|  Author | Topic: Athanasian Petals (First Draft-- NEW QFA!) (Read 98 times) |
Aermis
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Joined: Apr 2006
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Location: In the Torture Chamber
Karma: 22 |  | Athanasian Petals (First Draft-- NEW QFA!)
« Thread Started on Aug 22, 2008, 10:35pm » | |
Prologue
In the middle of thick, pitch black woods, there stood a tree. It was a large tree... leafy... and relatively tree-like. Though it’s true that trees do have a tendency to grow in thick woods... this particular tree was upside down.
A long, thick trunk descended from a relatively foggy patch of sky—unfortunately the only patch visible from the forest ground. Therefore, it was always impossible to tell just where this inverted tree took root. As far as anyone knew, the gods had simply been sloppy while planting said tree... because—as everyone knows—the gods seem to be responsible for a lot of odd, unexplainable things.
Standing beneath this tree—and rather uneasily, might I add—stood a theurgian; a magician with slow-to-come emotion. Theurgians were generally feared in this land, and with the appearance of inverted trees, it’s no real shock. His name was Randolph Grimweld and he had been asked to meet someone beneath the large, leafy phenomenon he now stood under. Why this meeting place of all others was unknown, however Randolph knew better than to question a Hellion.
For it was a Hellion who arrived at Randolph’s bedroom window without invitation. And quoth the Hellion:
“Mister Randy, I’ve got great news for you, sir. Obviously—normally I don’t appear in your window, now, do I? Or do I, sir? In your dreams? Oh, don’t tell me—it’d be unabashedly scandalous, now, wouldn’t it? ... Right, sir, I see I’m getting on your nerves. To the point, Sir Rudolph, I—... I believe I should talk to you about this later... awful nasty-looking hawk off in the distance, isn’t it? Meet me under that odd, inverted tree... you know the one—near Yupov? Yes, meet me there after your next Armament meeting. At the witching hour, sir—just to be dramatic. I think you’ll be quite interested in what I have to—”
It stopped there, as—just as he was about to finish his sentence—he lost his balance and thereafter fell out the window. A very large part of Randolph dearly hoped that the Hellion had survived the fall and would be appearing at the tryst. Firstly, because the Hellion was a dear friend of Randolph’s, but mostly because Randolph didn’t want to wait under an inverted tree for a night. All alone. In the dark.
Randolph shivered and pulled his dark Inverness more closely about himself. The inverted tree didn’t provide much shelter from the cold ocean winds that blew their way into the large, wooded valley. Randolph was silent, listening intently for the Hellion’s arrival. At first, no noise greeted him—save for the muted rustlings, crackings, and callings of the forest life. Then... something. Something soft, at first, and melodic. Randolph strained his ears, vying to hear the song more clearly.
Randolph shuddered again—but this time it wasn’t for the cold. The singing voice in question was rather off-key as it travelled through the woods, belting out “Cockles and Mussels”—the lyrics of which seemed to throw off the majority of Dimarchian civilians. For instance: what in the world was “Dublin”, anyway? And who was Molly Malone? Most assumed he was making up words, and not that—in some dimension he’d visited long ago—he’d learned the song.... Unfortunately, he’d never learned what the terms meant, either.
“Mr. Grimweld!” The Hellion shouted, his voice shattering what blessed silence was left in the woods. Randolph tensed for a moment, squinting through the darkness.
“Mr. Tartarus?” Randolph called out cautiously. Without preamble, the Hellion dropped from a tree branch above, landing with grace a few feet away from Randolph. Randolph pulled back in alarm as the Hellion steadied himself and looked at his feet.
“I honestly can’t believe I did that without breaking something....” He mused. Randolph frowned, breathing noticeably heavier. The Hellion smirked, looking up. “Scare you, did I?”
“Certainly not.” Randolph replied briskly, brushing hair out of his face. “Mr. Tartarus... what did you need to tell me?”
“Right to the point, aren’t you? No time for friendly banter...?” The Hellion pouted in a mocking manner, touching his chest. “You wound me, Ranny-boy.”
Randolph frowned.
“Mr. Tartarus...” he began, warningly, when the Hellion cut in.
“I’d prefer ‘Janus’. Shorter, nicer-sounding... and a lot more friendly. Friendly, friendly-like, friend... –oriented....” Janus rambled, waving a hand around slowly. Randolph sighed heavily, watching Janus through narrowed eyes. Though Randolph was a man of patience, Janus had a way of worming under his skin. Out there, in the cold and dark, Randolph was weary—in both body and mind—and was in no mood for Janus’ random nature.
“You wanted to tell me something, Janus.” Randolph repeated firmly. Janus nodded slowly.
“Why, yes—yes, I did. Patience, Mr. Grimweld... it’s a virtue. Now, on to business. I hear tell you’ve been waiting for Athanasia, haven’t you?” Janus asked. Randolph—who had been so prepared for more random, maddening babble, was taken aback. Not only had Janus given him a straight-forward answer, but he had addressed the one problem that consumed him most: the lack of Athanasia.
Athanasia was Randolph’s all-consuming obsession. It is a name given to a rarely-occuring event in which two souls are taken from their bodies while in the same mindset. One soul would take hold of the other souls’ body and the first soul would be lost to the world. But that one soul—the soul in the body—would remember everything; everything from its dimension, from its time, from its life. To find an Athanasian was nigh impossible, but highly useful for one who so yearned for information of other times and places.
Randolph had been patiently awaiting an Athanasian for years. Finding Janus had made the job much easier, however Janus could only do so much. It was true, he was not bound by time nor place and often flitted through temporal and dimensional rifts. He could very well report news better than any Athanasian ever could. However... he believed doing so would pollute the timestream, and refused to do as such for the sake of political squabbles.
But he also believed that an Athanasian was a predestined source of timestream knowledge, and was therefore no threat. Randolph promised not to meddle in the timestream if Janus would keep a weather eye for an Athanasian, and Janus agreed.
Janus reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of cherries. He popped one in his mouth, chewing it and looking up at the inverted tree. He spit out the seed.
“I daresay that tree is upside down...” he said, as though he’d just now realized. Randolph seemed to snap out of his stupor.
“An Athanasian? Is one coming...?” He asked. Janus turned to look at him, smirking and sliding his hands into his pockets after having placed another cherry in his mouth. He spit out the seed, looking up at the foggy patch of sky.
“Why, yes. An Athanasian. Coming to little old us. It’s almost like Christmas come early, isn’t it?”
“Like what come early?”
“... Nothing, I just picked that up somewhere....” He said slowly, biting down on another cherry. He chewed on it for a moment. Suddenly, his face seemed to cloud over. “Ah...”
“What is it?”
“I ate a rotten one.” He said simply, spitting it out and turning to Randolph. “She’s coming real soon, too, I ken....”
“It’s a woman?”
“Young woman...” Janus said, smirking once more. “Don’t get too excited, there, Ranny-boy....” Randolph paid Janus’ comments no mind.
“When will she be here?” He asked. Janus shrugged.
“Soon. Real soon. All I really got was a name—just a snippet of one....”
“And?”
“And what...?”
“... What’s the name, Janus?” Randolph asked tersely, waiting in agonizing longing. Janus thought for a moment.
“Lenore’s the name... the name of the body, anyway.... Lenore Beckwith, as I recall. ... Why? The name mean anything to you?” Janus asked. Randolph thought for a moment, frowning. His brow wrinkled.
“No... nothing....” He said slowly, his face paling. His one chance at finding an Athanasian had seemingly vanished without a trace. Janus shifted.
“Ah... well... best start asking around. I’m certain that’s the name. Lenore Beckwith....” Janus trailed off. Then—as though inspiration had struck—Janus began to mutter to himself. “Once upon a midnight dreary...”
Randolph frowned deeply, thinking—searching his mind for something that might help him. Janus continued to recite, talking the best he could around each cherry he placed in his mouth.
“Mm, la... weak and weary... da, da... rhyming words... tapping at my chamber door...” Janus went on, regardless of how many words he’d forgotten. Randolph listened for a while, wondering if what Janus was muttering had anything to do with the Athanasian. In mere minutes, he gave up, rolling his eyes and rubbing his temples. Lenore Beckwith....
“From my books surcease of sorrow... mm, da... ah... the lost Lenore....” Janus said, frowning and rubbing his chin. “... There’s more to it...” he murmured. Randolph was no longer listening, however. He was standing, hand covering his eyes, vying to remember a name just on the outskirts of his consciousness.
“For the rare and... radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore...” Janus went on as Randolph pulled his Inverness tighter and looked over, having finally decided that the name meant nothing to him. He raised a brow.
“Nameless here for evermore.” Janus finished, smiling. “Yes, that was it.... That was a marvelous rendition, Janus. ... Oh, it was nothing; really, I’ve been practicing for months...” Janus said, changing his tone of voice now and then. He then looked at Randolph. “I don’t see you congratulating me, Mr. Grimweld. I don’t think we can be friends after this.” Janus said, once more touching his heart.
“It was a moving rendition, Janus.”
“You weren’t even listening to it.”
Randolph said nothing. For—indeed—he hadn’t been listening.
~*~
Chapter One
Brring... brring... brring....
A soft sound—soft for now, anyway. A subtle ringing... it reminds me of a... well... well, now I can’t remember. Is it getting louder? I think it is. Getting louder and louder... so loud I might—... wait a minute.
I opened my eyes, the obtrusive ringing of the alarm clock an assault on my freshly-awoken brain. I groaned and buried my head into my pillow.
“Serena!” Someone called from another room. I didn’t answer, instead doing my very best to wait out the alarm. The rings increased in pitch and I swore silently, pledging to buy a different alarm clock... a much quieter one.
“Serena! ... Serena!” The voice came again. Between the shouting and the ringing, I decided it was useless to go on sleeping. I sat up and turned off the alarm clock, shoving it off the nightstand just as my mother walked in.
“Serena, your friend...” she began, but was interrupted by a mighty frown. Not just a frown, mind you—not a vaguely nondescript frown, or that frown you catch out of the corner of your eye when you’ve decided to wear a peace sign to a Vietnam Vet Memorial (and are much too young to even realize what warranted the frown, anyway). No it was a mighty frown. Exaggerated frown lines and everything.
“You’d better not have broken that just now, Serena Michelle,” my mother said, with the painful undertones of ‘you’re lucky there are witnesses in this house’. I smiled slightly and ran a hand through my hair (or at least partially through my hair, as about halfway through I met an unyeilding patch of tangles).
“Bit disoriented, mum. Sorry...” I lied.
“Mm hm...” mum said in that way that implied she knew exactly why the alarm clock had met its fate. I swear, she had me at every turn.
“Lakeisha called...” she said, pointing out to the living room aimlessly. “She said you had a meeting this afternoon...?” She said, a questioning tone slithering in halfway through the sentence. “I don’t remember hearing anything about a meeting....”
It was then that I was seized by an uncharacteristic fit of melodramatics. I slapped a hand to my mouth.
“Oh my God!”
“And this would probably be why...” I heard my mother mutter as she turned away from the door. “I’ve got an appointment this afternoon—I can’t drive you to the library...” she said as she walked down the hall. I darted out of my bed and tore into the bathroom. Feverishly, I raked the brush through my matted hair and splashed water on my face. I looked at the watch on my wrist: 3:20. If I remembered correctly, the meeting was at 3:30... this did not bode well for me.
I ran down the stairs frantically, missing the last few steps and gasping as my stomach plumetted.
“Goodbye, mum! Charlene!” I shouted, snatching a small piece of paper from the doorside corkboard. On it was the address for the library we’d be meeting at today. Unfortunately, it had been given to me at the beginning of summer and I had since forgotten the date of the meeting.
I jerked open the front door and bolted through it, slamming it behind me and running down the street as fast as I possibly could. I looked down at the paper as I ran, hoping for some clue as to where I was going.
We’ll be meeting at building 24601 on the
intersection of Shore and Buena Vista.
Lakeisha’s neat scrawl took up the whole of the small paper, and I squinted to make sure I’d read the street names right. Shore and Buena Vista...? I didn’t remember a library being there.... Of course, it’d be the sensible place to go for a book meeting, and usually Lakeisha loved meeting in libraries for the Inkling gatherings. To not do so might as well be a cardinal sin.
I panted as I raced down the numerous winding streets of the housing complex I happened to live in. Each lawn was neatly mowed, each fence white-washed, and almost all the little cars glittering in the hot, summer sun. The asphalt swam ominously as I sailed along the sidewalks, taking sharp corners at a dangerous speed. Sure, Lakeisha couldn’t very well kill me for tardiness, but the thrill of the race was enough to keep me going.
After about ten minutes of relentless jogging, I found myself trotting across the bypass leading into the main city. The city was rather small, compared to other cities, however it had no lack of shops, buildings, and overall class. The traffic on the streets was always light and so rushing through downtown was never much of a danger.
Finally, the sign for Shore came into my line of sight. I sighed in relief and began to slow. Buena Vista—conveniently enough—was the road I’d chosen to take on my way to town. It was one of those roads that was so impossibly long that, if you followed it for a few hours, you’d be in an entirely different county.
I stopped at the intersection, frowning at building number 24601. It was, in no way, a library.
It was a café. Café le Monde.
And standing—befuddled—in front of said café were all of the Inklings (sans Lakeisha) looking just as clueless as I was. One of the girls—a soccer player named Kelsey Billinh—looked back at me and shrugged. She was blushing slightly, a no doubt overdue library book slung under one arm. Wordlessly, and one-by-one, the five Inklings filed into the café. I walked in behind them, still breathing heavily and red in the face.
At once, the welcome chill of an air conditioner hit my face, along with the pleasant aroma of coffee and fresh pastries. The café was shaded with classy curtains, and fans placed in a neat checkerboard pattern were spinning lazily above the satisfyingly chilly café.
Lakeisha—unsurprisingly—was sitting at the head of a long table somewhat near a window. Her fingers were steepled, and she had a cup of cocoa in front of her. A smirk crept on to her face as she watched the six of us sit down sheepishly.
“A café, Lakeisha...? Really...?” I asked, sitting down in a chair and pulling it up to the table noisily. “I was expecting a library or something... warn a girl.”
“I hear that,” said Kelsey, smiling and holding up her overdue library book like some sort of medal. Lakeisha chuckled.
“You act as though where we meet is important.... Last I checked, it was pretty erratic.... Anyway, I didn’t expect so many people would complain about meeting in a café....” She said, smiling. “It’s summer... a welcome break, if you ask me...” Lakeisha said, and was met with several heavy sighs of agreement.
“Still... I’d thought for a few seconds I might’ve been in a parallel universe,” said Nathan, his eyes wide and his hands spread theatrically. “I mean... Lakeisha? Leaving a library? Had a dream about it once, and let me tell you... it didn’t end well.” Nathan said, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. Nathan’s brother—Damien—only rested his head back on his chair and zoned out.
“Ah...” interjected Samuel, raising a hand slightly. Lakeisha turned to Samuel.
“What’s the matter, Sam?”
“Football game... tonight, actually. Pinto Villa High School football game... er... well, more of a challenge against Quincy Park... it’s just a special game for the Fourth of July...”
“It’s the Fourth of July...?” Kelsey asked, blankly. There was a moment of silence for Kelsey’s brain cells. “Sweet! That means the café is coming out with those blueberry scones. Man, I love those things....” Another moment of silence.
“What time’s the game, Sam?” Lakeisha asked.
“Five to eight. Then nine is the fireworks show.... We’re not doing something tonight, are we?”
“I’d been planning on it...” said Lakeisha, frowning. “Ah, well... I guess I should’ve expected everyone to be busy tonight...” she said, in that tone of voice that clearly said ‘everyone—clear your schedules to appease me’.
“Actually...” said Samuel, as if on cue. “I could probably meet up with you guys around eight fifteen....”
“You think so?” Lakeisha asked. “And what about everyone else? Do you all think we could get together tonight around eight fifteen?”
“Er... excuse me for being a bit blunt, but... this all seems a little last-minute for someone like you...” I said. Lakeisha looked at me, raising a brow.
“I... well, yes... I guess it is...” she trailed off. I tensed. Something was wrong, and my amazingly sensitive feminine powers of womanly empathy could sense it. “The question still stands,” Lakeisha said firmly, changing the subject.
“I can be here, sure!” Said Kelsey with pomp. “Man, we haven’t had an Inkling Fourth of July since... what... three years ago...?” Kelsey said, leaning her head back and reminiscing. Three years ago, indeed—and it had very nearly been the worst Fourth of July ever.
To make an agonizingly long story short.... Kelsey—who was in eighth grade at the time, just like the rest of us—had just bought a gerbil. She decided to name it Mouse... and, worst of all, she decided to bring it to the Fourth of July bash. The bash was held in the High School weight room, as we had nowhere else to hold it.
Apparently, not enough Inkling members had voted on where to go in time, and so the weight room was the last choice. Kelsey and Lakeisha soon got in an argument about whether or not voting was important, and—in all the commotion—Mouse made a daring escape...
... And was thereafter crushed by a barbell.
Upon remembering this, I snickered, having tried my hardest to keep it in and failing. Several of the Inklings looked at me, raising a brow. I returned to my serious countenance and leaned back in my chair.
“I can come...” I said, still trying very hard not to laugh. Lakeisha turned to Melanie Renoir—the quietest of the members—and began to talk to her about the party. I was safe... for now, anyway.
I frowned slightly upon remembering how none of the other Inklings seemed to think a gerbil being flattened by a barbell was funny. Honestly, even the words are hilarious.... But the somber mood prevailed. It was my odd attitude lately that I began to feel was separating me more and more from the Inklings—from some of the only people I could really call friends. And even then... how much I disproved of Kelsey and Samuel’s low intelligence....
“... Once upon a midnight dreary...” came a voice, rousing me instantly from my thoughts. I jumped slightly and looked around, panicked—the voice had sounded somewhat close to my ear, and rather like a harsh whisper. Nathan caught the jump and turned to look at me, smirking and winking. I sighed in relief; trust Nathan to quote The Raven at the most inoppertune times.
“Well, all right, then...” said Lakeisha. “It’s settled. 8:15 at the fairgrounds. Don’t forget to bring money...” Lakeisha said, firmly. “They sell fireworks and food there—you’ll be sorry if you’re the only one without money....”
“Unless you also happen to be a pickpocket,” added Nathan helpfully. “Or—failing that—a shameless moocher.” The Inklings laughed. Lakeisha smiled and set down her empty cup.
“Meeting adjourned, then?”
“Sounds good to me,” said Kelsey, stretching and smiling at Lakeisha. “’Later, Keisha...” she began, then added “Goodbye... all.” She finished, waving slightly and picking up her book. With that, Kelsey strode through the glass-panelled door, the bell ringing merrily as she stepped out.
The Inklings—one by one—began to sit up and say their goodbyes. Samuel smiled at me and waved, going through his general “cool guy” routine before strolling out the door. Nathan smirked and waved suggestively while Damien only waved a curt goodbye. Soon, only Lakeisha, Melanie, and myself were left in the café. Melanie was talking in hushed voices with Lakeisha about something and—almost instantly—I was seized with jealousy. I mean, honestly—how dare Lakeisha talk in hushed tones with anyone other than me?
After a few minutes, Melanie stepped back and smiled, blushing deeply.
“You... you think...?” she asked loudly enough for me to hear. Lakeisha smiled and nodded.
“I know. ... You take care of yourself, Melanie... all right?”
“All right... you, too, Lakeisha,” Melanie said, the sun lighting up her large, brown doe eyes. Melanie had the unreal tendency to be adorable without precedent; this was one of those times. She walked out the door, nearly skipping, as Lakeisha approached. I was already standing.
“What was that all about?” I said, with a slight ‘all right, why was the best friend left out of this one?’ pout. Lakeisha smiled slightly and said, in a low voice,
“Melanie’s got it bad for Damien...”
“Eugh—Damien?”
“There’s nothing wrong with him, Serena...” Lakeisha said, walking to the door and opening it for me.
“Yeah... except that he’s quiet... and creepy... and he just sits there and looks at you with those... those soulless eyes.” I said, passing through and gesticulating eerily. Lakeisha looked at me flatly before passing through the door.
“Hilarious... I really wonder how you manage sometimes....”
“To be so bloody brilliant?”
“You could put it that way....” Lakeisha said as we started down the sidewalk. The evening was brisk, just warm enough to wander without sweaters, and just cool enough so that you didn’t have to keep a weather eye for pedestrians collapsed of heat stroke. The golden sun glinted in the windows of the shops, and painted a sort of warm glow onto the canvas of the city.
The city was small—lovely, quaint, and all but coated in a rusty, old town charm. It was its main attraction, its lure for all the tourists. Granted, in the dark alleys between the merry shops and buildings with the painted-on bricks, the unavoidable scum of the city lurked. And as a worthy sidenote; for some odd reason, the scum of the city seemed to enjoy claiming the gas stations as personal property.
I looked around, studying the shops, when one shop in particular met my eye: a curio. The only shop in town that seemed genuinely dilapidated, in fact. It was owned by two friends of mine—Jonathan Denair, and his father Johann. Jonathan was my age, and quite possibly the epitome of a social reject. He was negative, sarcastic, and dry. He had a long face with tousled black hair that wasn’t trimmed too often. And Lakeisha—with every iota of her being—hated him.
“Look, Lakeisha—the curio’s open,” I said, fully aware her reaction wouldn’t be a pleasant one.
“Oh,” she said, indifferently, continuing to walk. I smirked: I certainly called that one. I stopped walking and gestured to the curio.
“I want to go in... the place hasn’t been open since we were in middle school....”
“I remember,” she said, stopping just slow enough to imply that she’d keep walking if I insisted on dropping by the curio. I did so anyway.
“I want to check up on Jonathan,” I said. Lakeisha kept walking. “Lakeisha...” I said, admonishingly. “Really, now... he’s not a bad guy....”
“He’s a jerk,” Lakeisha said bluntly, finally stopping entirely. “Not a day in my life that I’ve seen him has ever been pleasant.”
“That’s an exaggeration...”
“But it was a suiting one...” she said, frowning and shifting her weight. “I really don’t like him, Serena. He’s bitter and smug and he’s got hair almost down to his shoulders...”
“It adds character!”
“And a generally scruffy look—Serena, all he’s ever done is try to make me feel unwelcome...” she said, frowning even more deeply.
“I’m sure he doesn’t mean it... it’s just in his character, is all...” I said, starting in the direction of the curio. “You can wait out here—we can walk to my house after I’m done talking with him...” I offered. This didn’t seem to please Lakeisha much as she narrowed her eyes and began to follow.
“Don’t expect me to be nice to him...” she said, with uncharacteristic malice. I smiled, walking toward the curio at a more normal pace.
“I can honestly say I’ve never expected you to be nice to anybody...” I said. Lakeisha smiled slightly.
“That’s an exaggeration...” she said. Without the will power to resist the set up, I chirped:
“But it was a suiting one.” Lakeisha rolled her eyes with a smile and opened the curio door, gesturing inside.
“You first...” she said. I smiled and walked inside.
Upon studying the outside of the curio, an optimist might assume that the inside looks much better—for who would want a store that looked so dreary? The obvious answer was: the Denairs. Dark tapestries with intriguing designs closed off any light that would’ve entered the dirty windows. A faded, velvet curtain hung on the door, along with a collection of Shinto bells from India and Japan. Old wooden tables held yellowed, antediluvian doilies and goblets filled with beads that gave off a foreboding air.
Old, dusty trunks laid ajar, filled with items that couldn’t be tiered, such as strange mosaic balls with thousands of beautiful colors, varying upon each ball what variety of color you’d get. The trunks also consisted of what little feng shui items didn’t litter the walls. Pedestals were scattered hither and thither, holding figureheads of Kandakes or San Nesus. A large torii sat propped against a wall, with an exotic plant winding around it as if it were a trellis. In the glass-covered cases, there stood small Egyptian figurines—all of which Jon had introduced to me. The jackal headed guardian—Anubis, Amenophis III—the Pharaoh, Saqqara—a well known and loved queen, Thoth—the God with the head of an ibis, and Bastet—the Egyptian Cat Goddess. Osiris, Ra, Set and others were most likely to be in a coming shipment.
A beautiful bronze statue of Ganesh sat atop the counter, right next to a Buddha with an ear-to-ear smile. Necklaces with pentagrams and crosses of Austrian crystal hung on the wall behind the counter. Chakra pendulums also hung, adding their brightly-colored crystal brilliance to the room whenever a drop of light would hit one. The sconces on the walls varied—they were both on display and currently in use. A gargoyle held a ball between its teeth, allowing a white-blue light to escape—a snake did likewise. The head of Medusa had the snakes in her hair holding the ball above her head... that’s certainly what I’d do if I had a head of snakes.
Large wind chimes hung from the ceiling, along with paper lanterns that looked as though they might’ve been older than I was. Wooden flutes lay on top of an old-fashioned writing desk, and a lute leaned against a far wall.
Upon drinking in the scenery, I shuffled across the Persian carpet and noisily rang the bell on the counter.
“Jonathaaaan!” I shouted, leaning over the counter slightly, if just to be obnoxious. Lakeisha sighed. There were a few moments of silence before I caught Jon’s tall, lanky figure emerge from the back of the curio. He raised his brows.
“Well, I have to say... I was expecting another loud-mouthed kid, looking for voodoo dolls.... Where do they hear about them, anyway?” Jon asked, scratching idly at his scruffy facial hair. I smiled and shrugged.
“Internets?”
“Valid point... you here for anything...?” He asked, walking up the length of the Persian carpet so I could see him better in the light. Since I’d seen him last, he’d sprouted a sloppy goatee and a small, silver eyebrow ring. He wouldn’t have looked out of place in a wail-prone garage band.
“Just to visit... I saw the curio was opened and wanted to see why Denair senior opened it back up again...” I said. Jon shrugged.
“Dad...? I don’t know... it was a whim project I guess...” he said. I looked at Jon for a moment. I’d never actually really spoken to his father: his father spoke very little English. Jon was a first generation immigrant from Austria, and so his father was usually never caught speaking anything other than German. I smiled.
“Tell Johann I picked up more German today...” I said, cheerily. Jon groaned.
“Oh, God...”
“No, I swear—it’s not bad.... I... I don’t think so, anyway....”
“What is it?” He asked, looking at me and holding his mouth, as though preparing for the worst.
“Ah... das ist wahr.” I said.
“That’s true,” Jon translated. I raised a brow, as though I didn’t understand.
“What’s true, now...?”
“... That’s what it means...” Jon said slowly.
“Oh... oh, that’s true....”
“Right...” Jon said, raising a brow again.
“I just mean I knew it was true, and I was translating....”
“I kn—... I... what?” Jon asked, frowning. His face seemed to lighten after a few moments. “Hah, hah... hilarious,” he said, dryly. I smirked.
“Thanks; I do try,” I said. Jonathan rolled his eyes. Lakeisha coughed uncomfortably, but he paid her no mind. “Actually, Serena, there was something that came in the other day that I wanted to show you...” Jon said after a few minutes of thought. My eyebrows shot up, as though aided with rockets.
“I’m sorry, what? I must’ve misheard you. I thought I heard you say you were actually thinking about me the other day...” I said, genuinely taken aback. I hadn’t seen Jon for a while—what would be so important that he’d think about me?
“I do that from time to time...” Jon said indifferently. “You know... think about people I’m friends with... it’s a sort of hobby of mine....”
“Sounds like a terrible hobby...” I said.
“It is; it’s a terrible hobby... but we’re getting off the subject. Someone delivered a box of junk here to the curio the other day... maybe hoping for payment or recognition or... something. I haven’t the slightest what they were after... regardless; we got a box of junk.”
“Well, thanks, Jon... it makes me all tickled to know I’m correlated with boxes of junk.”
“You haven’t heard what was in it yet, though...” he said. I frowned, walking slightly closer as though every word was suddenly integral.
“All right, now I’m listening.”
“Glad to hear you weren’t before...” Jon said curtly, before continuing. “It was something along the lines of a needle, a thimble, a half-spun spool of thread, a broken pince nez, a mostly-shattered mirror... and the oddest bit was there was a dagger in there, too... can you believe that? Just delivering a box of sewing supplies and broken odds and ends to a curio...? And then throwing in a dagger?” I frowned.
“Is that all that was in there...? Really?”
“Mostly...” said Jon. “There was this old journal with stitchings on it—and a purse to match—along with a little frog bauble...” he trailed off. “It freaked me the hell out, to be honest...” he said, admittedly. “I thought we’d have a cult at our door any day, looking for the objects... no one’s come to claim them, though....”
“Did the journal have any writing in it...?”
“None...” Jon answered. I raised a brow, my excitement mounting.
“Can I see them?” I asked. Jon shrugged.
“Sure... they’re in the back.... There’s a painting back there I wanted to show you, anyway....” He said. I smiled.
“Well, you’ve been thinking of me an awful lot...” I said coyly, standing in an exaggeratedly bashful manner. Jon smirked.
“Don’t flatter yourself...” was all he said, starting the short walk to the back of the curio. I pouted and feigned hurt, but followed anyway.
As short as the walk to the back of the curio was, it wasn’t exactly somewhere most people wanted to be. The back of the store was as eerie—possibly even more so—than the front of the store. There was less light there, and it was therefore very cold. The back room was studded with all manner of unknown collectibles. The tapestries were darker, and not just in color, but design. Strange antiques, such as beautifully decorated daggers, nooses, miniature guillotines, finger-boxes, and an iron maiden, kept all customers in the front of the store.
But I had to admit: I loved all the odd, twisted knickknacks, weapons, and devices they stored in the back of the curio—I loved the mysterious wonder of it all. Shackles, manacles, large nails, mallets, and stocks dating back to early America and sometimes even earlier lay cluttered around the small back area. Old surgeon’s tools from the revolution made a wonderfully macabre display—seeing as amputating of limbs was called for constantly with the lead in the muskets and the shattering of bone.
Lakeisha shivered. I smiled and breathed in the musty air.
“I missed this place...”
“And it missed you...” Jon said sardonically, smiling slightly. I walked up to him.
“So...? Where’re the box and painting?” I asked impatiently. He ruffled through various folders and old boxes when he came upon a relatively new one, still the rich light brown of postal boxes. He pulled it from its shelf and opened it, showing the contents to me. I blinked: he hadn’t been lying.
Odd assortments of different things all were crammed into the little box. I sifted through the contents and Jon stepped forward.
“There’s a broken mirror in there... the pince nez, too...” he said, looking over my shoulder, into the box. I frowned, sorting through the junk.
“Really...? I can’t find them....”
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![[image]](http://www.boomspeed.com/egraphics/75as4.gif)
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ktech355
Page
Lesbian Cowboy
member is offline
![[avatar]](http://tn3-2.deviantart.com/fs24/300W/f/2008/004/1/5/Clubbing_baby_seals_yay_by_KtechHelvetiin.jpg)
Fear Juppo. He likes seals...baby ones...
Joined: Jan 2007
Gender: Female
Posts: 116
Location: On the roof of the White House
Karma: 1 | | Re: Athanasian Petals (First Draft-- NEW QFA!)
« Reply #1 on Aug 23, 2008, 12:03am » | |
Wow, this is really different than the previous version. Well, not *completely*, but it's very interesting. I think it's a *marvelous* prologue to the story. I don't remember Janus from the other version, heh. Of course that could be because I read it two years ago... however I DID notice that there wasn't as much description of the characters in the café as in the first version. I think you mentioned something about two twins being like Nathan... laid back and such. I don't remember much ^_^; Of course there could be a purpose for that, I suppose... Other than that I think it's great.
BTW... is your sig from the Nightwish Phantom of the Opera video? I saw something that looked like that... just reminded me of the video.
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I found a signature. Yay. See if this works...
![[image]](http://www.ff-fan.com/chartest/banners/zack.jpg)
Which Final Fantasy Character Are You?
Final Fantasy 7
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Aermis
The Ruler of All
Proud Mother of Satan [Dictatistrator]
member is offline
Lassen Sie uns ein freakin' bloodbath beginnen!
Joined: Apr 2006
Gender: Female
Posts: 3,078
Location: In the Torture Chamber
Karma: 22 | | Re: Athanasian Petals (First Draft-- NEW QFA!)
« Reply #2 on Aug 23, 2008, 12:59am » | |
Yep-- 'tis different. There's less description of the characters in the cafe because those characters aren't important to the plot. In fact, almost none of them reappear after they leave the cafe. They don't come back until the third book, and even then, it's only for a little while. Spending too much time describing arbitrary characters bores the reader. I realize the other story was a lot more description-heavy, and that that was most of the reason why people enjoyed it. However, this time around, I aim to even out dialog and description to make it more interesting for the reader. Show, not tell-- a lesson I've learned since picking up QfA last time.
Janus is a new character-- a Hellion I've ended up *totally* loving. He plays a somewhat major role in this. A lot of the Dimarchian characters are new, like Merrolis, Moritat... er... etc. I can't remember the others. But to help:
Silhi= Lydia
Lokre= Satchet
Kira= Lenore
Vertre= Bast (Sebastian)
... there's more. : D;;
And hah-- no. That's just a screenshot from the 1976 version of Godspell. I did a sepia overlay, played with the lighting and shadows, added a border and some text. It's pretty shoddy-looking, but hey-- it's Godspell.
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ktech355
Page
Lesbian Cowboy
member is offline
Fear Juppo. He likes seals...baby ones...
Joined: Jan 2007
Gender: Female
Posts: 116
Location: On the roof of the White House
Karma: 1 | | Re: Athanasian Petals (First Draft-- NEW QFA!)
« Reply #3 on Aug 23, 2008, 1:16am » | |
Ah, The new character list DOES help. Or at least it will have when they show up in the story. I'm *totally* loving Janus, also. ^_^ And The Raven! I haven't read that in a long time... I should read it again.
Godspell? Never heard of it. Like I said, it just reminded me of the video thing. It looks cool, though. Better than my sig...
Zack: *pouts*
Aww... now I made him sad. Well too bad, he's spoiled rotten anyway. I draw him a lot...
Zack: Not enough. You still haven't finished that one portrait with--
Shut up! You're not even my character! What the hell are you doing here? This is a roleplaying forum, not a fansite!
Zack: Because you *put* me here all of a sudden--
Shoo! *Pushes him out a random door*
I'm sorry, I'm getting off topic. I'm so bored. Hope you don't mind that... and if you do, then Zack will stay in my signature from now on, heh. Basically what I'm trying to say is, I like your signature. ^_^ And your story of course. Very nice so far.
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I found a signature. Yay. See if this works...
Which Final Fantasy Character Are You?
Final Fantasy 7
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