|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Thu Nov 08, 2012 12:39 am
[imgleft]http://i173.photobucket.com/albums/w77/mutesweariloveyou/lilah2_zps0d121788.png[/imgleft][img]http://i173.photobucket.com/albums/w77/mutesweariloveyou/lilah_zps8af80bc3.png[/img]
[color=#F6C9CC]
[align=right][i][b][size=18]Y[/size][/b][/i][size=10]ou never liked the way I [u]said[/u] it [/size][size=18][b]. . .[/b][/size][color=white]bloopbloopbloopbloopbloopbloopbloopbloop[/color][/align]
[align=left][color=white]bloopbloopbloopbloopbloopbloopbloopbloop[/color][i][b][size=18]I[/size][/b][/i][size=10]f you don't get it, then [u]forget[/u] it[/size][size=18][b] / / /[/b] [/size][/align][/color]
[list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][size=10]
Lilah noticed for a moment Scott was clenching his fists. Had she upset him with the information on Cadet Stick? It was okay, she was upset too. No doubt Cadet Stick could have been an asset to the cause. But alas, he had been trampled to death in a horrible accident. "I'm sorry," she spat out and reached a small hand up to wipe away her lone tear. Did he really see her as useful in any capacity? Just the possibillity was enough to re-brighten the small girl's mood. Her hand once again ventured away, this time landing on Scott's shoulder. She tapped her little fingers for a moment before absently uttering, "You have strong shoulders."
Lilah imagined that Scott was the type of man who was a true asset to the Stationary Guard, he was tall and strong and his scars spoke of stories he had yet to tell her. Possibly even ones involving Volker. The thought excited her for a moment, but she kept herself in check, once again reminding herself not to go off on a General Hoch ramble.
[i]We usually end up getting the majority of them either way, so we're bound to get some talent. Just wish there was something more fun to do.[/i]
Lilah perked up, once again bouncing with excitement. "I know something fun we could do," she said, her voice was almost like a song, "We could play tag, that's always fun!" She was visibly excited, anytime she felt a shred of a possibility of getting someone to play one of her childish games, she came alive with joy. "We could get the cadets to play that way we can asses their speed and tactics," she said in a robotic way, as though she felt the was what she [i]should[/i] say and not at all what she wanted to.
[/size][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list]
[align=center][url=http://www.gaiaonline.com/forum/barton-ooc/ttack-on-itan-the-allout-profiles/t.92821523_1/?_gaia_t_=7564#14][img]http://i173.photobucket.com/albums/w77/mutesweariloveyou/lilah3_zps0fe3ef12.png[/img][/url][/align]
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Nov 11, 2012 11:44 pm
There was something in the dark. Something hungry, something dangerous.
The night swallowed the troupe whole, coating everything in a fine layer of shadows that flickered and pooled just beyond the dim wavering of firelight. There had been no performances today, no open circus for a crowd to admire. Weather delay the sign at the ticket booth had said, even though the sky above was clear and moonless. There was a thick curl of clouds on the horizon, but the scent of rain was still dim and far away. Too far for comfort.
The beaded curtains fell behind the Dust's back in waves as he stepped out into the night, eyes unfocused, body sinewy and bathed in a thin sheen of sweat. Having run entirely on adrenaline the night of the incident, the teenager had found himself turned to a mirror as soon as he insisted he was fine, only to see he'd been torn nearly to pieces. The pain came in waves the second day; a sharp, rhythmic force that drove a fever into his body and muted sanity for sharp spikes of heat beneath the covers and in the dark. Bandages and stitches touched on his arms and legs, making him look evermore like a doll sewn back together than a living creature. But perhaps the most prominent wound was beneath the bandages that wrapped around his neck; long, thick red lines where the demon had held him, choked him.
As was habit ever since the fever broke, Krinn's hands drifted to his throat, feeling the stiff wrap. The sensation of choking gripped him then for a sharp, undeniable moment, and it was all the Dust could do to stay still through it, waiting out a literal waking nightmare that had plagued him since that night. When it passed, his eyes half-lidded and he breathed out heavily. And then he was moving, almost instinctually into the night. He'd planned on doing this sooner or later, checking in. But what did you say to someone after something like this? And what did you do when it was your fault that they'd been left all the worse for it?
The Dust lost track of time wandering the city, the knots and twists and turns until he found Ziya's house. Even then, there was little that he did but linger in the shadows, the light oilskin cloak billowing around him as the wind brushed against his skin and scratched at the scratches and the fading scars. Briefly he imagined how dangerous it was out here. If it wasn't enough that he was a Dust of unnatural hair and eye color, he was also part of a troupe... and as fascinating as troupes were to the public, they were also not always so warmly welcomed. But there was something here he had to do. His hand pressed against his throat again, and he bit his tongue until it bled when the ghost of claws gripped at his neck and tore away his breath. But beneath it bled something even worse; something no stitch or bandage could cure. There was a sick fascination bleeding in his system and clawing at his thoughts, and he couldn't get it out. Krinn winced and willed the thoughts, still lingering on the edge of shadows just beyond Ziya's home.
How was he even supposed begin to apologize? Where was he even supposed to start?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Nov 12, 2012 2:03 am
As twilight fell into complete darkness the street lights slowly sprang to life, driving the shadows back a little from the street. With evening came some liveliness to his home but it was short lived as his mood had driven everyone away. Both Shepard and Ashton had returned from work with Fintan in tow a few hours earlier. They had all been invited to Heathers for dinner and to see more of her new baby but Ziya declined. Surprisingly Fintan tried to convince him; claiming he needed someone who wasn't going to treat him like an idiot there. After forcing a smile and telling the bird it would teach him some patience and that he would easily cope without him, he opted out. Molten gold hues had bore into him on the trio's way out; observing him with a very critical eye before sighing and leaving with their guardians.
Once alone again, Ziya wandered into the kitchen and sat at the kitchen table. Drumming his fingers rhythmic over the smooth surface, he stared simply ahead of himself. He kept most of the lights on as being completely in the dark left him a little unsettled. Even when he did attempt to sleep he slept by candle light; Shepard had said the candle flame would keep the nightmares away. The teen knew it wasn't very well true but the sentiment was nice and he did so anyhow. His gaze traveled over the counter top, eying the bottles of pain medications he had been left with and others to fight off infection for his wounds. He'd been taking them and the pain ones took the edge off on most days but there was always that buzz just behind his destroyed eye that sent his teeth on edge.
With the hour growing later and the hours between when he last slept till now were slowly creeping up on him. He'd have to try and sleep sooner or later but the lightening teen opted to have that come later. Rising from his chair, he ran his hand along the edges of the table as not to add to the collection a bruises on his hips. It seemed all tables and sharp corners were his hip height and he would always jar or knock himself on corners since he wasn't able to properly judge the distance or he simply didn't see it there. It was a recurring problem and it frustrated him to no end but he was having troubles fixing it. Stopping in front of the coffee brewer, he checked it and flicked the switch to cause it to make a pot. It helped him delay his body's need for sleep, as well as it was something that helped him relax. It was one of the habits he had obtained to help himself cope and it was one of the two Ashton and the others didn't mind.
It didn't take long for the coffee to be ready and he reached up to grab his mug and the pot. Now, pouring liquid was a struggle that wasn't easy to hide as some of his other difficulties were. Being able to judge when the cup and the pot were aligned properly as to not spill was something that fell into with missing stairs and curbs. So when he missed horribly and split coffee onto the counter the teen shouldn't have been surprised. Between his sight and the recurring tremor in his hand he was doomed from the start. <********!" He swore, slamming the coffee pot on a dry spot on the counter. Pinching the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and breathing deep, he tried to clam down. Releasing his breath through his nose, he grabbed a cloth and mopped up the mess. Determined, he grabbed the mug in one hand and the coffee pot in the other and held both over the sink and poured until he got some in the mug. Moodily, he set the pot down and took up the coffee mug and stormed towards the front door. Grabbing his warmer coat, he stormed out onto the front steps.
It was cold standing there in just his sleep pants and a white t-shirt but once he set his coffee mug down on the top step, he gingerly slipped into his coat. Rummaging into his coat pockets, he withdrew a lighter and a crushed pack. He withdrew a white stick and stuck it between his lips. As the wind whirled around him, he cupped his hand around the cigarette and lighter before flicking it open and lighting it. Tucking the lighter away be drew in a long drag and sighed softly as he watched the trails of smoke dissipate in the wind. His second bad habit, the one no one approve of and one he could care less of if they did. If the combination of nicotine and caffeine drove around the harsh edges of the darkness, frustration and remainder fears he could care less what people thought.
The tension in him was thick as he sat down on the step carefully, using the rails to guide himself down slowly. Resting his back against the rail, Ziya stared out into the shadows of the street, his single grey eye watching. This was the only time he came outside since he wasn't allowed to do this inside. Normally he kept to the back yard to do this but since there was a lack of lighting back there the front steps it was. Also he could sit strategically with his blind side positioned towards the house and his good side facing to where any danger could possibly approach from.
The teen was thankful that it was cold and late enough that the streets were pretty quiet, no one to see how gaunt and troubled he looked in the low light. How too large the jacket looked on his slight frame, how frazzled and sick he looked. He didn't need too many people seeing what a freak show he had become.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
