For Anyone who Notices
Dec. 2nd, 2012 10:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
breezeshadowI am alive. No I am not feeling that much better. It doesn't help that eBay Car's brakes partially failed and I got a 2011 car instead that I need help with the insurance for, and feel like I am such a dumbass for getting a car that new even though I know it will last forever.
But I did not come here to vent because at this stage in depression, I feel like I shouldn't, because it's stupid and no one cares. Instead have some excerpts from Friendship in Winter (completed NaNoWriMo with it at 53510 words) and a story for a bingo card.
His old home looked like it had never been entered again; and that was exactly what he had guessed. The windows had been boarded up, but he walked quietly up to it, staring through spaces between the planks. The little sunlight let him see nothing but vague shadows.
“What is this?” Kader sounded almost nervous, but he had slowly started to get used to it; the asshole in Rezten had made her jumpier, more suspicious of unusual places.
“My home.” He walked over to the door, but found that someone had locked it; it was better than boards, at least. “People here are afraid of spirits. They can be very vengeful, and no one wants to welcome their anger.”
“Superstitions? About people they did not even kill?” The doctor’s tone was thick with skepticism, and more than a little disgust. “It’s just an old house. The world doesn’t care if something shitty happened in it.”
“But people do.” He slammed his body into the door, feeling it rattle from the force. He had no doubts that the neighbors were staring with utter fascination, but he had already become the sideshow; let him be the main attraction. Suddenly, it did not seem to matter.
“Any reason we’re trying to break into your abandoned home?” Even as she said it Kader opened her bag, rummaging through it.
“I need to.” He could not say why, though, or what told him to. He had nothing but an urge.
“Good enough for me. Here.” She handed over a hairpin. “Ever pick a lock?”
He had not, and he found that attempting to perhaps would take longer than just smashing the door down. Kader seemed unimpressed with that method, however, and so he kept at it, until Kader finally sighed, rolled her eyes, then took over and got it open within a minute.
“Were you a burglar as a child?” He stared at her incredulously as she glanced around, and no doubt noticed that apparently breaking into abandoned houses was more entertaining than it was illegal.
“No, you just learn strange shit in an orphanage.” The doctor put the pin back in her bag, then pulled out a set of matches. “I thought that applied to the army too, but guess not. Have any lamps in here?”
They lit one that he still could find by heart – right near the doorway leading to the kitchen. It sputtered almost with confusion before giving them light, and then the place felt more eerie.
No one had cleaned up the blood stains, for one thing. He could see exactly where his father must have fallen, and felt his heart begin to race, mind scrambling. Breathing quickly, Tegre looked away, only to find himself staring at the corner where he had become trapped. Powder from the gun still stained the floor, but there were no signs of the injury that had damaged his leg.
Kader had moved on while he looked around, glancing into the kitchen. It was somewhat large, fitting a stew stove with counters, a large dry sink, and an icebox. He could not recall the table looking so fragile, nor one of the four chairs being tipped over – but the entire day had become such a haunting blur that he supposed anything could have happened. Neither he nor the doctor explored it further; instead he moved in a trance past the old sofa and bookshelf, and down the hallway. The wooden floor creaked under his feet.
The bathroom smelled disgusting, no doubt because no one had ever bothered to go into the latrine and clean it; the door leading to it was slightly open, allowing the fumes to come in. What he noticed immediately, however, was the great support beam that spanned the room, and from where his mother had hung in her final moments. Tegre may have stared at it forever, almost able to see her swinging, had Kader not gently tugged him away.
The three bedrooms smelled musty, and rats scattered when they looked into his parents’ old bedroom. Bottles of liquor were still in it, most empty, but one full resting on the night stand next to the bed. Cassandra’s room was stripped almost bare, and he suspected she had returned to the house once more before disappearing. All that remained were musty sheets and pulled open drawers.
And his room was as he always left it – tidied and organized. The pages of his military book felt fragile under his hands as he looked through it, the words hard to read; his clothing was moth-eaten and home to a new family of freshly-panicked mice.
The house had been left to rot in its final state, and it told their story – the obsessive young soldier, the fractured father, and the head-strong stubborn daughter. And to him it told their end – the hanging from the rapture, the hasty flight, and the death. There was nothing left for him to take, to hold, to cherish. He had nothing but dark memories. Perhaps spirits were not real, but he could feel the tragedy the house had held, and he was not sure he could blame the townspeople for letting it stay sealed.
“Are we done?” Kader looked around the place with a deep frown as they returned to the main room. People who had been peering into the house scattered when they saw them, though Tegre was not sure what they expected them to do.
“There’s nothing left.” He walked over and ran his finger along the spine of one of their books; it felt so odd, ready to collapse into dust. “I hoped to find something but… It’s all dead.”
“It died years ago, Tegre. And so long as everyone keeps avoiding it, it will slowly rot to nothing.” She sighed heavily. “Everyone looks at you like a walking ghost. They know what happened don’t they?”
“More than you do.” Tegre sat down on the couch, relieved when it creaked but did not collapse. “Neighbors heard the shot and found us. Sheriff transferred us both to Pooselridge by carriage. They were too afraid to use teleporting, afraid it’d somehow render us.”
“And did you ever come back?”
“To the town? Yes. I lived with Cassandra and her man while I finished academy. But then…” He shook his head, for then there had been the breakdown, and the asylum, and he had never come back, unable to get the motivation to return to his home.
“Why didn’t your family take this back?” Kader looked at the books on the shelf. “Why did they leave it?”
“Because it has all been disowned.” It wrenched his heart, even after everything else he had already revealed. “Me, Cassandra, my mother. The only one who has kept his family name is my father.”
“Are you seriously? You all were fucking disowned while the abuser was martyred?” Kader looked at him sharply, stiffening. “What the fuck?”
“The father is king.” He stared at the ceiling, seeing where it was slowly rotting. “For the Soners, the father is king.”
He heard Kader take a sharp breath, but she said no more. It was for the best; he had nothing else to say.
They got to Io, and nothing happened. Nothing concerning the Eramen at least; stupidity was still alive and well in the city, and one night Kader woke up in a cold sweat, only to find Tegre next to her, whispering soothing words that she had forgotten the next morning. She wished she could return the favour when he had nightmares, but she had a feeling “Snap the fuck out of it, it’s a dream” would not provide much comfort.
Late spring in the plains felt much like the summer did, except the nights were colder and freak rain still occurred from time to time. The entire time they passed through it, however, it was bone dry, and there was not a cloud in the sky. Nor was there war; Antelon was just as quiet as Io, or actually quieter, since that city had the sense to at least not discriminate against half of its population. Of course, then someone’s house was set on fucking fire while they were there, because the world liked proving her wrong.
Whatever or whoever had made the coastline of the Welen continent had been a tad drunk when it got to Rezten. The land sheared off, forming a sharp cliff that provided a dangerous and suicidal way to get down to the shore. And so Rezten’s port instead had been built a few miles away, where the ridge was a bit less frightening, and also a bit easier to carve into to make winding pathways and stairs. Even then, it was too steep for trains, and so instead one had three choices. They could walk, they could ride donkeys, or they could take the gryphons.
The large beasts were odd-looking creatures. Their head was reminiscient of a bird, with the snout ending in a sharp point like a beak. They also had wings, though their structure reminded Kader more of a bat’s. Yet they had the body, feet, and tufted tail of a plains cat, and fur instead of feathers. A few small tufts formed a small crest just above their forehead, but it did not have the patterned, exact precision of feathers.
Most of the time, the animals were used for flights across the country; but only really rich people could afford that form of transportation. For Dragon’s Port, however, the trip was shorter, and also about one thousand times more terrifying. Gryphons were not one for gentle soaring; instead, they leaped down and charged down toward the ground at a frightening speed, leaving the passengers clinging for life until they suddenly came back up and settled onto the sand a mile out from the port. Kader was pretty sure they were trying to kill someone, and it was likely that that made the price for the gryphons a little cheaper than the sure-footed, less deadly donkeys.
Tegre’s face was all white as they approached two of the beasts, though at least the sight made him too frightened to hack up a lung. Two people fit comfortably on a gryphon’s back, and while it could likely manage three, that last person would be without reins or a sure seat, and likely would spend the ride screaming. And so she handed over six silver for two of the mounts, and promised Tegre that no they would not die and no he could not ride with her because then they may.
The drivers helped them into the large saddle on the beast’s back; it provided a small back so they would not tumble out from behind, and the person controlling the gryphon kept one from falling the other way. Still, even after having done this once before, Kader felt her heart racing as she took up her set of reins after the man hoisted up. The gryphon danced on its feet, mewing excitedly.
And then it took off. Air rushed by them as it ran and then leapt over the edge, wings snapping out. Then it titled its wings, positioning itself head-first toward the ground, and dived. They were not as graceful as falcons when they did, or nearly as fast; but it was enough for a first timer to piss their pants and say their last prayers. Kader tried to keep her eyes open, but they watered so badly she was forced to close them, hearing the air hiss in her ears.
Then the gryphon pulled up so fast it made her head spin, and she opened her eyes to see they were still a decent distance from the ground. The gryphon screamed proudly, then flapped down to the ground, shaking its head as the driver pulled it to a stop. Shortly after, Tegre’s gryphon landed as well, though judging by the look on his face, Kader suspected the ex-soldier’s brain was still up on top of the cliff.
He hadn’t pissed his pants, though, and Kader gave him credit for that. She thanked the drivers, who grunted with disappointment at the lack of tip, then wheeled the gryphons around and urged them back up the cliff. Getting in the air without a jump was much harder for the beasts, but they raced forward, did a few false jumps, and then a final leap that gave them the air they needed to flap their wings and head back toward the cliff.
“Fun, huh?” She laughed at the mortified look Tegre gave her. “I was the only kid not scared shitless when my class when on a trip here. You can ride them back up too, but it’s not nearly as exciting.”
“Thank the Dragon.”
Even after all of the fuss, though, they had a few hours before the ceremony. It would be held at noon, when the sun was bright and shining straight down over the forest. The officiator claimed that this allowed the sun to bless their marriage with good health and luck, but Bakari had never heard about any of that from other People of Hagaas. Someday, he would actually read the damn book, to see how much Hagaas had said, and how much his followers had decided he said.
There were voices in the anteroom, though, and so Bakari left with Gerald, fussing at his suit. Most of the faces he half-recognized, some names half-remembered. There the blacksmith, there the leader of the lumbermen, there the innkeeper and his wife. In small towns, it seemed, a wedding was a whole-village affair. The idea of gathering the whole of Aurimji for one little wedding was enough to make him snicker to himself as he moved among the guests.
Not everyone was there, of course. Some people were horrified at the idea of two men being married, stealing that precious ceremony from strong men and women. Some said it marked the end of morals; others said it would lead to their demise, as all men wed only each other, and no children were born; and still others were just disgusted with it and didn't have any excuse. Bakari didn't mind those last people, though; at least they were honest. The others were cheerfully ignoring bastard children, affairs, and broken marriages to support their own prejudice.
In fact, not even everyone there supported the marriage, he knew. The innkeeper found it to be odd and was clearly uncomfortable, but had shown up nonetheless, and was polite when Bakari came over to greet him. He knew that the herbalist thought he and Alden had some sort of horrible disease, yet there he was, all smiles, the pity barely visible. Even one man who Bakari knew was gossping about how disgusting they were was there, and chatted with Bakari as if this were just another wedding.
Those were the people he did not mind. They feared, they hated, they cringed -- but they still got over it, were polite, and attended. They would continue their gossiping and lecturing another time, of course; but for that day, they were there to eat and get drunk, and if that was all they wanted, Bakari did not care about their presence.
Then the officiator arrived, dressed in some of the most ridiculous and splendid robes Bakari had ever seen. He also looked like he had not slept last night, with dark circles still visible despite the make up plain on his face. Bakari tried to hide his worry, wondering if the man would announce a change of heart, that he could not do it, that Hagaas forbade it -- but instead he announced they could all come outside and find their places.
But I did not come here to vent because at this stage in depression, I feel like I shouldn't, because it's stupid and no one cares. Instead have some excerpts from Friendship in Winter (completed NaNoWriMo with it at 53510 words) and a story for a bingo card.
His old home looked like it had never been entered again; and that was exactly what he had guessed. The windows had been boarded up, but he walked quietly up to it, staring through spaces between the planks. The little sunlight let him see nothing but vague shadows.
“What is this?” Kader sounded almost nervous, but he had slowly started to get used to it; the asshole in Rezten had made her jumpier, more suspicious of unusual places.
“My home.” He walked over to the door, but found that someone had locked it; it was better than boards, at least. “People here are afraid of spirits. They can be very vengeful, and no one wants to welcome their anger.”
“Superstitions? About people they did not even kill?” The doctor’s tone was thick with skepticism, and more than a little disgust. “It’s just an old house. The world doesn’t care if something shitty happened in it.”
“But people do.” He slammed his body into the door, feeling it rattle from the force. He had no doubts that the neighbors were staring with utter fascination, but he had already become the sideshow; let him be the main attraction. Suddenly, it did not seem to matter.
“Any reason we’re trying to break into your abandoned home?” Even as she said it Kader opened her bag, rummaging through it.
“I need to.” He could not say why, though, or what told him to. He had nothing but an urge.
“Good enough for me. Here.” She handed over a hairpin. “Ever pick a lock?”
He had not, and he found that attempting to perhaps would take longer than just smashing the door down. Kader seemed unimpressed with that method, however, and so he kept at it, until Kader finally sighed, rolled her eyes, then took over and got it open within a minute.
“Were you a burglar as a child?” He stared at her incredulously as she glanced around, and no doubt noticed that apparently breaking into abandoned houses was more entertaining than it was illegal.
“No, you just learn strange shit in an orphanage.” The doctor put the pin back in her bag, then pulled out a set of matches. “I thought that applied to the army too, but guess not. Have any lamps in here?”
They lit one that he still could find by heart – right near the doorway leading to the kitchen. It sputtered almost with confusion before giving them light, and then the place felt more eerie.
No one had cleaned up the blood stains, for one thing. He could see exactly where his father must have fallen, and felt his heart begin to race, mind scrambling. Breathing quickly, Tegre looked away, only to find himself staring at the corner where he had become trapped. Powder from the gun still stained the floor, but there were no signs of the injury that had damaged his leg.
Kader had moved on while he looked around, glancing into the kitchen. It was somewhat large, fitting a stew stove with counters, a large dry sink, and an icebox. He could not recall the table looking so fragile, nor one of the four chairs being tipped over – but the entire day had become such a haunting blur that he supposed anything could have happened. Neither he nor the doctor explored it further; instead he moved in a trance past the old sofa and bookshelf, and down the hallway. The wooden floor creaked under his feet.
The bathroom smelled disgusting, no doubt because no one had ever bothered to go into the latrine and clean it; the door leading to it was slightly open, allowing the fumes to come in. What he noticed immediately, however, was the great support beam that spanned the room, and from where his mother had hung in her final moments. Tegre may have stared at it forever, almost able to see her swinging, had Kader not gently tugged him away.
The three bedrooms smelled musty, and rats scattered when they looked into his parents’ old bedroom. Bottles of liquor were still in it, most empty, but one full resting on the night stand next to the bed. Cassandra’s room was stripped almost bare, and he suspected she had returned to the house once more before disappearing. All that remained were musty sheets and pulled open drawers.
And his room was as he always left it – tidied and organized. The pages of his military book felt fragile under his hands as he looked through it, the words hard to read; his clothing was moth-eaten and home to a new family of freshly-panicked mice.
The house had been left to rot in its final state, and it told their story – the obsessive young soldier, the fractured father, and the head-strong stubborn daughter. And to him it told their end – the hanging from the rapture, the hasty flight, and the death. There was nothing left for him to take, to hold, to cherish. He had nothing but dark memories. Perhaps spirits were not real, but he could feel the tragedy the house had held, and he was not sure he could blame the townspeople for letting it stay sealed.
“Are we done?” Kader looked around the place with a deep frown as they returned to the main room. People who had been peering into the house scattered when they saw them, though Tegre was not sure what they expected them to do.
“There’s nothing left.” He walked over and ran his finger along the spine of one of their books; it felt so odd, ready to collapse into dust. “I hoped to find something but… It’s all dead.”
“It died years ago, Tegre. And so long as everyone keeps avoiding it, it will slowly rot to nothing.” She sighed heavily. “Everyone looks at you like a walking ghost. They know what happened don’t they?”
“More than you do.” Tegre sat down on the couch, relieved when it creaked but did not collapse. “Neighbors heard the shot and found us. Sheriff transferred us both to Pooselridge by carriage. They were too afraid to use teleporting, afraid it’d somehow render us.”
“And did you ever come back?”
“To the town? Yes. I lived with Cassandra and her man while I finished academy. But then…” He shook his head, for then there had been the breakdown, and the asylum, and he had never come back, unable to get the motivation to return to his home.
“Why didn’t your family take this back?” Kader looked at the books on the shelf. “Why did they leave it?”
“Because it has all been disowned.” It wrenched his heart, even after everything else he had already revealed. “Me, Cassandra, my mother. The only one who has kept his family name is my father.”
“Are you seriously? You all were fucking disowned while the abuser was martyred?” Kader looked at him sharply, stiffening. “What the fuck?”
“The father is king.” He stared at the ceiling, seeing where it was slowly rotting. “For the Soners, the father is king.”
He heard Kader take a sharp breath, but she said no more. It was for the best; he had nothing else to say.
They got to Io, and nothing happened. Nothing concerning the Eramen at least; stupidity was still alive and well in the city, and one night Kader woke up in a cold sweat, only to find Tegre next to her, whispering soothing words that she had forgotten the next morning. She wished she could return the favour when he had nightmares, but she had a feeling “Snap the fuck out of it, it’s a dream” would not provide much comfort.
Late spring in the plains felt much like the summer did, except the nights were colder and freak rain still occurred from time to time. The entire time they passed through it, however, it was bone dry, and there was not a cloud in the sky. Nor was there war; Antelon was just as quiet as Io, or actually quieter, since that city had the sense to at least not discriminate against half of its population. Of course, then someone’s house was set on fucking fire while they were there, because the world liked proving her wrong.
Whatever or whoever had made the coastline of the Welen continent had been a tad drunk when it got to Rezten. The land sheared off, forming a sharp cliff that provided a dangerous and suicidal way to get down to the shore. And so Rezten’s port instead had been built a few miles away, where the ridge was a bit less frightening, and also a bit easier to carve into to make winding pathways and stairs. Even then, it was too steep for trains, and so instead one had three choices. They could walk, they could ride donkeys, or they could take the gryphons.
The large beasts were odd-looking creatures. Their head was reminiscient of a bird, with the snout ending in a sharp point like a beak. They also had wings, though their structure reminded Kader more of a bat’s. Yet they had the body, feet, and tufted tail of a plains cat, and fur instead of feathers. A few small tufts formed a small crest just above their forehead, but it did not have the patterned, exact precision of feathers.
Most of the time, the animals were used for flights across the country; but only really rich people could afford that form of transportation. For Dragon’s Port, however, the trip was shorter, and also about one thousand times more terrifying. Gryphons were not one for gentle soaring; instead, they leaped down and charged down toward the ground at a frightening speed, leaving the passengers clinging for life until they suddenly came back up and settled onto the sand a mile out from the port. Kader was pretty sure they were trying to kill someone, and it was likely that that made the price for the gryphons a little cheaper than the sure-footed, less deadly donkeys.
Tegre’s face was all white as they approached two of the beasts, though at least the sight made him too frightened to hack up a lung. Two people fit comfortably on a gryphon’s back, and while it could likely manage three, that last person would be without reins or a sure seat, and likely would spend the ride screaming. And so she handed over six silver for two of the mounts, and promised Tegre that no they would not die and no he could not ride with her because then they may.
The drivers helped them into the large saddle on the beast’s back; it provided a small back so they would not tumble out from behind, and the person controlling the gryphon kept one from falling the other way. Still, even after having done this once before, Kader felt her heart racing as she took up her set of reins after the man hoisted up. The gryphon danced on its feet, mewing excitedly.
And then it took off. Air rushed by them as it ran and then leapt over the edge, wings snapping out. Then it titled its wings, positioning itself head-first toward the ground, and dived. They were not as graceful as falcons when they did, or nearly as fast; but it was enough for a first timer to piss their pants and say their last prayers. Kader tried to keep her eyes open, but they watered so badly she was forced to close them, hearing the air hiss in her ears.
Then the gryphon pulled up so fast it made her head spin, and she opened her eyes to see they were still a decent distance from the ground. The gryphon screamed proudly, then flapped down to the ground, shaking its head as the driver pulled it to a stop. Shortly after, Tegre’s gryphon landed as well, though judging by the look on his face, Kader suspected the ex-soldier’s brain was still up on top of the cliff.
He hadn’t pissed his pants, though, and Kader gave him credit for that. She thanked the drivers, who grunted with disappointment at the lack of tip, then wheeled the gryphons around and urged them back up the cliff. Getting in the air without a jump was much harder for the beasts, but they raced forward, did a few false jumps, and then a final leap that gave them the air they needed to flap their wings and head back toward the cliff.
“Fun, huh?” She laughed at the mortified look Tegre gave her. “I was the only kid not scared shitless when my class when on a trip here. You can ride them back up too, but it’s not nearly as exciting.”
“Thank the Dragon.”
Even after all of the fuss, though, they had a few hours before the ceremony. It would be held at noon, when the sun was bright and shining straight down over the forest. The officiator claimed that this allowed the sun to bless their marriage with good health and luck, but Bakari had never heard about any of that from other People of Hagaas. Someday, he would actually read the damn book, to see how much Hagaas had said, and how much his followers had decided he said.
There were voices in the anteroom, though, and so Bakari left with Gerald, fussing at his suit. Most of the faces he half-recognized, some names half-remembered. There the blacksmith, there the leader of the lumbermen, there the innkeeper and his wife. In small towns, it seemed, a wedding was a whole-village affair. The idea of gathering the whole of Aurimji for one little wedding was enough to make him snicker to himself as he moved among the guests.
Not everyone was there, of course. Some people were horrified at the idea of two men being married, stealing that precious ceremony from strong men and women. Some said it marked the end of morals; others said it would lead to their demise, as all men wed only each other, and no children were born; and still others were just disgusted with it and didn't have any excuse. Bakari didn't mind those last people, though; at least they were honest. The others were cheerfully ignoring bastard children, affairs, and broken marriages to support their own prejudice.
In fact, not even everyone there supported the marriage, he knew. The innkeeper found it to be odd and was clearly uncomfortable, but had shown up nonetheless, and was polite when Bakari came over to greet him. He knew that the herbalist thought he and Alden had some sort of horrible disease, yet there he was, all smiles, the pity barely visible. Even one man who Bakari knew was gossping about how disgusting they were was there, and chatted with Bakari as if this were just another wedding.
Those were the people he did not mind. They feared, they hated, they cringed -- but they still got over it, were polite, and attended. They would continue their gossiping and lecturing another time, of course; but for that day, they were there to eat and get drunk, and if that was all they wanted, Bakari did not care about their presence.
Then the officiator arrived, dressed in some of the most ridiculous and splendid robes Bakari had ever seen. He also looked like he had not slept last night, with dark circles still visible despite the make up plain on his face. Bakari tried to hide his worry, wondering if the man would announce a change of heart, that he could not do it, that Hagaas forbade it -- but instead he announced they could all come outside and find their places.
no subject
Date: 2012-12-03 11:49 am (UTC)