ʰᵃˡᶠ ᵈᵒᵒᵐᵉᵈ && ˢᵉᵐⁱ ˢʷᵉᵉᵗ

she’s taken aback by the question. she isn’t prepared for it, she never had any reason to prepare for it. she thought she did a pretty good job of hiding away her pain, and so never expected anyone to ever ask. theo doesn’t answer at first; it takes her a couple moments for her to stop herself from trying to think of anything she’d done to give herself away.

       ❝…of course,❞ she says, finally, softly. ❝why do you ask?❞ her eyes refuse to meet her classmate’s, and instead they fix themselves on her foot as she drags it across the ground.

                                                  ❝I just wanted                                                     to- to check.❞

bunny’s voice is cautious, because she doesn’t want to push her classmate into a corner. she’s just felt like something was off- wearing long sleeves on hot days, a somber attitude when class conversations turned to family affairs, and the frequent days missed from class for unexplained illnesses or events.

For Juniper, it meant a lot that Bunny wanted to divulge this with her in the first place. She’s truly a sweet girl, incredibly understanding, and Juniper would do anything for her and everything to protect her. What’s a few thoughts compared to a lifetime she’s lived, right? So she listens. As she speaks, a soft smile builds slow. Bunny’s eyes meet her own and Juniper is quick to reaffirm it’s not weird, giving her head a shake in silent reassurance. It was as normal as breathing was! But times do change, and she’s sure the people of this time tried to make it not normal.

What, did they forget all about the Romans? The Greeks, the Aztecs, Feudal times? It crushes Juniper that Bunny felt so separated, clear as day in her eyes as they look at one another. She gives the girl a reassuring pat on the shoulder and a warmer smile.

       “ It’s completely normal, Bunny, “   Juniper consoles, and it’s entirely sincere.   “ You’re not a bad sort of different, and it’s not like it’s unnatural. —I’d like to think it’s similar to a dominant hand. It’s something you’re born with.. “

Her hands fold at her lap again and she shrugs.   “ You’ll meet people that.. won’t understand that, but it won’t be that bad. You’ll meet more that do. “   And now, to try a lighter note.   “ How’d you find out for yourself? “

bunny is relatively certain that her mother will be okay with it- but only relatively. and that’s not to mention her father, whose reaction is certain to be less than stellar. and when her classmates find out! it’s all incredibly over- -whelming. at least someone is supportive. bunny has always been a firm believer in  the idea that friends are family too, and it is times like these that prove it to her.

                            ❝i’m glad you think so. i. uhm-                              i’ve been kind of nervous to                              bring it up to anyone. i am sure                              everyone will have nice intentions                              but- i don’t know if i’ll like what                              they say.❞

she flashes a bright little smile at Juniper.

                             ❝i found out because Janet                                Millhouse from my English                                class invited me to her                                sleepover, and there was                                a lot of over. Not so much of                                the sleep part.❞

 of course, she has suspected prior to that whole experience, but it had only cemented things for her.

                              ❝and yeah, i- know, it                                might be messy at                                times, but- i think i’m                                gonna be able to                                handle it.❞

IN  her opinion, he didn’t much look like the descriptions or drawings of angels in the books she’d read, but Jenny was almost positive that that’s what this stranger was: a guardian angel who had finally come to save her. Perhaps he didn’t have a golden halo hanging over his head, nor did he have giant, white, feathered wings unfurled out behind him, but Jenny couldn’t imagine any other reason why this man would put himself in-between her and the human equivalent of an armored tank. He had to be some sort of protector, the kind that she’d been praying for to whoever would listen. 

Agatha, however, clearly didn’t think nearly as highly of the man in front of her as her niece did. After all, right now, he was hindrance to doing what she wanted, which was a phenomenon she wasn’t at all used to. Everyone around her had always yielded to her, either because of her temper or her strength, or most commonly, both. No one wanted to stand in front of a moving train, and thus far, no one had even dared try. Except for this man.

❝Punishing a maggot of a child for not doing as it’s told is hardly a crime,❞ Agatha replied sharply, her nostrils still flaring in a way that was reminiscent of a bull about to charge at a matador, a comparison that her hulking appearance did not work to dispel.  ❝Now–❞ her attention seemed to be shifting to Jenny, given the way she lowered herself down to around child’s eye level,  ❝–Jennifer, I suggest you get out from behind this man right now and be thankful that I’ll still be letting you sleep in your bed tonight. If you do not, I cannot promise I’m going to be as kind.❞

This was a ultimatum that Jenny hadn’t been prepared for. Either get out from behind this stranger and face only mild repercussions, or stay where she was, pray that this man would be able to keep her out of her aunt’s reach. Clearly, there was a favorable option, it was just that the trouble was, her angel didn’t seem to be very big, at least, not very big compared to Agatha, and Jennifer was unsure of how long he’d be able to hold out against her in a fight. Because if her angel couldn’t hold Agatha back, Jenny knew that she’d probably be beaten within an inch of her life, or worse. 

This meant that she either got out from behind the stranger and have the guarantee that she would only be minimally punished for her transgression, or, she could stay where she was. If she stayed where she was, there were two possibilities: possibly be saved from this living hell, or be beaten black and blue. Two of those options involved her being punished in some way, which meant her odds were very much against her. But this man was also the first person who’d given her even the smallest taste of HOPE for something better since her father had passed away.

Tiny fists tightened even more on the back of the stranger’s coat, as if steeling herself for defying her guardian.  ❝No thank you, aunt Agatha. I think I’m going to stay right here…❞

T H E R E   I S   little that can get a calm man such as Jacob's blood to the point of a rolling boil, but if anything is going to do it, the words out of this insufferable woman's mouth will. Jacob narrows his eyes ever so slightly in her direction, listening as she continues to berate the child who is cowering behind him in fear. He is not yet very familiar with the systems and laws of this time, but he knows that in his experience, those who treat others so ill- any others, but especially children- are not well-respected in society. He's not sure if what he's about to do is legal or not, but it can't be any more frowned upon than this whole situation already is.

Even as the child offers an upsettingly polite response, Jacob is clearing his throat, gaze level and unafraid, but also cool and controlled, drilling right back into the woman's burning, angry gaze. ❝I'm afraid I cannot agree,❞ he repeats again, one hand reaching around behind him to grasp the hand of the child, and the other ready at his side. He wants to flex the fingers of his free hand, but resists the urge, choosing to look as unassuming as he can for as long as possible.

One of the first things he'd had to do upon this latest revival was find out his current strength- to find out what power the Source still gave him. He still doesn't know if he's immortal or not- even more incentive to do this right the first time, hm?- but he certainly retains a level of ability above the average human, even at this point in their evolutionary progress. There are few upsides to his new life, but at least one of them is knowing that he'd not yet become obsolete.

In one swift motion, he bends down and scoops the child up in one strong arm, spinning around to face the woman once more with the free hand outstretched, ready to block any incoming attacks, just in case. He's not sure how far this woman is willing to go, but the words he just heard her speaking tell him that it may be a lot farther than he's willing to imagine.

HER  CONVICTION  STARTLES  HIM  MORE  THAN  IT  PERSUADES  :  brows raise and arms have crossed over his chest, unsure of how to react to what has just happened. he does not think himself worth such emotion —- does not think there will be much interest on her part, if ever she learns the sorry, isolated state of his life. for what is interesting, what is tragic, is hidden beneath too much ice, and is too fragile to see the light. it is too sensitive to ever be shown to someone who has not gained his trust, and as far as he knows, never will.

a frown has settled over his expression, deeper and more cynical than that which had been there before, and there is visible discomfort in his posture. he does not know whether it is because of the words, of the emotions within them, and it does not seem to matter, for it has solidified the caution within, and he must stick to it.

for if she cares so much, if she seems so set to learn something of him, he cannot help but question her motivation for it, and another glance is sent in the direction of those usually peers of hers, who seem to not take much interest in the pair of them. are they trying to be discreet? body shifts in his seat, and hands slip beneath the table to fold in his lap, and when he does glance to lorraine across from him, his gaze is narrowed.

“ can i ask why you would bother to know anyways? ” it is more forward than he has intended to be, but the game of finding it out himself has become stressful. he has to know, or else has to back away. “ i don’t understand why you would sit here. what do you want? i’m clearly not the conversationalist that would make for pleasant company, so what then? ”

Lorraine picks at her sandwich, eyes focused on the chipped Formica table, low-quality overhead lighting giving the bread an off-color. This entire interaction seems to have gotten off on entirely the wrong foot and now she's not sure how to redirect it. She's always been "good with people", but perhaps a better description might be that she's not prone to talk herself into a corner. As such, she never finds her interactions awkward, and she's never had to talk herself out of one. She presses her lips together in discomfort, listening to his somewhat accusatory response.

❝Well, listen,❞ she says finally, her tone more one of mild frustration than of anger or disappointment, ❝I just think it's nice to be nice to people. Maybe you like being alone, and that's okay. I don't, so I thought it would be nice to let you know you don't have to be alone.❞ She shrugs her shoulders up in resignation, pulling a sad piece of lettuce that overhands the crust of the sandwich off to the side, leaving a trail of mustard behind. ❝You don't have to agree. If you don't want to talk to me again you don't have to.❞

She frankly isn't in the mood for this sandwich at all, but she takes a sip of her milk before she continues. ❝I don't want anything. I just like to know people. I guess I assumed most people did too, but I can see that I was incorrect.❞ She's not being sarcastic or passive-aggressive, she just wants to explain. Her tone is matter of fact. She feels as if she is explaining human interaction to a toddler. It seems that no matter how cute she's always thought Andre was, her first impression with him isn't going to land her any favors. She'd be remiss if she said she hadn't hoped that she might be able to end this interaction with a diner date, but now she's just hoping to be able to make eye contact in a hallway on somewhat pleasant circumstances a month from now.

❝Why? What do you have against human interaction?❞ For the first time, a very slight amount negativity creeps into her tone- or at least, as much as goody-two-shoes Lorraine Baines can be negative. ❝And don't say something about how it's not an evolutionary necessity or how other mammals are smarter without it or whatever. You can't play that I'm too smart to need people thing with me, Andre.❞ At this stage, she's accepted that this boy is never going to speak to her again, so she may as well try to get what she can out of the interaction now while her chance remains.

LEAVE  HIM  ALONE!  closed hand will be imprinted with the outlines of the keys against his palm, and his brow, so deeply furrowed, will surely become fixed in the posture. the frustration that bleeds through his icy demeanor, like the ice that frosts through the windows of an empty and cold home, has swelled up from somewhere deep within his core. it is rooted not in the shallow want for silence, but in something else, something secretive and protective and afraid.

his gaze remains fixed upon the ground before, as though determined not to spare her too much attention.

he does not know why this aversion to company has come so strongly in this moment, but when it holds him, he finds no desire to escape that irate grasp. his life a mess, a collection of secret shames and fears and failures, need not be spilled out upon the lawn at some random house party. when finally his boyfriend remembers that he is here, he does not want to be in emotional ruin : even anatole does not know that much about him, that he might be comfortable exposing that raw, ugly emotion.

“ no, not really. ” his response is stiff and unnatural, and his shoulders have raised slightly, as though feeling a chill settled over him, sudden and springing from within the cold encasement that protects his soul. arms crossed over his front tighten, like armor over his heart.

lips are pursed, and he spares her another quick and disapproving glance, before turning away and shaking his head, one curl bobbing nearly over his forehead. a hand escapes to push it back ( to retain the stiff order of his appearance out of habit ) before returning to its prison over his chest. “ i don’t think anyone leaves a party in the hope that they’ll be followed and spoken to. ”

Mira CERTAINLY can't fault him for that, she thinks to herself, but her agreement is hidden behind a mask of a calm and cheerful exterior. The OBVIOUS thing for her to do would be to leave him alone as he's requested, however, she has a mission that she hasn't disclosed. In fact, she doesn't want to. A casual glance around, painted in her movements as a simple attempt to take in the night sky, allows her to see over her shoulder, where the party continues unchecked. She can see certain figures moving in the back; she doesn't know if she saw things that were real or remembered, but she saw SOMETHING in there.

If it's someone that she used to KNOW- well, she doesn't want to think about that. She feels the blood rush to her head as a flight-or-fight response slams into her veins like a runaway train. Years of practice keep her OUTWARD appearance and posture almost entirely unchanged; she hopes her new companion on the veranda doesn't notice. If he was watching closely enough, he'd be able to see her knuckles turn WHITE as her grip on the handrail increases involuntarily, all at once less aesthetic and more to support her faltering weight. In mere moments, she has swallowed hard and taken the fear with it. She blinks out at the smattering of cars haphazardly abandoned in the yard of the house party, wondering if she would recognize any of them. Surely, no one who she's ever been... involved with would still be driving the same car.

She glances to the side, forcing a POLITE smile over her face to stamp down imagery she couldn't handle seeing again tonight. She understands that he feels threatened by the way her methods press for vulnerability, and she knows the FEELING. She's not sure how she'd respond if someone was able to try to press her in the way that she can press others, but she'd probably have a very adverse reaction. She lives her whole life on the philosophy of hiding. She can't imagine that will ever change, especially not now.

❝Of COURSE,❞ she says wisely, ❝you're very right.❞ She finally pries her hands off the railing, folding her arms in front of her in some kind of odd self-hug that she HOPES looks non-committal, and not desperate, because it FEELS desperate. ❝I suppose that makes me the strange one, seeking company outside a social event, doesn't it?❞ He's welcome to respond, but it's a rhetorical question, and she doesn't imagine he'll be enthusiastic about theorizing on the subject with her.

She shoves a lock of recently-bleached hair behind her ear, still regaining her composure from her experiences inside. She considers this solitary man her last hope if something really goes awry, and maybe he WON’T want to help her at all. Maybe she won't need help. She should just RUN AWAY, but she doesn't have a car and she is afraid to be alone in the night, walking. She's afraid to drive alone too, if she's being honest. She can only imagine that she would wind up in a ditch somewhere after an inexplicable hit-and-run.

❝Did you attend this party WITH anyone?❞ She would glance toward the party for emphasis, but she can't stand to turn around. ❝I did, myself. I suppose this is the issue with it- once you're done with the party, it's hard to leave without making a fuss for everyone else.❞

ACCEPTING || send this to hear about something that made my muse lose faith in humanity

herb brushes a hand over the piano keys nearby, determined to have another outlet for his nervous energy. nervous? he’s not nervous! herb tarlek does not get nervous. the pause is drowned in a hard swallow, in a long step to one side, in the last off-color notes of the piano ringing out in a tone of soft uncertainty. ❝this piano is black… you know, uh, most the ones you see these days are- brown.❞ he clears his throat, wondering if the distraction has worked well enough, if he’s off the hook, if the bait has swam away. the eyes still stick him, prod for answers, the tone of voice comes again, a little firmer this time. he glances back down at the piano keys, his jacket clasped lifeless in unsure hands. the piano, as it turns out, is not a good distraction- not only because it does not work, but because it is too connected to the question at hand. herb tarlek doesn’t believe in energy or spirituality or any such nonsense, but if he did, this would be one of those times that proved him right.

he nods once, accepting his uncomfortable fate, and takes a wandering step or two away from the piano; away from his current failure, and taking an equally uncomfortable mental step into his perceived past ones. ❝i guess-❞ he hesitates, teetering on a precipice, clawing at the ground above but staring at the earth below. ❝i guess uh, when mom went out to new york.❞ he lowers himself onto the bench of the piano, but facing away from the traitorous keys. a careful choice. ❝she had to of course. it was for her work, you see. it was very important.❞ herb doesn’t say that it was more important than her son (more important than his life!) but he doesn’t have to. he’d not in several million years say the words and perhaps he doesn’t know the words exist, but if he could find a way to say them, he could swear on the bible itself and get them out with nary a complaint.

❝and, you know- dad was pretty busy. i mean, he had to make ends meet, and…❞ he trails off, nervous fingers fidgeting about his wedding ring. it twists this way and that, and his eyes stare intently into the motion, but they don’t seem to see anything that is truly there. ❝and, you know, that’s not an easy thing, let me tell you.❞ he clears his throat again. no matter how many times he does it, the words still get caught. maybe it’s not a physical issue. maybe herb still doesn’t understand that. ❝so that was, uh… that was pretty tough. for dad, you know. but it- it wasn’t my favorite, i guess you could say.❞

what does a child do when the only person in the world that he feels safe with abandons him? what does a child do when the person he idolizes more than anyone else in the world follows suit? what can a child do when nothing he does is ever enough for either one of them, and nothing he learns from those three experiences can teach him how to live without them?

WITHIN  THICK  FORESTS  DEATH  AWAITS  :  it wanders listlessly through the endless siberian landscape, over frozen streams and around birds that still their cries when it approaches. it is the clouds that may form, at any moment, on a clear horizon and cover the land with snow once more, and it is the way his clothes cling to his bones, and promise no warmth. andrei knows that he will die out here alone, and that it will soon be too late for him. he feels it in the heaviness of each breath, and in how his heart strains with every unsteady beat. the man, a stranger, who might be bringing him into still deeper danger, is right. andrei hasn’t much time.

and so, because he will only survive if he follows, and because all hope of completing his task has been lost, and because he knows that back in the west, revenge ( and a death more befitting his fallen soul ) is waiting for him, impatient and ever important, he follows. boots trudge through the snow to catch up the other, then steady to match his pace. ( his legs have gone beyond pain, and through every step burns, he is almost too numb to feel it. )

a military man through and through, his hands ball in his pockets, but no complaint is lodged to the cold, which neither of them will cure until they reach this nameless village that the other has mentioned. those hands emerge only to wipe the ice from his eyelashes, and from the pieces of hair that hang in his forehead, before hiding away once again. his fingernails, had he the time to notice them, would have been startling shades of blue and purple.

“ bolkonsky, ” a gruff voice answers as they walk, the word accompanied by the thick mist of his breath in the cold. the hues will occasionally glance up to the empty sky above, and wonder if it has abandoned its apathy —- if that heightened power will begin to care, as his life nears its end —- but it always returns the same cold beauty that bears deeply into his soul, and at the same time gives him nothing.

“ i’ve come from the war in the west. surely word of it has reached this place? ”

T R I N I T Y   is a powerful organization, and Jacob knows he cannot be too careful. Anyone could be sent his way. He knows Trinity comes from a distinctly British area these days, but that doesn't have to mean anything. It's easy to say what they want: the Source. If they knew more about it, perhaps they would not be so reckless in their desires. In any case, the pair begin a slow and, for his new guest, painful, trek up the mountainside, out of the forest, towards Jacob's village.

There is no one that Jacob would not save, if given the opportunity. It's not only because of his perceived debt, because of the harms he's convinced he must answer for someday- or would, if he ever got the opportunity to go before God and face his reckoning. He will not have such an experience; he will exist forever on this cursed earth, facing the penance of his own design that he has crafted to take the place of the punishment he has wrongfully dodged. It would be remiss to ignore this; but Jacob has that inherit something. Perhaps the Source has no divinity, but Jacob always did. He would no more leave his murderer to die than his own brother.

Jacob, impervious to cold, watches the other man pick at the ice forming on his face and shove blue-tinged hands into snow-encrusted pockets. His own body heat is steady and unending; and he elects to monitor the situation. He has a warm coat on that he does not need, and if it becomes dire, he will gladly offer it to the other. Of course, he imagines that even in a matter of life and death, the chances of this being accepted would be slim. Jacob can't imagine he would be able to take no for an answer.

He nods once in response to the name, offering no further questions or disagreements. ❝Little word reaches us here,❞ he admits. ❝you will be the first visitor in as many decades.❞ The sun beats down on them, the crunch of snow echoing in the thinning trees, and the ice seems only to get colder with each step. ❝Is it serious?❞ He wonders if it will further effect the bubble of his people's world.

Vin is out of the house, bound for the airport to pick up Inez’s parents and her grandmother. It has been a long trip for them from Sonora to Los Angeles, to Chicago and then over to Cincinnati. Luckily, they are staying until the New Year and Inez already planned the return trip to be easier on them all.

There are several factors prompting the long visit. A second grandbaby on the way is one of them. Alona and Vidal having to move here after Francisco and Sofia’s death is another. Moreover, they can only afford to visit Inez and her family rarely so they make the most of each visit.

Still, it is too early for Vin to be back. Besides, he would never use the doorbell. A hand on her rounding stomach, Inez manages to sidestep Pard in his quest to race her to the door. She reaches it just before the young dog does, opens it, and stares quizzically at the blonde. Her first thought is that the woman represents some charity support group that one of Inez’s co-workers tactlessly signed her up for. On the verge of politely but firmly rebuffing the woman with assurances that she and her husband are perfectly capable of feeding and housing four children, she realizes that the woman has another connection entirely.

A half-remembered incident of her and Vin having to drop Lucille off at the radio station floats to her mind. Herb’s wife had to have the car towed and needed her husband to drive her home so they had found themselves dropping her off on the way to the grocery store. The blonde had been behind the reception desk.

“Oh!” her eyes widen in confused recognition as she blocks Pard’s escape with her foot. “Oh yes, I remember you now Miss Marlowe!”

The woman’s insistence on bringing holiday cheer to near-strangers is odd but Inez does not want to seem rude. “Please, come in!” Leaning back, she calls over her shoulder. “Vidal! Come get Pard before he goes charging out and gets lost in a snowdrift!”

Not that there is much chance of that. Pard is a Burmese Mountain Dog. Young and half-grown as he is, he is still a large animal who is currently lunging over her leg in an effort to sniff Jennifer’s shoes as a security precaution before she enters the house. All the time his stubby tail wags away in a happy blur.

A bog, almost seven, runs up the hall and grabs Pard’s collar. “Come on boy!” he tugs on the collar, barely distracting the dog until he rubs behind Pard’s ears. Then Pard yips happily and lets Vidal lead him down the hall, giving Jennifer room to step in off the porch.

“Let me give you a hand—you know you really didn’t have to do all of this! We’ve only met…what…once? Twice?” Inez kindly admonishes as she ushers Jennifer into her home.

Jennifer's FAVORITE time of year is encapsulated in this scene. The weather; crisp air and bright snow, the mood; kind strangers and shared cheer. Jennifer knows that her holiday traditions are unconventional, but if she has learned ANYTHING in life it's that if you are confident enough, and beautiful enough, no one will be brave enough to question that which you do.

                    ❝Thank you,❞

The blonde GUSHES, accepting entrance to the inviting home quickly so as not to risk the escape of the pet at her feet.

                    ❝I know that PERHAPS this is forward of me,❞

She continues, in response the playful admonishment Inez tosses her way,

                    ❝but you must understand- everyone that I                     see all year is sending me all sorts of holiday                     cheer during the MONTH of December.                     Why, I don't have the space in my apartment                     to contain it. The least I can do is to share.❞

It's a juggling act to get the items in her hands re-arranged, so that Inez can take the PLATE from the top without EVERYTHING crashing down, but as they move into the hallway, it seems things are getting back under control.

                    ❝And isn't SHARING what Christmas is all about?❞

The last is spoken with a BLINDING bright smile, light blonde curls framing a porcelain face with rose-tinted cheeks and an impeccable certainty that comes from ALWAYS knowing your worth.

Meanwhile, the young boy whose name she'd just heard called has corralled the excited dog at her feet, to whom she PAUSES to extends a now free gloved hand in greeting. Her eyes land on the child, however. Jennifer would not say that she is good with children. It is true that she played a large part in raising her siblings back home, but that was YEARS AND YEARS ago, and she has never been interested in motherhood or the family life.

                    ❝Hello, Vidal, I don't think we've MET. I'm Jennifer.❞