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Mmm, roleplay with self. Funfun. domokun

What he isn't aware of is the pair of eyes watching him from the pitch black east corridor. It's one of those things that would just add significantly to his paranoia, if not freak the hell out of him. Not to mention the fact that the eyes themselves are black dots on white, void of colour and, seemingly, life.

The watcher remains perfectly still as he passes, faltering only slightly when thin fingers slide out of the shadows against the rough wall. It's a risky move in order to get a better look, but provides good leverage for someone of her height.

She had been in her paint room when the noise of the door awoke her from her creative daze. As interesting and engaging painting is, real live people are much more fluid and detailed to study and observe.

He has a familiarity to him, she decides, leaning farther out from behind her protective cover of the wall. She recognizes him, but he is one of those clouded figures quickly fading as her babyisms lose their strength. Age often does cloud up true experience.

Curiosity kicks impatiently within his clothing home, mentally complaining about the wait. Go get better look of boy! he urges boredly, stretching out his feet against the almond coloured fabric. No use stay here and lose him.

If she hears him, she shows no indication of acknowledging his advice. Sliding out of the shadow, she races silently across the floorboards, knowing by now which ones and where not to step during pursuit.

Dare rushes to her as soon as the cry stops its haunting sound, swinging the child into his jacketed arms. His hand runs down her sleek, pigtailed hair in order to sooth her, but his trembling hand gives his worry away. He closes his eyes in the embrace, trying to block out the notion of how similar her small body is to a worn and broken doll.

"Turtle," he whispers into her shoulder, his voice crackling slightly. His trembling begins to subside, if only slowly. "Turtle, baby, don't cry.. it'll be okay. It's only me, nothing's gonna hurt you.."

Her sorrow spills onto his clothing in her salty tears. Sliding her arms around his neck, she pulls her head underneath his chin. Curiosity's voice in her head is filled of muffled wails, an unusual choice for him not to make noise aloud. It disturbs her even more for the most consistant thing in her life, her daemon, could be unnerved as easily as she could. His tough attitude and protectice nature faltered, just as she did, at the face of something completely inexplicable to her juvenile mind.

Dare knows none of this. He continues stroking her hair, supporting her light body, and holding her as if he'd never let go. He'd spooked her, he figures, or something has disturbed her equally so. None the less, there is no mistaking the very faint, sickeningly sweet smell that tickles his nose, the same that never left him while in the lethargic state of the files and the Rangers. A pang of guilt hits him suddenly, and his breathing changes to a more uneasy rhythm, stroking her hair in similar treatment of a delicate doll.

A crack of light in a darkened hallway is all that is visible. Next, as the light from outdoors streams into the hastly boarded up corridor, the figure of a tall male teen steps through the space provided. He shuts the door cautiously behind himself, eyes squinting to adjust to the dim lighting.

Dare had, indeed, actually paid his old home a visit. Siblings had been both overjoyed and disgruntled to see him, not a far stretch from what he left, but most of all he had wished to pay his mother a visit. After all, the disappearance, he guessed, would have been hard on her most of all. Though, upon his arrival, the fact arose that his uncle's biological [a rare occurance for this around Gaia] son had been brought into the world days earlier, and Phoenix has since stayed with the family for support and assistance.

Instead, he'd been directed to his uncle's mansion, somewhere he'd never stepped foot in. Brushing hair from his eyes in hopes to help his eyes adjust, Dare takes care not to make any sudden movements or loud noises. Stepping forward with utmost caution in the uneasily dark hallway, he has to do some searching before managing to uproot his voice.

"Hullo?" he calls out, heading towards the only visibly lit room - the kitchen. "Is.. is anybody home?"

What he isn't aware of is the pair of eyes watching him from the pitch black east corridor. It's one of those things that would just add significantly to his paranoia, if not freak the hell out of him. Not to mention the fact that the eyes themselves are black dots on white, void of colour and, seemingly, life.

The watcher remains perfectly still as he passes, faltering only slightly when thin fingers slide out of the shadows against the rough wall. It's a risky move in order to get a better look, but provides good leverage for someone of her height.

Taking the necessary steps to hug the wall, Dare drags his hand across the peeling paint, reassuring himself with the notion that this way, he can't be attacked by all angles. For all he knows, his siblings could have planned some sort of revenge, sending him here in hopes of reconciling with his mother.

Craning his neck, the Legend quickly rushes past the opening of yet another room entrance, feeling uncomfortable about being exposed yet again. Slight reassurance returns when he feels the same chipping paint under his fingers again. Only the sound of the house sighing occasionally fills the air, making his own breathing magnify in his own ears.

She had been in her paint room when the noise of the door awoke her from her creative daze. As interesting and engaging painting is, real live people are much more fluid and detailed to study and observe.

He has a familiarity to him, she decides, leaning farther out from behind her protective cover of the wall. She recognizes him, but he is one of those clouded figures quickly fading as her babyisms lose their strength. Age often does cloud up true experience.

Curiosity kicks impatiently within his clothing home, mentally complaining about the wait. Go get better look of boy! he urges boredly, stretching out his feet against the almond coloured fabric. No use stay here and lose him.

If she hears him, she shows no indication of acknowledging his advice. Sliding out of the shadow, she races silently across the floorboards, knowing by now which ones and where not to step during pursuit.

He'd seen something.

Turning swiftly, he tries to confirm what he'd seen in the corner of his eye, only to be greeted by immediate darkness. He had been looking into the light of the kitchen long enough for his eyes to adjust slightly to it, long enough so that when they return to a darker setting they are forced to take the same amount of time to revert.

Her form grows sharper as his eyes become agreeable, and there she is, crouched against the shadowed staircase. It's easy to tell that she has been surprised, her hand immediately shooting out and grabbing a firm hold on the detailed staircase post.

"Turtle-baby?" he asks questioningly, taking a step forward. She's much taller than when he'd last been in her company, not to mention the thick aroma of time magic he unconsciously registers emulating from her form.

She shrinks back immediately, for she too does not immediately recognize who she's dealing with. Huddled against the curved surface of the wall, April presses herself as flat as possible against it, her thoughts swirling to match the face with the memories.

Stepping out almost immediately, she cups her hands over her eyes as salty tears drizzle down her cheeks. Her mouth pulls in a tight frown, lower lip trembling. Her eyes widen in the darkness of her hands; they begin to sting, and it isn't because of the gloom and glee mixture she's feeling. An eery cold washes over her, starting from her toes and neck and ending in her eyes and fingers. She lets out a sob, a powerful and chilling sound from a child so used to her own silence.

Dare rushes to her as soon as the cry stops its haunting sound, swinging the child into his jacketed arms. His hand runs down her sleek, pigtailed hair in order to sooth her, but his trembling hand gives his worry away. He closes his eyes in the embrace, trying to block out the notion of how similar her small body is to a worn and broken doll.

"Turtle," he whispers into her shoulder, his voice crackling slightly. His trembling begins to subside, if only slowly. "Turtle, baby, don't cry.. it'll be okay. It's only me, nothing's gonna hurt you.."

Her sorrow spills onto his clothing in her salty tears. Sliding her arms around his neck, she pulls her head underneath his chin. Curiosity's voice in her head is filled of muffled wails, an unusual choice for him not to make noise aloud. It disturbs her even more for the most consistant thing in her life, her daemon, could be unnerved as easily as she could. His tough attitude and protectice nature faltered, just as she did, at the face of something completely inexplicable to her juvenile mind.

Dare knows none of this. He continues stroking her hair, supporting her light body, and holding her as if he'd never let go. He'd spooked her, he figures, or something has disturbed her equally so. None the less, there is no mistaking the very faint, sickeningly sweet smell that tickles his nose, the same that never left him while in the lethargic state of the files and the Rangers. A pang of guilt hits him suddenly, and his breathing changes to a more uneasy rhythm, stroking her hair in similar treatment of a delicate doll.

April picks up on the change, of course, only causing her to squeeze him tighter. Her knuckles turn white as her small hands grasp the thick jacket.

He won't understand, a small and less clouded voice says. She can feel her daemon shuffle under her collar. Wary, Curiosity continues, You make him.

Nuzzling her head against Dare, she tugs away from the embrace and slides out of his arms. He grasps her arms, caught slightly off-guard, to help her until her toes make contact with the floor. His eyes search her face for any clues or hints of what she isn't, and refusing on, telling him.

Her eyes move up from the floor and her feet, flickering up to lock perfectly on Dare's olive green eyes. They remain there, silent jealousy of the depth his eyes contain surfacing mildly. Her own eyes, black with barely any range, are swollen, though whether this was caused by the crying is debatable under the circumstances.

"We cannot stay. Take me with you."

Her voice is tender and soft, as low as a whisper but with the strength of a bold warrior. Sounding firm and certain, it's hard to argue the validity in her decision.

Dare's eyes flicker back and forth on both of his cousin's, barely able to see them in the poor lighting. He swallows at the lump in his throat, hoarsely replying with a faint, "Go get whatever you need." His voice sounds unlike his own, as if it were a detatched choice to say them.

She sagely nods, starting up the stairs right away. Five steps up, the stair heaves a groaning sigh, creaking rather loudly. Both freeze immediately.

"Is someone down there?" a tired female voice whispers from an origin upstairs.

Dare's eyes widen, glancing upwards before looking to April. Motioning urgently for her to follow, he starts back towards the door, grabbing her wrist once she meets his side. All without thought, Dare flings the door open, tugging the child outside with him. Shutting the door hastily, he swings her into his arms, determined that carrying her is the fastest means of escape.

Escape? Since when had this become a kidnapping mission? I only wanted to talk..