adress, boy-child?"
"*Snorts* Even that man-consort of yours that Ignio spread like fire through the villages. I feel sorry for him. I know his madness! I know what it is like to run fingers through your hair and listen to promises." (There is a pause, here. Then:) "I know what it is like to believe that you are the only person worth loving in the entire world, that life is an exciting adventure and we are pawns to play the course. But even he will know your lies soon, bitch. Even he!"
"Ryan, you had business. Give it hence or I shall withdraw presently--and permantely, one hopes--from your company."
"Azrael, fool! I am your Lord!"
"You will always be Ryan to me. Ryan, the sully goat who couldn't know a sword or the words 'I love you'. Ryan, the one who took the gifts I forged him to bed more women than I had lives."
"AZRAEL!"
"An angel to death. The death of his future, the death of his wrongs..."
"Your Roses will be crushed, and your magic with it. I curse you. I curse you from the bottom of the heart you tore to make again, I curse you from that very heart. Let your magic perish on the wilting wings of this, your Angel. Oh, would that I could tear that magic now! Your faith! Your hope in the world! But I will begin with your precious Roses, Eliac... Payton. And then, slowly, like a lost game to gamblers, I will come for you--step by step, breath by breath, pulse by pulse. And one night you will find yourself alone. One night you will find me there with no one who would come for you. And I will laugh, and then I will leave, and I will leave you alone in your nights where your lips still cry for me--don't think I don't know! And I will leave you, broken. I'll leave you to do the honorable thing and end. I'll tear your life to pieces."
"I do not fear you. I will never fear you or them! Never again! My magic is was it always was, it has not perish, and no angel of darkness will take it from me--especially not you!"
"I came to warn you. I came to be civil, to attempt reconcilation, but it is clear to me now that your heart is as closed as my hands will be to you. It is a promise. Your heart will die by me. I will tear your dear life apart, but by bit. Make you a monster like you made me, see how you like it. I will enact my revenge for leaving me these wretched ones to make Knights, Ladies, Lords, faeries. See if I won't! Damn you! Know my curse, Payton, human, liar. Know it now."
And then, dramatic to the end, he left.
And all I could think was:
"...Let me be that angel of Death to your dreams. Let those you love forget you, as I have... and as your Roses will."
A repeated threat. A simple curse. And what power he has now. Look at what I've made! Look at what I made him. Look at the power he took from the words I spun him so long ago.
I look at them, I remember them now, and think, "Oh, God... what have I done?"
What have I done?
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