Character Castle 2.0
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@rose-colored-fancy (my Canadian blood cries out in pain at the spelling of the second word in your username every time I type it 😂)
Also, Laura, LOVE that magic system, it sounds SOOOO cool!!! You’ve really thought it through as well!
Thank you so much!! <3
Okay so the plan is: Someone finishes off Lord Castle, we drop in the new characters, and then the future self challenge?
That sounds great!
Also, Frey sounds so absolutely amazing (and I hekkin love his name so much) and I cannot wait to have Eve interact with him. I have a feeling Calix will be scared of him lol
Anxious gremlin coming through
(my Canadian blood cries out in pain at the spelling of the second word in your username every time I type it )
Nothing gives me greater pleasure than horrifying people with my alternate use of British and American spellings XD
Also, Frey sounds so absolutely amazing (and I hekkin love his name so much) and I cannot wait to have Eve interact with him. I have a feeling Calix will be scared of him lol
Aww, thank you so much! I love his name too! It was one of those cases where the character forms around the name. A writer friend suggested the name and the whole character just took off from there XD
Lolll he and Eve will just try to out-manipulate each other, it’ll be HILARIOUS. And goodness, Frey would be thrilled if he scares Calix, I’m afraid XD
Without darkness, there is no light. If there was no nighttime, would the stars be as bright?
Nothing gives me greater pleasure than horrifying people with my alternate use of British and American spellings XD
Noooooooooo
One or the otherrrrrrrrr
aaaaaa >_<
😆Aww, thank you so much! I love his name too! It was one of those cases where the character forms around the name. A writer friend suggested the name and the whole character just took off from there XD
Ooooh I totally get that!! I have lots of characters like that.
Lolll he and Eve will just try to out-manipulate each other, it’ll be HILARIOUS. And goodness, Frey would be thrilled if he scares Calix, I’m afraid XD
bjdhsgfhrhjfdhsf exactly
And I better whip Calix into shape, then — I’m excited to see this 😂😂Anxious gremlin coming through
@everyone soooo…I have a rather disruptive update…
After some prayer about Spire and God’s will for the story, Spire underwent a MAJOR renovation in the span of maybe three days…to the point where I can’t actually title it Spire anymore because it’s not actually set in a city called Spire (I do plan on recycling it for Basil’s story, though!)
Here’s the changes (I’m just copying some of this from another post XD)
Right now, the story is set in a rather dreary little town in a setting based off of the PNW forests and mountains. More specifically, at a large estate owned by the rather eccentric and lonesome Lady Thorne, and right in the beginning of a Great Depression/end of Prohibition inspired era.
Like many in their social circle, Kit’s family lost a ton of money in the economic crash, and so he and his brother Jasper have left their family to work for Lady Thorne as a butler/cook respectively. A huge part of this arc involves the emotional side of this social “downgrade”/upheaval triggered by the Depression, as well as the changes in dynamics with the other people they once knew. It’s interesting though, I actually don’t think Kit and Jasper feel much shame because of this – Jasper always wanted to be a chef, and Kit’s become rather immune to shame after being ostracized (also I know Kit probably just wanted to live in a lavish, fancy house and eat gourmet food for free. Even though he’s technically a servant, I’m pretty sure he sees himself as the pampered one in this outcome XD)
Like Kit, Val has been stripped of her agency as well – she was quietly shipped off to Lady Thorne’s place after an extreme social faux pas with a socially powerful suitor convinced her family that her “mental fragility” was a risk for their image (this was none other than Alastor btw, who orchestrated Kit’s social expulsion as well…) In many ways, this is a sort of sanatorium for her, but she knows that she’s essentially been imprisoned by well meaning wardens. Val’s actually incredibly intelligent and perceptive, but a lot of well intended people are absolutely convinced of her “fragility” (in reality, undiagnosed autism) and won’t listen to her. So, she’s become very miserable and bitter as a result 🙁
So, a common theme here is Alastor’s social expulsion of people who’ve somehow offended him. Kit’s antagonized him a lot, so he outed him to isolate/publicly shame him. Val publicly embarrassed him (at least in his perception…) so he raised a fuss to get her sent away…which seems bad enough until his business partner Sebastian Thorne (Lady Thorne’s grandson) disappears entirely. At least so they say – Val saw Sebastian after his supposed disappearance, but Kit is the only person who believes her
So here we have Kit and Val, who’ve both been stripped of their agency to varying degrees, and long story short, they’re going to be forced to work together to find Sebastian, and of course also end up uncovering some much deeper problems along the way 🙂
Anyways, I’d love to get started when you guys are ready! I’m really, REALLY looking forward to this next challenge XD
*laughs as one fey*
@anyone else I missed
I’m going to go ahead and get started on that new challenge!
*laughs as one fey*
I love the drastic change to your story! It’s very intriguing (:
I’m going to go ahead and get started on that new challenge!
Awesome! Sounds good!!
Anxious gremlin coming through
I’m going to go ahead and get started on that new challenge!
Great! I’ll follow your lead.
I’m really, REALLY looking forward to this next challenge XD
So am I. I’ve got some…interesting ideas.
Ooh, Spire-not-Spire is sounding really interesting! And poor Val 😭
Yesss, the challenge! This is going to be fun. *cue Mara giving me worried glares*
We are called to be lights in the cosmos.
May your inkwells never run dry!Hey guys, sorry I haven’t been on lately. I’m gonna finish up here in one go hopefully…
Saevus ducked a blow from Lord Castle, and then returned the blow in like manner, only to be stopped by Castle’s blade. Swinging in again, Lord Castle parried Saevus’ blade, who immediately followed with a massive combination. Saevus brought down a vertical cut, swung and sliced in from the side, only to be blocked both times by Lord Castle. Infuriated, Saevus blasted into Lord Castle with a massive attack that forced him to step back. Saevus then attempted to remove Lord Castle’s head, only to be blocked by his blade. Saevus then aimed a blow at Castle’s legs, which he jumped over, only to be followed up with a massive blow to his head by the spikes on Saevus’ gauntlet. Bowled over, lord castle fell and rolled as Saevus brought several blows down to try and kill lord castle. Lord Castle kept rolling till suddenly he stopped, having run into the Iron Boot of Emperor Saevus.
Saevus looked down at Lord Castle, laughed wickedly, and raised his sword. He then swung down and blasted into Lord Castle’s arm as he raised it, which deflected Saevus’ sword. Lord Castle then kicked Saevus, causing him to fall, which allowed Lord Castle to get up and ready himself for the furious attack that followed from Saevus.
At this point Saevus was starting to become reckless. But that did not stop him from purposefully allowing a blow to fall on his arm, which was immediately followed up with a cut to Lord Castles belly-which hit.
Bellowing, Lord Castle fell backwards and onto the ground. And before he knew it, a flaming sword of anger penetrated deep into his chest.
Saevus put his flaming helmed head in front of Lord Castle’s face. “Look who’s the lord now,” he taunted as he stood up and pulled his sword out. Lord Castle was dead.
Honestly I have no idea why we just killed the Lord of the Castle, other than Saevus got mad at him for forcing Saevus to reveal his deepest regret (which is that he didn’t kill a specific someone.) But anyways, I finally got that out of the way, so we may proceed. Again, sorry for not being on here.
@this-is-not-an-ailen
@whoever’s left to add lol
Yessss awesome!
@everyone
I suggest we ‘resurrect’ Lord Castle so we have an antagonist again, so he just reappears in the form of the castle again, shuffles the rooms around and has all the existing characters reappear in a new room! That way all the new characters get a fresh start. Will that work or are there any other suggestions?
I’ll try to write Frey later today, I’m excited to finally get to write him!
Without darkness, there is no light. If there was no nighttime, would the stars be as bright?
Val:
I suck in my breath as the giant rips his sword from the Castle’s chest. The Castle’s lifeless form crashes to the floor.
Now what?
Are we free?
The ground shakes as the the body crumbles in a cloud of white dust.
“A worthy battle, Saevus. Well done! I suppose you’ll all be wanting your reward? Very well then! I’ll grant you all a brief respite – although be warned that your most kind and gracious defender’s insolence has earned you all another trial. Be sure to thank him on your way out!”
The hall shakes, reeling in a blur of shattered gray stone and white fog. The floor sweeps out from under me, hurling me into an endless expanse of soft mist. “Kit!” My scream drowns against a sea of cold mist, choking me as soon as I open my mouth. I gasp as my feet suddenly strike against hard stone again. I stumble forward, wiping the mist from my face as a glowing light suddenly illuminates the fog around me. A pristine hall of white marble unfolds before me as the mist falls behind. Light wells through many arched gates, each guarded by a solitary figure. I glance around at the crowd around me.
Kit?
The world blurs as swirling white mist envelops me again, pierced only by the warm light filtering through the gate ahead. I nervously step forward towards the light, squinting at the woman approaching me.
I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s almost like she’s an older version of myself, as crazy as that sounds. She’s got dark curls framing her face exactly like mine like mine, and she’s exactly my height too, and she’s even nervously picking at her sleeve exactly like I’m doing right now.
I quickly drop my hand, almost self conscious of the familiar, soothing gesture. I think I feel self conscious because she just seems…better than me. I’m not really sure why, though. It’s not her looks, and it’s certainly not her clothes (which are honestly looking…suspiciously familiar to be honest.) I’m not really sure what it is, but I know she has this serenely confident air I’ve always longed for. Not like the cockiness I’ve seen in Kit, or the wild, trapped stubbornness I’ve seen in myself, but the kind of quiet security that goes unnoticed until you really start looking for it. She’s so much older than me too – maybe somewhere in her late thirties – but somehow I feel like I’ve already known her for awhile. Which is weird, because I still feel just as nervous around her as if I were meeting a complete stranger. Nervous, but not really scared.
My eyes flicker down to a sparkling ring on her finger.
“Who are you?” I whisper. The woman’s face falls slightly as soon as she sees me, eyes softening as she weaves around my averted gaze.
“I don’t remember being this afraid,” she murmurs. She smiles warmly. “I mean…You, I guess. I’m Valencia.”
Valencia Page. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I’m hardly in a position to correct her. She is married after all – I mean, I’ll be married after all.
I shift uncomfortably in the stifling silence. There’s so much I want to ask her, so much I want to know, but I almost don’t want to talk to her. It feels kind of invasive, as strange as that sounds. And for some reason, I actually don’t feel terribly welcomed here. There’s a palpable distance between us, and a seed of discomfort in her gaze. I feel like maybe she’s as uncomfortable in my presence as I am in hers…
Or maybe it’s nothing really personal. I mean, I guess I get really uncomfortable around new people in general, and I have a hard time starting conversations with people I don’t know – even people I do know, for that matter. I smile to myself. It’s actually kind of comforting knowing that that part of me never changed. I guess it’s nice seeing that we’re not so different as I thought.
“Do you want to pass?” I hesitate, eyes fixed on her ring. Marriage. It’s the one thing I’ve always wanted so desperately, and the one thing I’ve always feared the most as well. I guess to me, it always seemed like one of the few chances I have to be so close to another, to be loved and yet fully, completely seen…
But I know better by now. I know that my emotional vulnerability gets me treated like a doormat, and every hint of fragility has been weaponized against me like so many piercing daggers. I know better than to show the cracks in my armor…but isn’t love just about taking off the armor entirely?
See, the armor weighs on me, but I’d rather be alone and intact than shattered by another.
I frown. “He better treat you well,” I blurt. “Of course he does!” I step back at the sudden exclamation. “You’ve got a better eye for people than you know, Val.” She pauses, suddenly grabbing my arm as I inch past her. I nervously glance away as her something in her steady gaze breaks.
“Val? Kit loves you, you know, whether you like it or not. And I remember that you really did like it, and I also remember how you loved him too, even though you’d never admit it.” Her voice wavers. “I just need you to know that he’s safe,” she whispers. “He’s safe for you, Val. He’s safe for you to love.” Her eyes soften as she smiles at me. “Why don’t you ask him about it sometime, ok?”
“Wait what? Ask him?” I whip around to face her, but I’m all alone in the middle of the gate, with no one else in sight. I shiver as the cool mist wreaths around my ankles, softly illuminated in the warm light. I tug my jacket around my shoulders as I quickly pass through the gate.
*laughs as one fey*
Okay yessss here we go! I’m excited! Fair warning, I may mess around with some weird tenses or points of view. I missed experimenting with those in here XD
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I grip the steel rails of my wheelchair and push, the motion as familiar as breathing by this time. It’s too cold for an April morning, the fog bunching thick around the tall pines scattered around the campus. They guard the gothic buildings like statues, or like gnarly, stretched figures, clumped together in groups, their voices so quiet you can never quite understand what they say.
I’m late, but that’s hardly unusual. I make a quick assessment of the two paths that splay out before me like bridges over the ocean of gravel. One leads around to the art building, its tall towers splitting through the mist like fingers stretching to invisible heaven. But, that’s through the cold, and my breath is already clouding around me. My face tingles with the cold, as though the droplets of mist gather there like acid.
My fingers are bare through the fingerless gloves I usually use with my wheelchair, and already numb from the few minutes it took to get here. If I can get out of the cold, I’m more than happy to.
The other path leads into the dance building, which connects to the art building, where I need to be. Even better, a ramp leads up the towering stairs, and even though the endless twisting corridors and mirror-encased rooms have stairs and high thresholds, they also have ramps. I could make it, and it’s definitely warmer inside.
Besides, the dance building is more interesting than the outside, where I am alone with the few towering pines and guarding buildings scattered around me.
The dance building is like a house of mirrors, the endless twisting back and forths, with dead ends and identical corridors, the marble floors of the corridors blocked in black and white, the wooden floors of the studios creaking, moved by unseen feet.
Founders, ballerinas, choreographers, and musicians stare down at the unwitting bypasser, their glares sharp, as though they know I don’t belong there. I rather like the unwelcoming atmosphere. The smell of rigidity and tradition hangs in the air, accentuated by hairspray and the ghosts of dancers unseen.
It couldn’t be more different than the art building. Though they share the same brown-bricked gothic exterior, the inside is filled to the edges with every kind of unorthodoxy. Murals sprawl across every wall, even some of the ceilings, apparently it had been a particularly ambitious project of the seniors one year. Even some of the windows have broad brushstrokes swirling around each other like Van Gogh’s starry night. Sculptures obscure the doorways, art installations hang in the middle of some of the rooms. It’s more my place than the dance hall will ever be.
The biggest reason for that was the heavy oak doors. I wish the dance hall had automatic doors, these are almost impossible to open easily with a wheelchair. When I had a bad enough day, that would be enough of a reason to just go around, but today I’m willing to brave them.
I stop before the doors, then flick the lock onto the wheels so my wheelchair doesn’t roll away when I get up. I gingerly get up, pausing when a sharp pain shoots through my left knee. I wait for it to pass, counting the seconds until it fades to a dull ache. Quicker than I’d thought.
I grab the heavy brass handle and push against the door, throwing my whole weight into it. It drags me back, pushing back against me as though the unwelcoming atmosphere has grown a personality in this very door.
Finally, it relents, swinging open with a groaning protest. I nudge the doorstop in front, trying to ignore the mounting irritation at all the extra steps I have to take to just get through the doors. I wheel my wheelchair inside and close the doors again. Why bother with ramps when you can’t open the doors without getting up?
For the first time, I take a look around. The dance hall is brighter than usual, the usual gray gloom from the stained glass windows replaced by warm, artificial light. That was unusual, they didn’t usually light the corridors.
I sit back in my wheelchair, relieved. Even something as minimal as my struggle with the door feels like an ordeal, one I can’t spare. A dull ache has taken hold in my lower back, and it might stay there for the rest of the day. That’s irritating.
The dance hall doesn’t look like I remember it, even though I was here only last week. I frown and spin my wheelchair so I’m facing the other way. Did I enter the wrong door?
The floors aren’t checked marble, they’re pure white, a long corridor stretching in both directions, as far as I can see. The arches aren’t in the style of the campus buildings, the rigid, old-fashioned style where even the attempts at ornamentation seem forced, these are elaborate, the carvings curling around each other like the loose strokes of an artist’s brush.
The lights are too bright, reflecting off every shining white surface to make them glow, like snow in the sun. I squint, trying to deflect it. If only it doesn’t give me a headache. I don’t need to deal with that as well.
It’s like being lost in an endless field of white, stretching identical to both directions. The walls are undecorated, giving away nothing.
This wouldn’t do.
I turned, already on my way back to the door. It’s not there. I turn again, my wheels slipping on the polished surface. Not on the other side either. I’d have to choose a direction and hope for the best, but not before one last chance.
I reach around to my bag that I hung on the back of my wheelchair. I flip open the leaf-shaped flap and rummage around until I feel the smooth surface of my phone. I turn it on, and my lock screen of a flock of sparrows flutters before me, showing the time. It’s just a few minutes since I last checked. As I watch, another minute ticks by. I frown, barely believing what I just saw. Did the clock tick backward?
I unlock my phone and try to open the dial pad to call someone. No signal. No wifi, or any other kind of connectivity. This was all wrong.
I send a brief message to a classmate so he can tell the teacher I’ll be late. It doesn’t send.
This is all wrong, but is there anything I can do about it?
I return my phone to the bag, ignoring a twinge of pain from twisting around so far. It wouldn’t help me.
All I can do is head in a direction and see what I find. I grip the rails of my wheels and give another push. I only hope it isn’t too far. Thankfully, I did take my wheelchair and my cane, which is fastened right next to me. If I was just with my cane, I might not make it where I need to go without stopping to rest. It’s a little more manageable with the wheelchair, but it’s not like I can go as far as I want.
Thankfully, it doesn’t take too long before something appears. A shimmering, crystalline haze before one of the arches, like liquid dragonfly wings. I edge closer. Should I try to touch it? Perhaps that wasn’t a good idea. I detach my cane from the side of my wheelchair without getting up and cautiously use it to try to touch the… whatever it is. My cane meets an obstruction, like tightly woven spider webs. It bends but doesn’t break. When I take it away, it returns to its original shape. Tearing it wouldn’t be much use either. I cocked my head, thinking through the situation. Clearly, I need to get past here, but how?
That’s when I first hear the voice.
~~~~~~
Okay I’ll stop here for now XD I got a bit carried away, but it was so fun to describe everything! I really love MoS’ setting, and it was fun to get a glimpse of it.
Next time I’ll have him meet his future self!
Without darkness, there is no light. If there was no nighttime, would the stars be as bright?
Cahira:
The horns blare outside with that unrelenting force that I know will eventually pull every human in the city from their bed, except for me. I’m already awake and out of bed.
I meticulously study my reflection in the mirror. My birthmark is dull after powdering it but still visible which is quite irking for someone of my significance. However, no one has spoken of it for the last thirteen years. At least, not in my presence.
I reach for my hairbrush and smooth out my straight hair. I love my hair with its rich golden color that brings to mind the sun’s rays. I allow myself a brief smile before setting down my hairbrush.
I grant myself one final inspection. Hair? Impeccable. Shawl? Regally draped. Tunic? Gracefully flowing. Pants? Maintain self-important swishing.
I am prepared for the rest of the day.
I am not ready to be thrown down a dark opening in the ground into a slightly less dark cavern, which, unfortunately, happens.
A scream builds up within me. I bite down on my tongue. What if someone were to find me screaming? What impression would leave with them of me, the daughter of Niall Beckwith? No, no, no. I will not resort to the reaction of many damsels before me. Whoever did this will not gain any pleasure at my response to this…unexpected catastrophe.
I clamber to my feet, employing the wall behind me as leverage. There is a doorway at the end of the hall. A light flickers above it. I straighten my tunic and shawl and pat down my hair. I refuse to have the appearance of someone who was transported into another world.
I walk down the hall, slowly, confidently. Every step must shout of my worthiness. I reach the doorway and am about to pass through when someone steps out in front of me.
This time screaming is inevitable.
A middle-aged woman gazes at my shrinking form. Her hair is golden though it is grown out on both sides. Her face is sharp and her eyes a cold blue. On her left cheek there is a dark birthmark.
“Wha-?” I gasp.
She gives me a lopsided smile. “Hello young, arrogant me. I’m your sixty and much more pleasant self.”
I snort. “That’s impossible.”
“In this place, you will grow used to what was once considered ‘impossible.'”
I shake my head. “You are crazy.”
“No crazier than you are now.”
I stalk up to the woman. “What did you say?” I hiss.
She grins indulgently. “No. Crazier. Than. You. Are. Now.”
My eyes widen with fury. “I am Cahira Beckwith. Cahira Beckwith. You will not speak of or to me in such a manner.”
She shakes her head. “I’ll let you pass now. However, let me tell you this, letting go of your rather too high opinion of yourself would make life much smoother for you.”
“I am not-” I begin.
“Goodbye young me.” The woman vanishes and the light above the door is extinguished.
I groan. What place is this?
No matter that. First thing I must decide is what course of action to take.
Simple.
Go through the doorway.
I peek my head out into the hallway to make sure that no sixty-one-year-old me is not lurking in the shadows. Once I confirm that I am alone, I creep into the hallway, the darkness is almost suffocating.
Suddenly, light pierces through the dark, shredding my eyes and soul. Too dramatic? Maybe? An understandable response? Absolutely.
I stumble forward, my eyes watering from the light. I crash into someone. “Next time, if someone is behind you, maybe you could consider not placing yourself in the role of ‘obstacle.'” I growl.
Your setting was really interesting! (I would not want to live there though XD)
That was so sweet! Would you like to start an interaction between Val and Cahira? I’m not sure it would be the friendliest interaction (scratch that, it won’t be the friendliest interaction), so if you don’t want to, that’s fine 🙂
Thank you! I can’t blame you XD
Also I loved your piece! Cahira sounds like quite a character, I can’t wait for her and Frey to interact XD I think he’ll annoy the heck out of her.
Okay time for Frey to meet his future self I guess! Also going to attempt to write this in second-person present because that’s… the weirdest tense I could think of. I’m going to have fun with it XD
~~~~
I don’t recognize you at first. How am I supposed to? I mean, who expects to see themselves leaning against the pillar of a snow white palace?
At first I just blink up at you, uncertainty stealing my words. You stare back at me, and that’s when I start to notice the resemblances.
We have the same golden hair, though yours curls down past your shoulders, pulled back by a few braids that loop back in complicated patterns. I suppose you must have done it yourself. You look to be in your late thirties, though it’s hard to judge. Your short beard might make you look older than you are.
Your warm blue eyes widen as you look me over, from the tips of my heavy leather boots, over my wheelchair, finally coming to rest on my face. We stare at each other, gazes unbroken as the silence.
You’re the first to speak. Your words are slower than mine, but I recognize the tilt of my phrases as you push back your hair and smile, the starts of wrinkles crinkling around your eyes. You have my smile. It hasn’t changed.
“Well, this is bizarre.”
“I’d say.”
My reply is clipped, mostly out of uncertainty. Does this count as talking to myself? Am I dreaming? It could be, but usually my dreams weren’t this clear.
You lean heavily on your cane, another green one tipped with gold, nicer than the one I have now.
“Is this conversation going to last a while, should I sit down?” you ask. Not much has changed there.
“Not if it’s up to me,” I reply, already gripping the rails of my wheelchair.
You tilt your head, brows crinkling in a frown. It feels so wrong to see my expressions on you.
“Don’t you have anything to ask me, anything you want to know? It’s not like you get this chance every day.”
“Should I?” I ask, off-handed. “I’ll find it all out sooner or later.”
“You don’t like surprises.”
“Well, perhaps I don’t want to know then.”
“That bad?”
“Seeing you, it might be.”
“Am I supposed to take that as an insult?” you ask. I seem to have lost some of the flare of annoyance over the years. I would have just directly taken it as such.
“If you like.”
You lean against the pillar of the exit/entrance. Your loose white shirt wrinkles, the motion of the gathered sleeves showing a few paint stains on the cuff.
“You should really wear something over your clothes while painting, you’ll ruin them.” Insults hadn’t worked on you, perhaps superiority would.
You raise your eyebrows.
“I do. Check your cuffs.”
I scowl and resist the urge to obey. I know there’s a yellow mark on the left one from where I distractedly rolled up my sleeves while painting the other day.
“Seeing you makes me remember things,” you say, voice slow and contemplative. When did I get so thoughtful?
“Don’t, they can’t be pleasant. Or is it better than what you’re living now?” I shoot back. Nothing seems to work, I can’t aggravate you. I suppose you know me too well.
You shake your head.
“It’s bittersweet. The past always is. I know you’re doing your best.”
I grip the rails of my wheelchair until my knuckles turn white and an electric prickle of pain trails up my arm. I don’t want to hear that. I want everyone to believe I don’t have to try, that I don’t care. I don’t want to care.
“Are you going to let me through or keep me here chit-chatting?” I ask, my voice cracking. I swallow, trying to force it away. Your statement upset me more than I care to admit.
You shake your head with half a smile.
“I can’t believe I was such a brat. At least I was a cute kid I suppose.”
I sit upright as though I’ve been shot. You have the audacity to shoot three insults directly into my face and smile through them without being affected when I try to do the same?
“At least my hair doesn’t look like a mop,” I shoot back, before I can think about it.
You laugh, and shivers of familiarity cascade down my spine.
“I’m gravely insulted. I think it’s time you carry on your way.” The smile lines around your eyes don’t fade. I bristle. I didn’t intend to be entertaining. I want you to be annoyed.
“Any more sage advice?” I ask, as the veil dissolves between the hall and whatever lies beyond.
You gesture vaguely, a few of your rings catching the light.
“You’re not going to listen to any of it.”
“You know yourself well,” I say, sarcasm dripping off every word. I could technically pass by you, leave this whole incident behind, but I feel like I’m waiting for something, some grand announcement, some warning, some revelation.
I look you over again, trying to spot whatever should have that effect. No wedding ring. Perhaps the first few strands of gray. You have delicate golden chains danging from piercings along your ears, and I resist the urge to say that I like them.
“I feel like I need to say some things, even if you won’t listen,” you say, fiddling with one of your rings.
“I’ll wait,” I say, leaning back in my wheelchair. As though to make my point, I lock my wheels in place and stretch, careful not to move too quickly in case that makes something hurt again.
“Don’t give your heart to something that won’t fill the gaps,” you say, your gaze trailing to the ceiling as though thinking.
I nod, approvingly.
“Very poetic, that’s the kind of sage advice I mean. You sound like an oracle. What’s the next?”
You shoot me a look that’s more amusement than annoyance.
“Try to make some friends.”
“Not worth it, next.”
“Whatever you say. Your friends will find you and you won’t be able to get rid of them.”
“Trust me, I’ll try.”
“I know. Also stop drinking coffee first thing in the morning, you know it makes you anxious.”
I unlock my wheels. It feels like an appropriate closing statement.
“It makes me feel more productive.”
“To be anxious?”
“As you can see, I have life figured out.”
“You’re not going to listen to anything I say, are you?”
“Most likely not. I’d mess up the time-continuum.”
You stand out of my way so I can pass through the gate.
“You have to make your own mistakes I suppose. Trust me, you will. Sooner than you think.”
“Goodbye, ominous self,” I say, over my shoulder. When I look back to catch one last glimpse, you’re gone. Perhaps it’s better that way. I don’t want to think about what you said.
I have no idea what lies ahead, and at this point I don’t know if I want to know.
~~~~~~~~
Ooohhh that was interesting! Frey is so snarky XD I think now he can interact with some of the other characters, who is up for it?
Without darkness, there is no light. If there was no nighttime, would the stars be as bright?
Ooh, those were all so great and fascinating!
Here’s one for Mara:
As I lunge toward the giants, the floor disappears. In fact, everything disappears. Only a white mist whirls around me while I twist weightless in the air. Is this whole thing just a bad dream? It’s all too fantastical to be real.
Or not. Being thunked on the floor hurts plenty. At least it’s nice and cool after all that strange fire. I press my cheek against the smooth coolness, not really wanting to know what new absurdity is in store for me.
”Mara, get up. You’re not going to get anywhere lying around.”
I freeze. I didn’t say that to myself, did I?
”You heard me. C’mon, get up.”
I slowly lift my face. Standing tall and strong, proud and gorgeous, was a woman dressed in white. Despite all the differences, I know this person. She is me.
I’m definitely dreaming.
White, not black, not grey. White, the color Benevolents wear, not the black of citizens or even the grey of Protectors. Does that mean I succeed, and succeed beyond my wildest dreams? Well, technically nothing means anything if I’m dreaming. Or is it that everything means nothing?
She raises a perfectly arched black eyebrow. “I’m not going to repeat myself.” Her hand goes to her hip, and something glistening on her finger catches the light.
I stand, uncertain if it’s a good idea while I’m dizzy with — what? — over seeing that ring. Only Victor could’ve afforded it…
”So,” she says, “you’re supposed to go through that door, but you’ve got to talk to me first. How about you say something and get it over?”
I frown. “You’re like dad.”
”Didn’t expect that, eh? Well it’s about time you grew up. You have to let what he does make you stronger. I did.” She lifts her chin. “Quit dallying over stupid stuff, and it’ll be better for you.”
”That’s a lie.” My voice catches. “Music is important, and you know it. It’s what got you that.” I gesture toward the ring.
She laughs condescendingly. “No, it was sticking to your plan. At least you had that gem of inspiration in you. You will indeed achieve honor before all Benevola and exceeding every Gobey-Hanad before you.”
I scowl at her. This had better be a nightmare.
She rolls her eyes. “You might as well leave. Go quit being a baby.”
I sneer right back at her, walking through the door with my chin up and head held high. No use talking longer with her.
I’d be happy to have Mara interact with Frey, but I think I’ll start that tomorrow. 🙂
We are called to be lights in the cosmos.
May your inkwells never run dry!
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