#exploringxshadows

▪▪▪ It was a dark, gloomy morning in England. The blanket of storm clouds overhead blotted out the sun, swollen past the point of bursting. Rain tapped on windows and across cobblestones, leaving murky puddles in their wake. The soft breeze that weaved through winding streets left a chill in the air, a damp cold that could soak down to your very bones.

The sprawling university grounds, normally bustling with faculty and students alike, was notably quiet this morning. Everyone had retreated into the depths of the old buildings to seek reprieve from the weather, leaving only the poor souls that tended to the grounds and other menial work to face the elements.

The gas lamps hissed faintly, bathing halls and classrooms in golden light, chasing off the sleepy gloom that would've otherwise settled into every nook and cranny of the massive buildings. It was still early, certain professors setting up their classrooms and presentations for the day while others were already greeting their classes and starting their lectures.

Barnaby Ashewright was one of the professors who still had an hour's time before his students would start funneling in. The machinery for his class had already been set up, small models of engines that could be scaled up eventually for use in factories - now it was simply a matter of making sure he had everything written up on the stretch of chalkboard at the front of the class, and all of his supplies for the students were on hand.

Many of the professors at the university were focused on the sciences - all matter of new and fascinating subjects that were once only pipe dreams to humanity. Medicine, chemistry, what could be done with plants, fringe subjects that most scientists dared to brave. If you could think it, someone likely taught it - or pursued it outside of class hours. While he was not among those who pursued the more medically-inclined positions, he was still a scientist. And an engineer.

His study was machines, the future of industry and what machine meant for man. Whether it was mechanical beasts of burden, less dangerous machines that worked just as if not more efficiently, prosthetics that could replicate a living appendage - and his class was to encourage others to pursue that same lens and want to improve the world.

Cold and L O N E L Y. Winter nights are never anything more than that. Work. Exhausting. She’s not ready to go home. The bench is covered in snow, but feelings are L O S T on her. N U M B to the very core.

▪▪▪ Time passed by, seasons had changed, relationships had grown. Dmitriy, that sweet and peculiar little phoenix harpy, had been spending a lot of time with a certain kelpie dwelling in the river. It was a strange combination, a man-eating water horse man and a ‘spicy chicken’. Dmitriy hadn’t let that strangeness stop him from being friends with Alastair though.

When the weather grew cold, he did his best to make sure Alastair  stayed warm. Whether that was cuddling up on his equine back to  share the warmth he radiated to even getting him a lovely horse blanket  and scarf from the human village, he made sure he was kept nice and  cozy. That didn’t even include the meals and the shinies he’d bring him.

To Cornelius, hearing his son gush about his ‘friend’ and the things he did for him or the sweet actions Alastair would do in turn, it was obvious to him that this was more than mere friendship. His dear little son was absolutely smitten. His energy and will to move with the fatigue of their journey and the grief of his lost mate had needed a long while to recover, but now, at last, he was feeling better. And what better way to celebrate than by visiting the  river and seeing for himself the kelpie that Dmitriy spoke about so much?

In the clearing by the river side, the sky seemed to darken - not by a sudden  change in the hours but by the massive shadow cast by a thick body and huge wings. The heavy whump of an elk carcass hitting the ground was  almost deafened by the woosh of wings that made the trees bend and shake. As taloned feet hit the ground, a small but noticeable tremor ran through the earth, rippling through the water. The air felt full of static, the scent of rain and ozone heavy in the breeze. Silver and stormy grey wings folded as clawed hands came to rest against the ground. His feather neck extended as he peered over the surface of the water, ruddy brown eyes searching for the shape of the kelpie.

▪▪▪ It was a foggy, gloomy late afternoon. Cinnamon eyes were watching  the clouds warily, wondering if he’d find himself being greeted by a storm  when he reached his destination. He listened to the rhythmic click of horse  hooves and the creak of wood from the carriage as it was pulled along worn  dirt roads. Dmitriy sighed, closing the small bible he had been reading and  tucking it into the bag sitting against his hip.

He had received a letter from his twin that had been...concerning. Talk of lethargy in some of the townsfolk, sheep drained of blood - things that indicated something of an unholy nature was residing in or around this town. Dmitriy, a priest and specialist in studies of the occult and the unordinary, had chosen to investigate the matter personally. This was where his family  resides, of course he would be more invested in seeking out the answer and dealing with the issue at hand. He just hoped that it hadn’t gotten worse since he has received the last letter...

Dmitriy lifted his head when he felt the carriage jostle as it was brought to a  halt. He was here. He sighed, making sure he had all of his things and the strap of his bag was secured around his shoulder before he opened the door and eased out to stretch his legs and put his feet on still ground for once. Dressed in a simple black cassock, the white collar clear as day, it was plain to see he was a priest. He could see a few townspeople peeking out of the windows, wondering who on earth the new person was.

There was someone else peering through a window though. Golden eyes peered out the glass from the looming building of the local lord. Bells jingled  as the owner of the eyes leaned back, a roll of joints heard as their head  turned to look back into the room.

▪▪▪ There had been so much trial and error. Months of experimenting  with materials that felt like muscle, fat, skin. So much time had been going into trying to weave the right color of hair and add the exact curl. Hours upon hours, days upon days of work hunched over a desk as  Dmitriy carefully airbrushed the skin, hand painted every freckle, delicately rooted hair into a scalp, tiny hairs across the body skin.  He had carefully woven together a magical network of nerves that  would give him so much more advanced feeling than his creation  had now. No one could say he wasn’t dedicated. He had promised Alastair he would make those upgrades - and he’d keep to his promise. He had been building Alastair up as the months passed. He gave him  his signature green eyes. He built muscular systems that matched the  motion of a living human’s. He padded places with ‘fat’ that would fill out the body and help with the body shape once he was covered up. Whenever he wasn’t working, he was spending time with Alastair, teaching and encouraging however he could. 

There was no denying that in the months that Alastair had been  a part of their home, Dmitriy’s mood was so drastically different. He was happier than he had been in a long time and absolutely, hopelessly smitten with Alastair. He had kept true to his word that  he wouldn’t rush or coerce him into anything romantic...but he spoiled him with compliments, surprised him with gifts, gave him  plenty of hugs and cuddles and was even at ease with him when  it came to the more...’quirky’ moments of having an android who  didn’t know any better. Such as a general tradition of expecting that Al would toddle into the bathroom while he was bathing, much like a pet keeping their owner company. Dmitriy had gotten used  to it by now - and he had made sure that Al didn’t go pestering  anyone else in the assumption that they were equally as comfortable  with company in such circumstances.

Dmitriy leaned back as he looked Alastair over on the table. He gently coaxed the skin here and there, smoothing out unnatural wrinkles and making sure everything fit as snugly as possible and was where it needed to be. Fingers brushed over the seams, silicone stitching  together until no seam was left to be seen. He looked him over as  a final check before giving an approving nod. Alastair was fully assembled...well, almost. There was one piece he very clearly hadn’t  added yet, leaving him more like a doll in nudity.

It had been a little over a month since his diagnosis. Every night as Nikolai downed a dose of the horrid concoction of drugs called his ‘nightly cough syrup’, he hoped he’d wake up to find it had all been a dream. But when the time came for him to rise out of bed and start the day, his groggy mind would find itself greeted with the realization that this was reality. He’d have to force himself to get up and get ready for work, downing a dose of his day medication first thing to suppress his coughing.

The first week had been hell as he adjusted to his medications. He struggled to focus through the morphine in the day and at night, he’d sleep like the dead with how potent his night medicine was. He had given in to Malachi’s demands over that time to rest and let the medicine do its job. It couldn’t fix what he had though, no matter how much he wished it could. It hurt to lie and pretend but he had to - he had told Malachi he was fine. It was a minor illness, nothing to worry about.

His lungs were slowly ripping themselves to bits, of course there was something to worry about. And he had no one to talk about it to. He couldn’t tell Malachi, of course. The other servants gave him withering glances and whispered behind his back, giving him only the barest acknowledgements when a task needed to be completed. They knew he was involved with Malachi, he was the Master of the home’s favorite. He was his eyes and ears and he could say anything to Malachi and get them booted or worse - at least, according to them. So here the butler was, surrounded by people and yet alone, while the knowledge of his impending death gnawed away at his mind. He wasn’t sure which death was worse, that of the disease that tore at his lungs or the little death he faced as he pretended.

Even after he had gotten used to his medicine enough to work and do his job, that didn’t mean he was at 100%. Nikolai Blackbourne used to pride himself on being precise and on time but now...now there were slip ups. Sometimes it was a mere minute or two late, other times a handful. It was the stairs. Even now in the early stages of his illness, sometimes it proved a challenge to catch his breath. It wasn’t always his timeliness that suffered either. Sometimes a fever would settle in, bringing chills that made work pure misery to get through. Sometimes a hint of weakness and tremors would end up in his hands - was that the disease or the medicine that caused it? He didn’t know.

He did his best to steady the tray of tea in his grasp as he reached the top floor where Malachi’s study resided. He took deep breaths, as deep as he could manage, trying his best to recover as quick as he could before he arrived at the door. He forced himself to breathe slowly and calmly as he halted by the door, white gloved knuckles giving a soft knock on the door before he opened it and put on the best smile he had to offer.

▪▪▪ Waverly had been acting weird for awhile now. At some point during his visits to the witch settled in the forest, he had picked up on the fact that he was acting... peculiar. It took him far longer than it would have for a human to even notice that she was acting odd. He was a wolf, a spirit of the forest itself - it was safe to say that subtle hints and social cues were not his strong suit.

She was being awfully nice though. He couldn’t be sure what the reason was for her odd behaviors - well, odd for her - but he wasn’t complaining. He still came trotting up to her door practically every day to come say hello and spend time with her if she wasn’t staying overnight in his den with him. With the bite of winter still lingering in the air, curling up in a bundle of warm furs with a massive werewolf was not the worst way to spend a night.

The crunch of snow beneath his paws slowed as his lively trot slowed into a calmer walk as he approached the door of her home. Front paws lifted as he rocked back onto his rear legs, fur receding and fading to leave pale skin behind. Bones seamlessly and painlessly shifted until he seemed to simply melt into the form of a man, as bare as the day he was born and seemingly unfazed by the cold of the day. Gaunt knuckles tapped on the door, listening for the sound of the little witch that lived within.

The Cirque du Diavolo. It was something of a circus with a heavy emphasis on the freak show element. Most of the performers fell under the category of freaks in some capacity, whether from genetics, misfortune or...other sources. Nobody ever saw it travel or saw it come into town but fliers would go out, leading people into alleyways or through a dark corner of a park and they’d always find their way to the fairgrounds. No one ever understood how it was possible for it to rest in the places it did, where there should be no space for an entire circus to sit - it was like magic, almost. It was like its own little world, tucked away from reality, where people could come to see the strange and bizarre, the fantastical and frightening.... and some could even run away to the circus.

That was the case today. It was a new addition to their little family and after tending to all of the paperwork, the owner of the show had decided to show the man around. Cornelius was a tall, older looking gentleman, perhaps 40s or so, with hair that was a dark mahogany and vivid rusty-brown eyes that always seemed alert and keen to observe the little details of the world around him. He was dressed in a fine suit, with the tailcoat and top hat one would expect of a ringmaster - save that it was all colored in black, bronze and a rusty orange. His cane tapped across the dry, cracking earth as he led the way past tents and stands.

          {(”Now, Mr. Young, the layout of the show does not change much when we move so you’ll not have to worry when it comes to getting lost. The large tent there is, of course, for our main performances. We have three shows in total throughout the day there. Behind that is the campgrounds where everyone lives. That section there is the concession area, there’s the row for the games and up ahead is where most of your coworkers are.”)}

He flashed him a smile, although the gesture was never a comforting one. There was always something a touch off, like his teeth looked too sharp or it seemed to stretch just a tiny bit too wide. But his attention was diverted back to where they were going, watching as children were coaxing their parents along in the same direction. He listened to the murmurs of conversation amongst the crowd, hearing the commentary and the wants and wishes of those around them. It never hurt to keep tabs on who was being less-than-impressive today.