Scrooge didnât know what to think of the memory that the other told him about. He didnât know whether to chuckle softly at the idea that such a thing happened, or to be concerned. If it were himself heâd find himself laughing so hard that his sides hurt, but this wasnât a misadventure of his own caliber. This was something with the triplets, when their uncle Donald wasnât around, and when they were alone. They were probably much younger than ten or eleven years old at the time as well. âThat sounds like quite thâ trouble... I hope ye three learned a lesson from it all...â A sigh at the image that came to his head, there must have been something wrong however for a shark to be so close to the houseboat...
After a moment he cast a smile to the boy, tilting his head slightly with those curious eyes of his. He wondered if there was any other reason why Dewey jumped in, or why the duck in blue would even think it was a good idea. Had he never been taught that the ocean was rather dangerous, while there isnât much worse than a shark attack, there was always the chance that someone would be swept out to sea and then drown. They may be ducks, with webbed feet still present from their much more wild distant ancestors, but that wouldnât save them from drowning in the water. Especially since the salt would get caught in their feathers and weigh them down or possibly make them sick.
âAt least ye three got yerselves out of trouble, anâ Dewey is alright now... Did he get bit at all?â He supposed there was a chance that the boy got hurt, and maybe thatâs why Donald was so suspicious to leave them alone.
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It was a simple enough question, but the answer was not so easy to come by. Bede knew this, he was well aware, although he asked it to himself every day. Every time he pulled the covers off his body in the morning. âHow much has changed?â Every time he looked in a mirror. âWhat did I possibly do to warrant this?â Every time he passed a makeup brush over his cheek. âHow could it have all fallen apart so quickly?â The makeup palette was closed with a sudden click. Every blemish covered up, every insecurity hidden behind a wall of powder and cream. All slipped into a pink bag to be hidden away in some antique vanity until the next day.
The tea kettle hissed as he came downstairs, the gentle pitter-patter of rain was a welcome ambiance which quelled his raging mind. His Reuniclus, the one that had been his partner from the start, greeted him happily. A gentle good morning for which he was always grateful for. Red eyes peeked from around the doorway answering his question of who had put the kettle on. His Gardevoir was skilled with such things as house cleaning, no matter how many times he told her she neednât do such things, she seemed more than happy to do it anyways. Who was he to tell her to stop if it kept her countenance bright and her demeanor so uplifting.
The scent of Pecha Tea was always welcome to his nose, it was a tea that only needed a little bit of sugar for it was all too sweet. Eyes stared off to a nonexistent point. His fingers moving on their own as he stirred the tea. It was almost as though he wasnât entirely there. He couldnât help but think back to what had happened. Early mornings was when he always found himself repeating the same nightmare over and over again. Orphanage, Rose, Mistakes, Opal... Over and over again. A seamless cycle he couldnât break from. Not until he decides to step out of his home...
âIt was raining though.â
âThe gym is closed on Sundays.â
âTruly a terrible trick from the Unseelie Court...â
The thoughts came in rapid succession, one after another, like bullets. The realization hit him quickly. He would be stuck here, he had no reason to leave and as such no energy to... He had, effectively, trapped himself in his own cage. Bede tried to create Opalâs words in his head, the ones she would always say when she saw him lapsing back into that terrible mindset, the one where he would do anything he could to please Rose... Just searching for any sliver of validation from a man that was, for all intents and purposes, distracted and going through just as much. But the false scoldings were nothing but mirages in his hazy brain.
âYou ought to focus on these things.â
âNo faerie will let you dwindle on the past.â
âBack straight, eyes forward, keep moving.â
âTell me, why canât you drink cream?â
A sudden knock. Bede jumped up, startled, eyes wide like a wild animalâs. His wooden chair clattered to the floor loudly, no doubt alerting whoever was on the doorstep of his cottage that he was inside. Who would come so far into the Glimwood Tangle to see him? Who was lurking on the other side of that door? He approached quietly, a sinking feeling in his stomach as he took hold on the door handle. Bede took a second to compose himself, settle down his anxiety before he faced whoever was on the other side.
Rage.
Blind rage and utter panic. He felt his face grow red hot, his heart beginning to pick up pace, his breath shorten. For a moment he stood there, paralyzed, feeling like the smallest thing alive... Smaller than even a joltik. âYou...â He growled, expression turning harsh. âWhat are you doing here!? Wasnât throwing me out enough for you?â As soon as he uttered the words another part of him, the part of him that still lingered from that day, came back to him.
âHow dare you speak like that to the man who saved your life...â
Alois was prone to these sorts of prolonged periods of depression. Emotional troughs which were only broken up by the prolonged periods of overwhelming joy. These emotions could last for days at a time, months even, as his fragmented mind struggled to find more stable ground in reality. He just lay in bed, only getting up to use the bathroom. He didnât eat the food that was given to him, not unless Claude did all the work of forcing it into his mouth, much to his distaste... Worse of all, he did no work whatsoever like this. He only changed his clothes when the demon forced him to, and even then it was obvious that the butler couldnât possibly force him to do anything else in that state of mind-- nothing would get accomplished.
He lay there, standing at the ceiling, ignoring the numbness in his legs and lower back. Alois didnât care that his limbs were falling asleep, he didnât care that the sunlight that was pouring in through the curtains hurt his eyes, all he cared about was staring off into space it seemed. His mind was elsewhere. What little crime that he committed was his brain musing over now. He wouldnât be thinking of the bigger atrocities heâs done, he knows they are wrong and committed them with that in mind, but other ones... Ones that he didnât mean to do... they stayed at the forefront. Taunting him. Such as how he fell on his ass while dancing with Ciel, or how he tripped over a maintenance man in London and got big scrapes on his knees, even how he was practicing horseback riding only to go the wrong way on the course and accomplish the whole mock course essentially backwards!
It was those tiny embarrassments that wriggled deep into his brain like parasites. He loathed himself for it. His heart was poisoned by his hatred. Not hatred for anyone else but himself. Playing his mistakes like a movie in his brain as he lay there, staring up at the ceiling. Phantom touches made his skin twitch, for a second he could have sworn he felt hands grab onto every part of his body, as though reaching out of the bed underneath him. He could have sworn he felt that breath on his neck, a whisper. âYour eyes are disgusting, the color of rust on the pipes.â A gasp as he jolted into alertness, his entire body tensing up. There was no light in the window, only darkness. Night had since fallen-- strange how all time was lost when relieving terrible memories.
He rolled over to his left side, facing the door, to see Hannah... She had come in to do... something. He didnât know what, didnât care enough to know what, but she dragged him out of his terrible memories. Alois sat up, feeling the cold sweat all the more prominently now. âWhat are you doing in here?â He asked, his tone sharp, and yet there was a certain tremble there. The blond was terrified. Mortified even. He wanted to get out of bed, to get as far away as those phantom hands as possible, but he just didnât have the energy.Â
âBreaking News, there appears to be a huge fire at the research facility of the ever enigmatic SCP Foundation. Press has been unable to enter the walls since the Foundationâs official founding over one hundred years ago. All we have been told is that something dangerous is contained within each of the Foundationâs individual sites. The Foundation claims they have everything under control and that they have recovered everything that they could, what hasnât been recovered is most likely destroyed. Nevertheless they encourage the public to keep an eye out for anything unusual or strange in the coming months.â
His hand stopped as those words filtered through his brain, what was that from again? So long ago it felt, since his escape in early February. He could recall the feeling of his skin being burned, his âclothesâ being torn, his body being crippled in all senses of the word, and yet he stood and walked away. He hid for a long time, quiet and silent, most likely believed to be dead as he worked hard to remain off the radar. Until he was able to move swiftly again, until he was fully recovered, most likely he would halt his experiments and disappear into the darkness of hiding.
The scent of flowers carried on the breeze was accompanied by the feeling of springâ That was such a long time ago wasnât it? Now it was early April, as evidence by the tomfoolery that made themselves apparent in small towns; following traditions of April Fools Day. The warm air also showed the welcoming signs of spring, he could see the flowers blooming as time went on. Opening up their beautiful petals to reveal their interior, most likely to spread pollen and breed through the use of carriers such as butterflies and bees. Nevertheless they were splendid in appearance.
From where he sat underneath a tree he had no idea that there was a person nearby. His book in his hand, pen clenched tightly, the sunbeams that trickled through the shadows it was all so soothing. He enjoyed it greatly. While he was more of a night person, this was rather calming just as well. The soft wind was what alerted him to the feeling of being watched.
âHello⌠What can I help you with?â He asked, confusion lacing his voice as his eyes stared onward to the stranger.
((If you donât want to reply to this starter/you prefer to plot before RPing feel free to IM me, I wont be offended or upset. These starters are here solely to cut out that middle man known as awkwardness.))
