Practice & Prompts

[ElliBleu]

Exactly what it sounds like! You write a stand-alone RP sample dealio based on the prompt given by the person before you.

Feel free to use any character of yours, and have fun!!

And go ahead and double post. I don't think it's that big a deal here.


First Prompt: Emerald

[Hawk]

^{[‘scuse me while I release some angst, since I’m in kind of a shitty mood. Yay, broken angel. kthxbai.]}

Watching the hysterically crying woman walk away, Aeschylus let an amused grin slide onto his face. Looking down at the ring she had thrown at his chest, he couldn’t resist the temptation to pick up the little prize. A present in return for another light that was so painfully easy to extinguish.

Clasping it in his hands, he practically fell into the brick wall next to him, closing his eyes to relive the events of minutes before. How her eyes had widened. How she had said it couldn’t be true. How he’d built it up to a perfect climax, only to pull out the pictures. Oh, the pictures. A masterpiece, if he did say so himself. Never mind that he hadn’t played very fair when seducing the man, stealing the little bitch’s image to gain them. Didn’t show up on the film, and so the plan had worked itself out perfectly.

He let his mind rest on the lovely image of her standing before him, stunned and utterly heartbroken at her love’s ‘betrayal,’ but that could only hold his scattered attention for so long. Blinking his pale blue eyes open, Aeschylus opened his hand to further examine his reward. Grasping it between two fingers, he raised it to what little light the nearest streetlight would afford.

Green immediately flickered back at him.

…Green……

…Eyes… Green eyes… They looked back at him, shining with happiness… He’d said something… Something about the rules, about not touching… Not touching his wings, of course. They were a mark of his status, of their separation. Humans weren’t allowed to touch them, as was logical. Not so, she said. “Come now, everyone needs a bit of affection now and then, even from a ‘simple human’ like me. And I promise not to dirty them too much,” she’d thrown in at the end with a mischievous grin. Then she’d reached over, despite his best attempts to avoid her hands which weren’t really his best attempts, and pulled on a couple stray feathers… Before laughing… And he… He’d laughed right along……

Another flicker and the image changed.

Eyes again… Like her mother’s, such a beautiful shade… The hair was all his, but that was the only small vestige he’d given her. He was watching her make her fifth attempt at catching a stray butterfly. “Careful, you mustn’t hurt it,” he’d felt obligated to say quietly. She’d turned and aimed a shushing gesture in his direction almost instantly. “Daddy, you’ll scare ‘im away!” she’d responded in a warning whisper, following it with an adoring smile and an, “And I wouldn’t hurt him. He’s my friend. Just like everything else great and small, right?” Without waiting for an answer, she’d turned back to her mission. As her shirt fluttered at the bottom in the wind while her three-year-old body crouched before the flower her victim was resting on, he realized he had probably also passed on his trim figure. Her mother wouldn’t like that very much. A peaceful and amused grin crossing his face, he silently reasoned that he better not to share that with…

With……

Twitching violently, Aeschylus let out a low moan as if wounded, burying the ring in one hand while raising the other to grip his head. It was burning with images. Happiness, peace, mirrored easily by pain and destruction. That same green, so full of life, so dull and glassy. A million images, repairing his mind, ripping it to shreds, over and over and over and over and over, creating horrible, intolerable, searing, never-ending, unjustified, damnable pain.

Feathers ruffling, his wings naturally wrapped tighter around him in an attempt to protect. Unable to even notice through the excruciating tearing in his skull, he didn’t even realize they were closed around him until he attempted to open his eyes again. And was met with them. His feathers, once touched by…her. So dirty now, though. So fucking dirty. What would she think of them? She’d hate them. Hate him. She would, of course they both would. Fallen, Shamed, Destroyer. Hate, hate, hate.

But he hated, too. Tearing at feathers used to the abuse until he drew blood, the sight or its crimson shade made him think of the blood he’d had stolen from him. The love, the years, the happiness. All taken. The heavens were a joke, he had long ago realized. A bad joke with no punch line.

…But that was alright, he thought, slumping to the ground as his wings began heal over already. He had the joke covered, he thought, giggling quietly in a manner that was so tired and so far beyond broken. The humans would wish for their guardian angels. They would wish and wish and wish. And while the angels were too damned busy sitting on their high horse and watching from above, following orders and persecuting others like him for ‘crimes’…

Well, they would get their angel. That much he would ever so graciously take care of.

Not able to sustain even the giggles while his head was still being ripped open, Aeschylus wore a sadistic smile once again as he rose slowly. A bit more cracked this time, but smile enough to sufficed as a lie to himself. Making sure the wing wound left at least a scar in its wake, he squeezed the ring tight in his hand as if to throw it. Then paused. And calmly slipped it onto his hand.

This green was suffering, was that woman running with tear-filled eyes. Downright heavenly, if he did say so himself. He’d just have to learn to replace the old memory. Cover it up with the new and shiny images of his pain reflected in others. After all, it was a Hell of a lot more enjoyable than thinking about the him that had faded into the abyss so so so long ago…

And, with a last-minute twist of the ring so the stone faced inward, thankfully out of sight, he took to the skies in a flurry of muddy feathers. Give it time, and even the eyes that were reflected in the emerald would be nothing more than the shadow of a memory long forgotten…


Next prompt: Piano

[ElliBleu]

The highly polished wood of the bench was cold where it pressed against the back of her legs, pleated school skirt a bit too short to completely shield them. Fingertips skimmed along the ivory keys in front of her, trying to decide what to play for the silence. The study always smelled like old paper and the fragrant oil her mother kept the antique lamps lining the walls filled with. The short, furry tail peeking from beneath her jacket started to wag as she looked around the familiar old room.

Massive, ornate bookshelves were lined with thick leather-bound books, though Velvet could never remember ever opening one. A worn leather couch, a bulky ancient desk and a regal grand piano at least as old as her grandmother. Everything in the room was rarely used, rarely even touched. Yet not a speck of dust coated the old possessions, making the girl frown as her tail stopped wagging.

It was sad.

All the loyal old furniture and shelves and frames and books, lonely and disused, and without even a veil of dust to let everyone see how lonely they were. Especially this piano, something that once sang in happiness or sadness as it's master wished.

Slipping to her feet and sliding off the bench, Velvet padded across the thick carpet to one of the bookshelves and slide a hands along the spines of a row of unloved books. Stopping on a random volume and without reading the title branded into the front she tucked it under her arm and returned to her seat, settling the book snugly on her lap beneath the lip of the piano.

A flawlessly sweet smile was flashed for the books remaining in the audience, tapping her knuckles on the book in her lap. "I'll play for all of you, so no one should be jealous or anything, m'kay?" Maybe then they wouldn't be so lonesome, if she played something just for all these near forgotten things.

Letting her hooded blue-and-brown gaze settle on the keys before her, Velvet began the little song. Soft, slow notes that lingered in the lonely dustlessness, something sad and lilting for the sad old room. A little smile crossed her face as she let sweeter notes start to mingle their way into the melancholy melody, soon reinforced with cheerful chords.

Still slow and sweet (something fast and lively seemed out of place for the tried possessions) but peacefully joyous, Velvet let the song fade without a flourish, letting it settle back into silence the same way her proud audience had done.

The book was slid back amongst it's companions, given a fond pat before Velvet turned to be on her way, feeling very pleased.


Next Prompt: Puddle

[Admin]

Ophelia woke to the sound of rain pattering on the roof of her little house. Lia shot out of bed with a grin and hurried to the door. Pulling it open she saw that it was only sprinkling but to someone four inches tall, tiny, light rain drops may as well be a downpour. She cartwheeled out of her house and danced in the rain, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of it.

She took a short break from the rain underneath a particularly large mushroom she grew specifically for her use. Sheltered from the rain, she could see picturesque image of the forest during a rain. It was even a little bit sunny as well.

Wanting to play more in the rain, Lia left her safe mushroom and flew to her garden to check on her plants quick before zipping off deeper into the forest. She went first to her favorite pitcher plant and had a little bath before flying up to dance in the water collected on a particularly large leaf.

Lia was about to go home when she noticed a huge puddle between some trees. Hopping down off her leaf she went to the edge of the puddle and sat down deciding how best to have fun with it. Having an idea, Lia went to one of the trees and pulled off some bark and dragged the piece to the edge of the puddle. She then grabbed a twig that was a bit longer than she was tall before running back to her bark raft and pushing off.

The rain stopped as Lia was poling herself across the puddle she made into her own personal pond and the sun came out, bringing a rainbow with it. There, on her makeshift raft, Lia spent the remainder of her morning relaxing in the sun.

After a while the earth had soaked up Lia's puddle and she bid her fun in the rain a fond farewell before walking home to make some breakfast.


Prompt: A painting.

[Hawk]

_{[Soooooo, really long. Like, rly rly rly. You don't hafta read it if you don't want, I kinda just started and then ended up with this. So, gomen! ^_^;;]}

The doors to the building were heavy and composed entirely of mahogany. Covered in intricately carved designs faded by years of facing the elements, their age was clear to any who ventured close enough to open them. Their aged hinges released a low creak as one was opened, a puff of warmer air wafting out closely behind. The sound was quiet enough that it could be drowned out by cars passing by on the street outside or the chatter of members at a regular service.

But, it was four in the morning. Cars and their drivers were hopefully happy and safe at home. And members wouldn’t be showing until morning. And so, the oft-ignored sound found its moment of glory as Belial took a step into the building, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Giving the inside cursory glance and rubbing his arms a bit to warm them up, he began to walk up the aisle. Pausing at the stoup momentarily, he loosened one hand enough to wet a finger lightly and quickly cross himself. The act had become natural by now, less about its meaning and more about paying respect to traditions. Returning his arm to its former position of most warmth, he then continued on.

Light was scarce inside, coming only from the couple soft lights the ministry left on for the safety of visitors in off hours. Those, and the streetlights from the parking lot, shining through the stained glass lining one of the walls. A mural of symmetrical shapes and repetitive designs, it cast its rainbow onto the many surfaces inside the small church’s walls, creating a haze of color.

Coming equal to the front row of cherry-stained wood pews, he stopped and braced his hip against the end of the bench to the right. Crossed arms now held loosely – casually, and he let his eyes slide closed. The silence washed over him, not weighed down with an awkward lack of conversation or the building of tension. Just…peace. Light, restful peace and quiet.

A small but contented grin making its way onto his face, Belial let a relaxed sigh fall from his lips. Crowds and excitement he loved, and honestly needed. High-energy areas were certainly fun. But every once in a while, it was nice to have a sliver of time to himself. Shifting forward, he placed a hand on the back of the pew and slid around to sit down in it properly. Eyes blinking open slowly, he looked up to the front of the church, past the altar and to what lay behind it.

The typical crucifix was in place on the wall here, smaller than most and hand-carved. It was part of what he liked about this church; everything was small, simplistic. Most of his favorites were like that, with a comfortable and homey feel. It wasn’t what drew his attention though, or was only a small part of it. What pulled his gaze was the painting on the wall behind.

Grey-blue waves were painted from floor to ceiling. They crashed one into the next, each cresting higher than the last. The little sliver of sky that could be seen at the very top matched the greys in the waves, hinting at stormy skies. In the very middle of this mural sat the quaint crucifix. The size of the painting made it look even smaller, standing out nonetheless as a brown object surrounded by overwhelming blue.

He didn’t know what the image was supposed to mean, nor did he particularly care, truth be told. What he did know was what he saw: A tempest; waves battling for control; a darkened sky. And in the midst of it all, a man that was so small in comparison, suffering horrible pains and yet going unnoticed.

It reminded him of the story he knew of Jesus, to be sure. If that happened to be their intention, they could consider it a success. But, in his mind it was a much broader symbol. He’d seen more of the world than most, and certainly met and talked with more people than almost anyone. People who were lonely, who lacked self-confidence, those that had seen pain or had felt it themselves, some who thought they weren’t worth much and some who thought they were worth nothing at all. And while each one deserved attention and help, many had been forced to continue on their own. They simply weren’t noticed by the tumult that was the enormity of the world. The waves of everyone else’s needs combined to drown out each individual, and if they weren’t strong enough, they slipped under.

That is, unless they found a helping hand, he thought as he lifted his legs onto the pew, crossing them. An inappropriate thing to do, and especially in a Catholic church with its strict rules of conduct, but nobody was here to send a disapproving glare his way.

Some people, he had long ago decided, just needed someone to hold onto for a moment when they were floundering. They needed a rest, a bit of bolstering. And a reaffirmation that they mattered. Considering his choice metaphor, he chuckled quietly to himself while thinking maybe some swimming lessons were in order too.

He tried to be one of those helping hands (or swimming instructors, added his mind wryly) in his own way. He talked to the person standing alone on the corner of the dance floor, or the girl crying outside the club, or the one that he could sense dampening feelings down to hide them.

Year after year of being around strangers had afforded him the ability to read types of people and their needs, and quite accurately at that. Some just needed an offhand compliment to feel better, and he was happy to give it. Everyone had some part of them that made them special. Others needed someone to talk to, and he’d learned to be a good listening ear, only contributing when needed or wanted. Some needed space from the same old crowd, and a night out and about he could most definitely deliver.

And some needed more physical attention. Average people didn’t like to admit that fact, but having to survive off lust gave Belial a different perspective on life. He’d felt the strength of the energy he got from love, and was respectful of it since it was something he’d likely never get. But, more than that, he’d felt the dampened, hidden lust that resulted from a relationship gone wrong. He’d seen and talked to people who’d fallen into a destructive cycle of one-night stands with people who didn’t care at all about them, all because they didn’t think they were worth more. And while some of these people needed just to talk, others really needed to remember what it was like to be with someone who cared, with no strings attached.

Mia saw fit to call him a glutton for punishment for that sometimes, he recalled with a small grin. “Life isn’t about just helping others!” she’d spouted at him once in a rare fit of annoyance. But she knew it was his way. He got some small cheer out of knowing that he at least made a difference to others, which was more than enough to balance out the pain the habit sometimes caused. And he received energy out of the deal, so it seemed only fair.

Thoughts strong in his mind, he twinned his fingers together and closed his eyes once again. While not a devout believer in any one specific religion’s rendition of Him, he did believe in God. After all, there was life and love, happiness and kindness. That was enough of a miracle for him. Never organized in his prayers, he simply sent out thanks for whatever chance of fate had given him life and his few friends, and wished for help to any who needed it. Offered to give it to whoever he could reach, as well.

Done with his musings for the moment, and much too fidgety to stay still for any longer, Belial set one foot after the other back on the floor. Standing back up, he stretched a bit, once again happy for the freedom an empty church provided. Then he headed for his last mission in the small chapel.

At the very front of the church and in a small alcove of to the left sat a smaller altar. In front of it sat many candles, only a few of them burning because of the late hour. He’d always particularly liked the idea of votive offerings. He’d lit candles for a number of people over the years, sometimes particularly troubled strangers, sometimes people he’d actually met while in the church that needed the extra help. He’d even lit a few for Mia, much to her chagrin when he’d told her about it.

Already knowing who he had in mind for this particular candle, he made a simple wish for happiness and good luck as he brought match to wick. “Here’s hopefully sending some help your way, Adders,” he mumbled with a grin, figuring that he needed it much more than Mia did. Blowing out the match just before the flame reached his fingers, he made a wish for luck to the other few candles’ purposes as well, hoping that others would return the favor for his.

Turning to leave, he realized he had no money to donate in place of the candle, and resolved to bring a few coins the next time he visited. Then he made his way to the exit, casting his elongated shadow onto the floor as he crossed in front of the stained glass window. Shivering a bit at the thought of the cold he was about to reenter, he paused at the familiar old doors to take in the peace for just one more second before delving back into the real world. Then, spirits bolstered as they always were, he forced one more creak out of the doors, stepping out of the small church and leaving its comfort for the next visitor to enjoy.


Next Prompt: Kitten

[fayden]

Fayden was pulled somewhat suddenly in the side by Arelia. "Fay, Fay, come on!" He swiftly cocked his head in the general vicinity of where she was gesturing towards, which had happened to be a rather damp brown shipping box. "I don't see anything...", he noted dryly, after a few milliseconds of glaring at it, which was met by a rather quick and painful slap. Well, two, rather.

"OW!"

He rubbed his hit arm ruefully.

"What was that for?"

She rounded on him again, but then retreated unexpectedly. Fayden watched as Arelia dashed over to the box and bended in, producing a rather strange dog from absolutely nowhere. He rubbed his nose and coughed, blinking again at the box, and doing a double-take at the inscription on it.

[[D8 Shoooort.]]

Prompy: Runes.

[ElliBleu]

[[Little!Ri post. >3<]]

Her fingers stretched for the edges, palm pressed flat against the middle of the honeycomb-shape etched into the old, dead, barkless tree. Wide eyes turned up questioningly to her older brother who stubbornly kept his fingers tangled in those of her free hand. "This one?" a bob of her head emphasized the question, using the point of an ear to indicate where her hand rested.

"I don't know, Rielle. These ones are very old, we haven't learned them yet."

The cub found that hard to believe, looking from her brother to the old runes and back again. "You don't know, Rei? How old are they?"

The older pup tucked shaggy red hair behind one of his own pointed ears, puppy-blue eyes roving the markings littering the massive dead tree. "Old, Ri. Really old."

Her mouth twisted to one side and she narrowed her eyes, childish mind struggling to relate to 'really old' in it's yet limited knowledge of numbers. The little hand traced the network of runic symbols before moving up to tug at the end of a pigtail bleached to a warm pink in the summer sun. "Really old??"

Rei sighed, starting to loosely swing their clasped hands. He was patient, especially for a pup his age, but even the most patient wolves would tire of this game of questions before Rielle did. The sun was warm and the breeze was cool and sweet, and Rei couldn't help the wanting to be off somewhere with his beloved little sister. Play was a vital part of a young wolf's development, so he always said.

"Yes, Rielle. Really, really, really old." He turned, pulling the smaller wolf along with him, to point into the branches of a nearby tree bustling with sparrows. A toothy smile crossed the little she-wolf's face at their familiar game. In unison the siblings let loose a duet of less-than-threatening puppy howls. The birds were familiar with the routine, taking wing in a flurry of activity and taking their simple delight in the joy of the wolf pups that protected their nests from raiders.

Pointing at the cloud of birds before they landed once again, Rei tried for an answer that would satisfy his sister. "If all those birds were six winters, and then you added all those winters to Seya's gramma, those markings on the tree would still be older."

Rielle's mouth made an 'o' of wonder before looking quickly over her shoulder at the runes again. "Wow. That's really old."

"Mmhmm."

He set off down the shallow hill towards the flattened field grass just outside the clan's village where they usually played, Rielle following closely behind and cheerfully swinging their still-clasped hands as she hummed a puppy's rhyming-song. Seya was waiting for them on the big tree stump in their playfield, Rei finally releasing his sister's hand in favor of taking off at a run to tackle his dark-haired friend of their contested spot.

Sparing one last awed look for that rune-inscribed tree, Rielle pushed her clumsy puppy feet into chasing her brother. The runes and markings were fascinating in their ancient way, but for now things like this were better suited for a little she-wolf.

--------------------------

Next Prompt: Ink

[Hawk]

Mia was frustrated, to say the least. Humming had long been abandoned in favor of annoyed little sounds as she dug through cabinets, desks, drawers… “Where the hell…” she growled to herself, tossing the entire contents of her nightstand all over the floor. And yet, to no avail. Not there either.

Eyes narrowing in annoyance, she let the drawer drop from her hands and crash to the floor. Really, how could you lose a marker if you never even took it out of your apartment? Turning to face the door to the other rooms, she clenched a fist and forced her eyes shut. Screw saving energy for more interesting tasks and doing things the regular way. This was ticking her off.

Within seconds she’d felt out the item she wanted. One black marker of the permanent variety. And it had somehow lodged itself behind her bed. Just perfect.

In no mood to dig it out, she had it fly to her hands with a flick of her wrist. Muttering an annoyed “Finally…” she made her way over to the full-length mirror leaning against one wall, pulling off her shirt as she went. Uncapping the pen with her teeth, she pulled her hair over her shoulder and turned to the side.

Holding the hair out of the way in a messy excuse for a ponytail, she glanced up at the picture jammed in the corner of the mirror frame. Examining a part of it, she made a thoughtful “Hmmmm…” around the pen cap. Then she glanced down at herself. Finding an open space in between a small cat tattoo and another with a Latin phrase, she brought the marker down on her skin at a random spot, and began copying.

The picture had been a collaborative effort. Nothing special, just the odd design with a bit of personal flair. She’d done the base, let a couple of her recent friends add small parts. Habit was to draw it in a couple places and leave it a few days. After two, whichever she liked more would be what she had tattooed on.

Finishing the copy, she jammed the pen into her mouth to cap it. Looking down at the finished product once more, she tossed the pen at her bedside table, not even noticing it miss and clatter to the floor behind it instead. Probably wouldn’t until she went to look for it again. Instead, she reached for her shirt and pulled it back on over the drawing.

Reaching for her pocket, she patted it for her phone. Looking around, she realized the search was on once again. After all, an appointment had to be made for the end of the week when she decided where to put the permanent version. Memories faded, but ink never did. Or at least not this kind, if you lived forever. Sighing exasperatedly, she made her way out of the room. Hopefully the phone wouldn’t be as difficult as her pen had been.


Next Prompt: Hairbrush

[Ryugexu]

Though she believed having long hair made her feel more attractive.... it didn't make this part of the morning any easier.

Cecilia was sitting in a small and simple chair in the hotel, there on the dresser was her hairbrush she had carelessly thrown there while unpacking what she'd need for this morning.

Her hair? A total mess. It truly looked like a bird's nest might if made with dark blue thread. It was going to hurt, and she certainly wasn't looking forward to it.

She hadn't had coffee in weeks. Coffee always made it more bearable. Hell, she thought, coffee made anything bearable.

"Maybe the reason you left Shinra was because the break room was out of coffee?" Jani mocked Cecilia's desperate desire for caffeine.

However, Cecilia wasn't willing to go to the common room of the hotel looking like she had just woken up. She sighed and took the wooden handle of the brush in her right hand, letting her left softly touch along the bristles. Perhaps if she relaxed beforehand, it wouldn't hurt so much. Hahaha a new experiment of mine? Old habits die hard.

She took the brush to the ends of her long hair and started brushing, and oh did it hurt as badly as ever. It seemed any little twist or technique to try and dull the pain only made it worse! She struggled and pulled and whined and used her fingers to try and manipulate the little knots, and it wore out her arms at some point. She sat there, staring at the mirror in frustration.

She stood up and opened the door to her bathroom and took out the robe, putting it on herself over her pjs. "I give up!" she muttered, using her hand to flatten it as best she could- "I need to eat something before they stop making breakfast."

She grabbed her hotel key and exited the room, heading down the hallway and then down the staircase. She bee-lined for the coffeemaker, and made herself a cup of ecstasy with extra creme. It had been a year since she had a cup of java at all- this was a luxury to her once mundane office life.

"Remember when you used to work under florescent lights?" Jani asked,

"Yeah," Cecilia whispered to her invisible friend as she sat down at an unoccupied table, "now it's all about fiends, sunlight, and staying out of sight. Certainly no time for paperwork."

She put her feet up, and enjoyed momentary civilization until she had to continue running.

Next Prompt: Cooking dinner.

[Hawk]

_{[Yay, little!Pheia… *le sigh* Guess it doesn’t even make it to food, but it kind of wrote itself, so oops? Sorry I half-jacked the idea of childhood cooking, angst and all, nee-san. >.>;;]}

‘Cook this for your family over the weekend!’ read the top of the homework sheet. Under it was the three recipes they’d made in class. Simple things, only one of them heated. Easy for a six-year-old to do with just a little bit of help.

He hoped that just the cooking would be enough. Pheia hadn’t seen his parents at all in the last couple days. Daddy had given him a whole twenty dollars on Wednesday, which he’d turned in to the teacher for lunches. Since then, he’d been home alone.

Stepping into the kitchen, he hesitated, ears sliding back a bit in worry. He never did anything in this room but pour Cheerios and milk. Cooking was new. It was scary. He’d cooked each thing in class before, but he’d had the teacher there to say, “The heat’s too high,” or “Stir that before it burns.” Once, she’d even had to tell him, “Keep an eye on your tail, Pheia,” because he’d almost got it in the burner.

‘The cabinets are really high up’ was his next thought as he slid his socked feet forward on the tile floor. Pheia wasn’t sure if he was allowed to try to get to them either. He remembered momma’s mumbled warning once, “Don’t climb on the counters, Pheia.” That was why he’d moved his cereal bowl to the phone book cabinet a year and a half ago. Down low, and hidden from view like all the other dishes were. No reaching needed.

But, the homework said he needed a mixing bowl, and he’d never seen one of those before. Except in class, where they were all pretty and blue with white polka dots. Curiosity about what his looked like overrode his fear, and he was soon attempting to pull himself up onto the grey Formica surface. Scrambling got him no closer, however. He was too short.

Stopping and staring up at the mystery cabinet, Pheia then shuffled out of the room. He was back a minute later, this time pushing a chair in front of him. A classmate told him about the idea before when he’d said he’d had to wait a long time to eat until someone was around and got a bowl down for him. He hadn’t been bold enough to follow through back then, but he was too intrigued now to worry. He scooted it in front of the counter, and clambered up onto it.

With only a moment’s pause, he slid his knees onto the counters. Standing, he grabbed onto the knobs of the cabinets for support. They were silver-colored and had lots of swirls on them. Pretty, but not the same way as the class bowls were. He slid his fingers along the weird patterns, smiling a little as they met each other and then separated. He would have to remember this game for later.

But, he had a mission now. So, wrapping his fingers back around one of the knobs, he pulled that door open. Ears tilting forward in curiosity, he leaned his head over to examine the contents. More of his bowl’s brothers and sisters, some plates, a couple mugs…

Afraid to open both cabinet doors and lose his safety hold, Pheia chose to move his head into the cabinet instead to see the other half of the contents. The bottom shelf just had plates. The middle he could juuust see into if he stood on his tiptoes. The contents made him huff quietly. Mugs. That meant if they had one…

Still on his tiptoes, he reached his hands up to the top shelf. If he couldn’t see, he’d just have to feel. Sliding them around, he touched a couple things that felt too small, one with a handle… Then his hand hit something bigger. Sliding his fingers along it made him think it was roundish, and it seemed like the right size. Reaching his other hand up, he pulled it forward inch by inch.

His tail was twitching with excitement. Would it be blue, like the one from class? Red? Green? Maybe a solid color, or with stripes? He hadn’t been this excited at home in a long time. As it came nearer to the edge, his ears started to twitch as well. What would it be like?? Finally able to get a grip on it, he pulled it the last of the way quickly.

But, he hadn’t anticipated how heavy it would be. Already balanced precariously, the weight of the bowl pulled him into a dangerous tilt. He was suddenly falling, and simple childish fear made him panic. He was so high up, and the ground was hard and painful and if he hurt himself nobody would be there to help him.

The panic made him let go of his precious goal, hand instead grasping the knob, which he had been admiring a minute ago, like a lifeline. One small hand on the bowl wasn’t enough to stop its momentum, and it slipped from his grip. He watched, inwardly horrified, as it hit the chair he had climbed on. Broke in half. Saw one half continue on to the floor and shatter, as the other broke into another two pieces on the seat of the chair.

Ears completely flat against his head, Pheia slowly turned back to the cabinet and closed the door. Then, he silently climbed down, avoiding the broken pieces as he made his way to the floor. It was only when he’d made it down that he let himself look down at the pieces. Yellow. It had been yellow. Some orange too, but he couldn’t tell if it was polka dots like class anymore. Tears were making it too hard to see.

He never should’ve climbed. Momma told him not to. She said so, and now he’d broken something. He’d done something bad, and now she would hate him. She’d probably stop coming home completely.

Reaching for the largest piece of bowl lying on the chair, he tried to stop crying. Daddy didn’t like it when he cried. He said it made him tired, and that big kids didn’t cry. And Pheia wanted to be a big kid. Rubbing a fist against his eyes, he started picking up the pieces with the other and stacking them in the biggest piece. He would leave it on the counter and write an apology letter to go with it. That way if momma came home when he was at school or sleeping, she would still know it was an accident and that he was sorry he was a bad kid. Maybe she would forgive him and still come home sometimes.

Sliding the collection of pieces onto the counter, he took a hold of the chair, sniffling as quietly as he could while dragging it back to where it went. He would just have to tell the teacher he couldn’t do the homework this time. Maybe write another apology letter for her. And, more than anything, he hoped she didn’t start to hate him, too.


Next Prompt: Snowball

[fayden]

It was December Twenty-Fifth.

Or, at least, it seemed to be. His calendar had begun a rather dis-likable habit of malfunctioning on holidays.

With a sneeze, Sol Lake released himself from the company of the bed and took a gander at the grounds through the window. A fine icy mist, devoid of all solar radiation, had lightly dusted the grass and was falling faster and denser with each passing minute, such as that he expected in a few minutes it would be thick enough to handle a snowball fight.
Suffice to say, he was going to join in merrily.

Rubbing his eyes, he exchanged his nightwear for some cold-weather clothing and muttered a quick Disarming Charm at the wand clutched in his roommate's hand, making it smash into said roommate's face. The fifth-year awoke with a start and nearly knocked Sol off his feet with the Aguamenti that followed; he dodged by a horsehair and pocketed his wand, satisfied.
At least it worked one final time. He had written to his parents, no?

Shaking off the unfortunate thought that he might have possibly hadn't, he did a double-take at the green piece of furniture that had mysteriously erected itself overnight; had it been there the entire length of the Christmas season? Taking a dive at it, he practically ripped apart the tree in search of his presents, happening to be a pristine copy of Quidditch Through the Ages from an anonymous benefactor in a vaguely rectangular gift-wrapped green bag; a wand with a yellowed note enclosed with the text, "Wotcher, Sol! This is a yew-and-dragon heartstring wand from your parents! Love, Trine Lake and Filla Lake," the entire thing stuck in a multichromatic package. He did a test run of it under the jealous eye of his roommate, attempting to lift the lampshade from the lamp, and succeeded even better than he expected; he no longer had to make ridiculous, over-dramatized movements to get the frilly thing to move sideways; it now responded to gentle flicks with great precision.
Next came a tiny box tinted a rather unattractive grey, and when he opened it he found a black pit. He poked inside it curiously, and, finally trying to shake the things inside loose, found that it was occupied by a great deal of books; it seemed to have a complete collection of the Transfiguration, DATDA (or Defense Against the Dark Arts, as most called it), and Charms books he would need for his last two-and-a-half years. Blinking, utterly bewildered, at his roommate, who was now practically green with envy, he looked around the stacks of books for any clue to locating a donator for this present, but failed utterly.
Sighing at the fact that he had not thought of giving anyone a gift, he stalked outside into the cold and threw a snowball at someone.

Next Prompt: Gifts.

[ElliBleu]

Roscoe might not have been good at much, unless one counted destruction and slobber as vital skills. He was smart and strong, but spirited and wild- hard to control or contain. But, like all canines, the shepherd was immensely loyal, and loved his master without end. So when Rielle fell into one of her stupors of depression, Roscoe's world was turned upside down. His best pal in the whole world, the one person he would cross fire and ice to please, turned him away and the dog didn't know what to do.

So he sat with his ears slanted back uneasily, watching the redheaded girl of his relentless affection curl over herself on the edge of the bed and weep silently. Rielle could feel those dark brown eyes on her, Roscoe's unhappiness and concern making an uncomfortable pressure in the back of her head as her bestial instinct picked up on it. He was very upset, and she knew it, felt worse than she already had for it.

For all his craziness and bravado Roscoe had a sensitive streak as wide as his mistress'. Though she hadn't physically harmed him besides a light swat on the muzzle, the rejection- a broken but stern 'No, Roscoe! Go!'- had wounded him deeply. The center of his universe had suddenly pulled away. If she saw fit to tell him to stay away, he saw fit to do so despite his obvious unhappiness with the order. Almost comically large ears swiveled foward when Rielle let out a heavy, shaky sigh, the canine standing up and taking a few cautious steps towards the girl.

Rielle turned reddened eyes to her pet, running an agitated hand through her hair and feeling decidedly guilty. Roscoe hadn't done anything, and she had snapped at him. His big dark eyes were clearly worried, that tail that was never still so long as he could even see the-she wolf hung limply between his legs. Meeting the green and gold gaze Roscoe took a few more steps forward, tilting his head and letting out a low whine. Rielle mimicked the sound with a softer whine of her own.

The dog bounded forward, strong chest thudding into the side of the bed. His shoulders were between Rielle's knees, large head resting in her lap as he stared up at his shaken best friend. Another whine. She stroked his head and ears quietly for a few minutes, apologetically. Roscoe was everything she had, and Rielle felt immeasurably awful for hurting him even marginally. Without warning she curled forward more, twining her arms around the large dog and burying her face in the thick fur of his neck.

And so they remained for a long time, Roscoe statuesque in his stillness and Rielle hugging him like an oversized toy. When the worst of the sudden downpour of despair had released her, Rielle straightened and pressed a kiss to the tip of her pet's nose.

The tail wagged a few times- slow and uncertain- and a bit more energetically as his mistress braved a smile. Determined, the tan and black dog turned and trotted to Rielle's bag of belongings left slumped against a wall of the rented lodging, nosing his snout inside and snuffling around. A few moments later he pulled back victoriously, an old, worn rubber ball snugly held between his teeth. Immediately returning he dropped it into Rielle's lap, nudging it lightly with his nose before sitting and staring up at her expectantly.

Rielle picked it up and held it aloft, ready for a customary game of fetch, but paused when she noted Roscoe's lack of his usual bouncing and barking and general, wiggly excitement that accompanied her even glancing at the ball. Confused and a bit worried by the lack of enthusiasm- had she really hurt him so badly?- she offered it to him, fingers loosely hooked to leave him plenty of space to reclaim his toy. But he just stay where he sat, eyes locked onto Rielle's face rather than the beloved ball. With a frown Rielle let her hands fall back to her lap, idly turning the ball. Satisfied with his work, Roscoe moved forward enough to again rest his head on his mistress' lap- nose touching the blue sphere- and let out a short snuffling of air before licking her hand.

And Rielle understood, a sharp exhalation that could have been laughter or a sob coupled with a smile for her quirky pet. 'See?' he seemed to say, tail thumping against the floor and ears tilted forward, 'Everything's all right. You've got the ball. Everything's always all right when we have the ball.' It was nothing but an old, tooth-marked, moderately slimy ball. And the best gift she'd ever been given. She ruffled his ears furiously, hands on each side of his head as he jumped up to cover her face with sloppy kisses, ecstatic to have his pal back.

As far as dogs went, Roscoe might not have been good at much. But he was loyal, he was devoted, and he loved his Rielle more than he loved table scraps and mud puddles. Man, or in this case, a girl's best friend? Damn straight he was.

-----------------------

Next Prompt: Joy

[Hawk]

_{[Right, so, horribly long. And only kinda fitting 'Joy.' Feel free to not read, because I'm putting it here half because I promised myself to actually finish it, and half because apparently 'Joy' is too complicated of a prompt. >.>;; Oh, and italics are cuz it's a flashback, just FYI]}



Sometimes the simplest things held the heaviest of meanings. That was what Pheia thought of, as he turned a worn glove in his hand. Once black, it had long been turned grey by wear and dirt. A stray loose thread hung down from the palm, waving as the glove flipped from front to back, again and again and again. Reclined on his bed, back resting against the headboard, his gaze seemed trained on its steady movement. Flip, flip, flip. But his focus was beyond it, through it. He was seeing something else entirely…

-----------

It was freezing.

Not a surprise, considering it had to be about four in the morning by now. The mid-February weather made for no hangers-on outside the door, making his exit a silent one, free of obnoxiously drunk hacklers. But, that didn’t make it any more pleasant for Pheia. Sleeveless shirts earned him the tips and attention that made the job worth it, but screwed him over on the flip side when he took a step outside. His fitted jeans gave him no insulation, and the long, pale blond hair he had tied up and off his neck, giving him some illusion of staying cool while surrounded by needy customers, made him cringe as freezing air brushed the back of his neck.

Shivering already, dark red eyes aimed a tired glare at the snow slowly fluttering to the ground. There was already a coating of white blanketing the sidewalk, mostly undisturbed in light of the late hour. Smaller banks were beginning to build up against the strip of downtown buildings, as the wind-blown flurries lost strength when they met with brick walls. Someone might almost call it picturesque, every surface enveloped by the purest of whites, glimmering in a rainbow of colors as the many lights of the street shone down. They would appreciate the blanket of silence that matched to that of the snow, giving the city a rare air of peacefulness.

But, Pheia wasn’t that someone. The temperature had to be in the single digits, and he didn’t have one piece of warm clothing to his name. Didn’t have the money to spare. Every penny he made went into too many other things: monthly rent checks; heating and water for his apartment; boxes of discount cereal he bought to live off of, just as he always had, one after another; bar tabs he accumulated, on- and off-shift. He’d decided a while back that jackets were something he could live, albeit miserably, without.

No, he didn’t see beauty as he looked out, hands curled around his bare arms in a futile attempt to stay warm. Just ice-cold misery, falling one flake at a time.

If this wasn’t Hell, it was pretty damn close.

Muttering a resigned, “…Fuck it,” he stepped out of the bar’s doorway, sunk enough into the brink wall that it had been shielding him ever so slightly. Ears flattened against his head in an attempt to chase away the numbness already overtaking them. Wouldn’t do any good, but he reasoned it couldn’t do any harm either. Taking in a breath made jerky by the frigid air temperature, he set a hurried pace and began on his way.

With only a few rushed steps taken however, he heard the creak of a car door. Ears swiveling toward the sound, he froze. He hadn’t heard the hum of a car motor or seen shine of headlights pulling up since he’d exited the building. And he would have noticed. Muscles already tense because of the chilly air tightened defensively even more so, just waiting for who-knew-what. The night seemed to be dedicated to his suffering, so a mugging would be a perfect capper. But, his worry was proven pointless as a call cut through the silence.

“Hey, Whiskers!”

Sighing annoyedly, Pheia began to walk again without even sparing the speaker a glance. Of course she would still be here, even though her shift had ended over an hour ago. He kept his pace steady, even as he heard her continue to raise her voice to reach him, low alto rising in pitch in an attempt to demand his attention.

“Oh, very nice. You aren’t seriously planning to walk like that, are you?? Let me give you a ride, at least!” A firm believer in denying-by-ignoring, he continued on his way, pretending as if he hadn’t heard her. The weather was enough to deal with already, without the demand for interactions with others off-hours. He wasn’t being paid for it, and didn’t need friends. Could tolerate life on his own.

Ears twitched in silent success a moment later at the sound of the same car door slamming shut loudly. Probably frustratedly. He assumed that meant he had chased her off, and so was surprised to pick up the hurried tramping of boots on the concrete and quiet jangle of bracelets. Ears unable to tolerate being the stand-in for his eyes in the cold any longer, he gave up the ghost and let them flatten to his head once again, stopping and giving the woman a chance to catch up.

She was quick to do so, the red and yellow streaks of her hair flashing into view as she sped in front of him, oblivious to the fact that he was no longer moving. Spinning around with just a foot between them, she paused to take a couple tired breaths. Burnt umber eyes then rose to shoot him a look filled with what Pheia could only assume was mix of amusement and exasperation.

Meeting her gaze squarely with his own glare, he replied with the coldest, “…What do you want, Chassidy?” he could muster. He was annoyed to hear it come off his lips as more dejected than harsh, heavily underscored by the shivers leaking into his voice.

Apparently she noticed, too, as she responded with a small grin and a light flick to his forehead. A hand automatically rose to smack hers away, but too late, as she’d already returned it to her side. “You know, you’re much nicer to your customers, kid. Why can’t I ever see that guy?”

Tossing back an unamused, “Because you don’t pay me for it,” he lifted the defending hand to rub his forehead. It was less a move of necessity, because the quick touch was nothing in comparison to the ache slowly developing as he lost body heat, and more a reminder that what she did wasn’t appreciated. She’d been doing things like that since she’d started at Safe House seven months ago, and Pheia was getting tired of it. Maybe she’d finally take the hint at some point.

Instead of an apology, he was met with the same response she always gave him to his cross responses. Something softened in her eyes ever-so-slightly, and her grin gained just a dash of pity to it. And there was more to it too, some sort of emotion he couldn’t place. He’d seen it years ago, on his teachers’ faces when they’d realized his parents had forgotten to pick him up again, and in another form on other parents’ faces when they looked at their own kids. The sight of it made him break his deadlocked gaze and turn his head away, fingers that had begun to sting with icy needles of pain curling back around his arms tightly. He hated it, that look. There was just something in it that he couldn’t understand, couldn’t stand, didn’t want to see. “Much as this is fascinating, did you need something?”

“You do, actually,” she rebounded. It was a vague answer, and he wasn’t in the mood for playing games. He could have been at least a block closer to home by now. Would have been, if he hadn’t stopped. A part of him was tempted to just push past her, forgetting about goodbyes and explanations, and continue on his way home to his three small rooms and shitty heater. But, he just couldn’t seem to take the first step forward. Tired curiosity was holding him back, he decided. That had to be it.

But when he turned his head back towards her in a reluctant attempt to catch her eye, maybe glare her down even though it had already been proven ineffective, the view was blocked by a heap of some sort of black cloth. Before he could ask any questions, the bundle slipped through Chassidy’s fingers, falling towards the snowy ground. Pheia’s hand, used to catching falling glasses and bottles to save his pay, shot out without thought, gripping as much of it as he could to stop its downward movement.

And out of the cloth that slipped through his grip, forcing the bundle to unravel, a jacket appeared. Black and lengthy, if its expansive stretch from his hand to the ground was any indication, it seemed to be made of some type of wool heavy enough that Pheia had to drape it over his other arm before it slipped through his fingers and to the floor entirely. And when he made to hold it back out to her, he found it being pushed back towards his own chest by way of another unwelcome touch.

Not understanding the point of this stupid game, he swatted her hand aside and forced the coat forward once more. “Chassidy, I’m tired and I’m cold. Act your age and just take the damn thing and go, would you?” He shook it slightly to emphasize his point, and was much displeased to see that instead of complying, she let a sigh slip through grinning lips and an eyebrow slid upwards. It formed an expression that would usually be questioning, but in this case seemed almost as if she had already posed a question, and found the answer he’d given amusing, but incorrect.

He got as far as opening his mouth to ask, ‘What?’ before the pieces began to click into place in his exhausted mind. It was twenty degrees outside. Chassidy was already wearing a brown jacket of her very own, the same one she brought every night. It was the same one that she’d went to hang up three nights ago, and then turned to ask Pheia in what he could only assume was a fit of curiosity why there wasn’t a jacket of his own on the coat rack. And he’d responded with a rude brush-off, figured she’d let it go.

Now, here she was, outside work an hour after she could’ve been home, ambushing him and dragging with her a coat she obviously didn’t need… Chest tightening, his eyes hardened, gaze practically attempting to pierce through the woman in front of him. “I’m not a charity case,” he said, voice frostier than the air surrounding them.

Nothing seemed to deter her though, as she simply threw back an unaffected, “And do I look like a Good Will to you?” With a wink, she took a couple quick sidesteps, starting on what Pheia could only assume was her trek back to her car. Before she could go any farther, he reached an arm out and wrapped it around hers, tugging just hard enough to pull her to face. And held the jacket out once more. He wasn’t going to be babied because of his age. Nobody else treated him like he was eighteen, so he sure as hell wasn’t going to get it from a coworker. And especially one that he had a more than a year on at Safe House.

Giving her no time to respond, he began to speak slowly, making sure he embedded as much malice into each word as he possibly could. “Maybe I haven’t made this clear enough. I don’t need you playing the I-care card, because you must know by now that nobody gives a damn who you are around here as long as you can pour a decent drink, tip well, or show some skin. And that includes me.” Giving a momentary pause, he continued with his next comment even slower, “And you sure as hell aren’t hot enough to spend the night with, even if you included a gift. So take this back, and just walk away.”

He didn’t know what reaction he’d been fishing for. Maybe just to cause some minor crack of some sort, in her expression, her mood, her actions. Maybe he just wanted some iota of an emotion he was familiar with flitting across her face, something different from the ones that were always there, but that he could never quite understand. Or maybe he just wanted to stop her from aiming looks at him like the one from before, ones that he’d rather not see.

But, what he got instead was a hand coming to rest over the now completely numb one of his own that was still clutching Chassidy’s arm and squeezing lightly. It was so unexpected, so unexplainable that his anger simply fizzled out, completely doused by surprise and confusion. Any other biting remarks he may have had simply disappeared, and he had no idea how to react, how to respond. Even his tail dropped, only the tip bending slightly in an automatic attempt to avoid the snow. She’d left the script he was familiar with, and he had no idea what to do next.

Taking his stunned silence as a cue to speak, she tossed at him the same completely unaffected grin she’d had since they’d started speaking. “It’s just a hand-me-down, Whiskers. I have at least five hanging in my closet that I never touch, and I figured you could put it to a better use.” Shrugging her arm out of his now-lax grip, she continued on in a calm tone, so contrary to the reaction his insults should have brought about, “If you don’t believe me, check the tag. It should say it’s a women’s size somewhere in there. Figured it wouldn’t make a difference with how skinny you are. And, hey, something’s better than nothing, right? Take it or trash it, your choice.”

She paused a moment, in what Pheia assumed was an opening for him to speak if he wanted to. But he was too busy trying to understand the social anomaly that was occurring in front of him. She must have sensed how uncomfortable he was, as she was quick to fill the silence she created herself with a smile. “Now, I’ve held you up enough, so I should be going. Wouldn’t want you getting sick, or who would pour the decent drinks that match with my skin-showing to gain us those tips?”

And with one last wink, she turned on a dime and once again started on her way back to her car. Pheia opened his mouth, took in a breath to speak once, twice. Couldn’t find the words, and so let it slip closed again. Then let his gaze fall from the retreating Flareon’s back to the black mass of cloth still gripped in his hand. And, after staring down at it for a good ten seconds, he lifted it properly in his hands and threaded one arm through a sleeve, then the other. Not an entirely perfect fit, he thought in passing as it settled on his shoulders, but oddly close to.

It was as he was reaching up to slip the hood over his stinging ears that he picked up one last, “Hey!” followed closely by the sound of her car door opening. Moving only his eyes in an attempt to subtly make sure she was all right, he met Chassidy’s brown ones once more. “By the way, there’s something in the pockets that should match your holier-than-thou front perfectly!” she yelled, tone belying some source of great personal amusement. And without waiting for an answer, she chuckled and slid into her car, gunning the engine.

Within a minute she drove off, leaving just the frozen scenery silently surrounding him once again. And, after sparing a glance towards the corner her car had just disappeared around, he tugged the neck of his new jacket closer in and started walking in the direction of his apartment, still-twitching tail the only outward sign of any continuing offness.

He made it only three blocks before he could no longer resist the nagging curiosity of what her parting comment could have meant. He’d never have obliged her by looking while she was there, but now that he was on his own, his mind wouldn’t let the mystery drop. Slipping into a marginally lit alleyway so he could see while avoiding being battered by the wind, questing hands slid into the only pockets he’d seen on the jacket in his few minutes with it.

What his hands found wasn’t an odd prize or trinket, but instead a pair of plain knit gloves, black to match the color of the jacket. Seeing no humor in them, he moved them up to his mouth, holding them there as he ran his hands through the pockets once more. They came up surprisingly empty-handed and, after wasting a moment with idle curiousness, he decided that Chassidy must have lost her mind in more ways than one tonight.

Taking the gloves back into his hands, he began to slip them over his stiff fingers. He’d already more-or-less accepted the jacket. In for a penny, in for a pound. But, as he slid the second glove on, he found that he couldn’t pull it all the way over his hand. Lifting the offending article up and closer to the streetlamp behind him, the issue became immediately clear: his ring finger, unfeeling by now, was caught in a small hole in the gloves palm. Raising his other hand to an equal height and leaning his head closer to it, he found two holes in the left-hand glove as well, one along the knuckle and the other near the wrist. And as he looked at them, the image of her leaning against the roof of her car filtered back into his head, smiling at some private joke. Holier-than-thou…

And maybe it was just that he was tired, or maybe the stress of dealing with Chassidy was finally getting to him. It might even have been the cold. Or maybe it was just that the joke had been so bad, so clichéd and entirely lacking in any form of wit, that it just happened to resonate with his tired mind. But, whatever the reason, his face cracked slowly into an honest grin, probably the first he’d made in months. And that grin evolved slowly into muffled chuckles, and those chuckles into quiet laughter, which continued to grow until he was leaning against the cold brick of the alley, struggling to at least keep his uncontrollable amusement quiet while trying to catch his breath.

It may have been just a stupid joke. But, as his laughs slowed to a calmer level and he stepped out to continue on his way to his apartment, even Pheia couldn’t suppress the shadow of a thought that maybe it was fortunate he’d been forced into accepting just this one turn of kindness.

-----------

Smiling slightly, Pheia flipped the glove just one more time, let it come to a rest in his hand. It really had been such a stupid thing. Still was. He didn’t even know where Chassidy was anymore, hadn’t seen her in years. But, if there was one thing he’d learned lately, it was that happiness wasn’t always easy to understand. With a quiet exhale, he tightened his grip on the small piece of cloth, standing and walking over to his jacket. And, with one last look at it, slipped it back into the same pocket that had brought him such uncanny amusement years ago. And remembered the person who’d bothered to try and share some of her natural joy with him, no matter how difficult he made it.


Next Prompt: Swamp

[ElliBleu]

The sun was out today. It was nice after the days of rain, though it was still a little chilly in the shadows away from the early spring sunshine. It was early, well before noon, so Adrael knew he would have a few hours before he was missed. He'd even left his shoes inside the door where he'd kicked them off last night so his mother would think her young child was still home. He slipped a few times on the wet grass as he was running, the knees of his jeans dark with water and crushed grass. The path back through the trees was familiar, knowing where tree roots broke up through the dirt without needing to look.

After half an hour of alternate running and walking he came to an abrupt stop, ears sliding back uneasily at jumping at feeling a foot drop too far. The mud released him with a wet pop, sending him tumbling backwards into the foliage. Blinking wide eyes he stared down at his mud-coated foot, pushing himself up and severely hoping he hadn't fallen into the patch of poison ivy he'd made the mistake of walking through two weeks ago.

There had always been a pond here, surrounded by a minute swamp of long grass and reeds and gooey mud, but the rain had swollen it far beyond it's usual size. Addie could already feel himself starting to sink in, the dirt even this far away saturated enough to ooze unpleasantly over the top of his feet. He shifted back onto a bit firmer ground, the striped fur on his tail puffing out and nervously licking his lips.

He hadn't expected this much trouble, and wasn't looking forward to the further trouble it would bring him when he went home with muddied feet and clothes. For a few long minutes he stood thinking, weighing the options in his childish brain, oversized ears swiveling instinctively at every new cricket chirp or bird song. All for a few flowers he'd seen growing a few days ago, still green and closed but surely bloomed by now after the rain. They had been poking out of the still water on the edge of that stagnant pond, now secluded beyond the stretch of mud and slime.

Buttercups.

With a sigh the demon moved forward, carefully testing his footing as he slowly progressed. Either way he'd be muddy and in trouble, so it would be better at least to show up with something. So Adrael worked his way forward through the thin layer of water lying over the thick mud, stumbling a few times where a twig or stone shifted beneath his feet. When he finally spotted his target through some stiff reeds the boy was shivering and wet, but a thin smile found it's way to his face to have the goal so close.

The little stems poked up from the still water, the five-petaled, yellow flowers open and reaching for the early sunlight. Carefully he bent down, tail arching to help balance, and started plucking up the flowers at the base below the waterline. Adrael was immensely pleased with himself, hardly able to wait until he could return home and present the gift to his mother. Just yesterday someone had sent her a boquet of daisies, now proudly decorating the center of the tea table in her sitting room.

It had been a very good day yesterday. She had smiled at the flowers, took Addie's small hand and settled him on the settee beside her, held the flowers so he could unwrap them. She'd tied the silky white ribbon that had bound them around one of his wrists, and hummed some nameless tune while arranging and rearranging the flowers. All the while he watched silently content, turning to grin widely up at his mother when she had finished. Wistful and quiet she'd mentioned wishing to have some yellow to put among the daisies.

And so Adrael had thought of those flowers he'd seen growing, now gathered neatly into his arms as he turned to carefully pick his way back towards home. The sunlight didn't do much to warm him now, shivering under the water and cold mud saturating his clothes. By the time he made his way up the stairs to the big, old door the mud was starting to flake off. The scrape of a chair across the floor just inside meant his mom was awake, Addie's ears pressing down into his hair at the sound of soft footsteps.

Before he could prepare himself to push the door open is swung violently inwards, leaving a rather startled boy to stae up at the perfectly blank expression of his mother's. He shuffled his feet nervously, suddenly too aware of the utter mess he'd made of himself. Quickly he raised the yellow flowers up, hooking the fingers of both hands around the stems and staring timidly down at the floor. A few moments later he squeaked in fear and shock when they were knocked roughly from his grip, immediately pulling the stinging digits to his chest and staring wide-eyed up at his scowling mother.

Long fingers tightened harsly around his own, stumbling forward and half running to keep up with the long stride of the woman leading him towards the bathroom amidst an endless string of unkind reprimands. Forlorn blue eyes spared a sorrowful glance for the broken buttercups scattered on th porch. He felt bad for them, guilty that he had picked them and carried them away and that now they would wither and die without even a little appreciation for their beauty.

A while later Adrael was up to his chin in hot water and bubbles, given stern orders to stay put until all the disgusting mud was gone. The last bit had been successfuly scrubbed form his hair a good fifteen minutes ago, but Addie had little desire to face more yelling yet. Forlornly he pawed at his eyes with wet hands, wishing they would stop stinging and just start crying. He had known mother would be mad wih the mess, but it had hurt. More than the slap on the hand had.

All that work, ended so poorly. It was all the little demon could do to squint his eyes closed to the yellow flowers painted on the walls, sink into the bathwater up to his nose, and listen to the erratic bubbling as he cried. At least yesterday had been good. One of those flowers in the middle of that swamp. He'd just have to look harder tomorrow.

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Next Prompt: Waltz

[Netreemic]

[Ab's still a bit on the works...so I apologize for the oddness of this post...and yes, he goes by many Ab names...]

Absalon hummed a mindless tune as he stacked blocks with the small girl and even smaller boy. Together they’d constructed a fairly decent house: tiny living room branching out to kitchen and rooms tucked behind. Previously, they had tried for a two-story house, but Nathan (the demon drudged up the dwarfish child’s name with effort) had whined that it was too hard to play on the first floor then. After all, his short, pudgy arms couldn’t reach too far, much less with grace between precarious block levels.

“Mommy and me used to live in a house just like this” Becca happily crowed as she made some finishing touches to the garage area. Then she frowned lightly more quietly added “for…a week or two. Then we moved again.” A shiver ran through Absalon and he accidentally knocked over the living room wall.

“Ah…forgive me.” A wide smile stretched his face, crinkling his mahogany eyes. He straightened the thin blue blocks and considered their work. Na…Namir?….Nash?…smallish sized boy was varoooming toy cars in front of the house along the street. Something was missing. His brows knit together and he stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in thought.

“This isn't right” He pointed at the house, trying to get his point across. Suspicion darted across the girl’s face and she crossed her arms, lips pressing together.

“Yes it is. That’s exactly how I remember it.” Her voice raised in volume, eyes flashing. Absalon’s eyes dilated, black swallowing the reddish brown. How perfect, how delicious how she clung to her fading memories, that lost portion of her life. The last house before she was chugged into St. Anne’s. Something four years of living in the orphanage had pulled further and further away from her hopes of ever regaining. “You don’t know EVERYTHING Banana.” He threw on a mock frown as she butchered his name. Well, that was a low blow…even if it wasn’t his name or his normal fake name. Just one more he had collected and stored in his notebooks. He liked to use it when he visited St. Anne’s. Abana: constant, everlasting. He found it fitting, though it probably had sounded cooler hundreds of years ago. He rolled his eyes. Time.

He leaned forward, arm braced on his thigh. “You wanna bet?” He shot his eyebrows up and copied her pursed lips, smile tugging at the corners.

She regarded him for a moment. “Wha’s 7x6?” That she knew was a hard one. It tripped her up every time during the time trial multiplication table. Absalon picked at his nails and shot back “42.” Her jaw clenched and she nervously tapped her fingers in thought. “When was the civil war?” HA! That would get him, he probably hadn’t been to school in YEARS.

“Which one?” He scratched behind his ear and considered the ceiling. “There’s been more than one…” But how many? He arched a brow and counted the cracks in the ceiling. 37…sure, probably in the last….aaaaeeeeh…seventy years. Seemed to be the equitable add up, especially with Africa in consideration. He should really check his notes when he was supposed to go back there. He licked his lips, lost in thought until Becca pinged him with a block in the nose. Clutching his abused extremity he jauntily smiled at her.

“I said redo. The last one is stupid. History sucks. I’ve got a better one!” Nafir looked up from his cars to stare at the two. Absalon spared him a glance before eyeing Becca. “And~?” She shot up from her squatted position on the floor and pulled a pirouette. “I betcha you don’t know how to dance!” A victorious smile stretched from one pigtail to the other. The demon went still. Didn’t he? He went speeding through all the equations stored in his mind. A slow smile spread his blue tinged lips. Rising to his feet he offered Becca his hand and, side stepping the blocks and the other child, he led her into some finely calculated movements. Feeling her stumble, unsure of the old school moves, he lifted her so she stood on his shoes and spun about the room.

The other children around the room giggled, turning in similar movements, some pairing up and laughing as they mauled each other’s toes. Sister Renée looked up from her book and smiled at the ensuing madness, dear Brother Abana towering over the twirlers. Becca threw her head back, pigtails streaming out, and let out a laugh of pure enjoyment. He spun her once last time before bowing and waving farewell. The children screamed good-byes and returned to their earlier activities. Sister Renée folded a bookmark between the pages and set her book aside. “Brother Abana, you never cease to surprise. Where did you learn the waltz?” Her bell blue eyes sparkled from their cowled frame as a gentle smile touched her lips.

Absalon waved a hand vaguely before crossing his arms and leaning up against the door frame. “Years ago. Can’t say that I do it any justice though.” He smiled, embarrassed. Opening his eyes he looked deeply at Sister Renée and her gentle, sad smile. The way she never looked directly at anyone. Always out and away, rubbing her rosary through her fingers. He reached out and grasped her hands in his, causing her eyes snapped to his in surprise. “God never abandons anyone.” As he spoke the words, he saw her eyes flick to the children. He knew she did not believe it. She hadn’t believed since she was eleven. His senses nearly thrummed as her years of loneliness coursed down her arms into his, pumping his blood faster, darkening his already dark complexion. He released her hands and rested a hand on her shoulder to steady her. Well-practiced concern lit across his features. “Sister?”

Sister Renée dazedly placed her hand over her face, bracing her other on a nearby bookshelf. “Dear me…please excuse me, Brother. I feel a bit faint. Oh thank you…” She let Absalon guide her to a chair and sat with a quavering breath. A smile quirked her lips as he fanned at her with a small notebook pulled from his back pocket. “My hero.”

Absalon ducked his head, offering his own dazzling smile in return. “My lady. Next time I might just have to ask you for a dance.” He waggled his eyebrows, letting loose a low chuckle as she swatted at him. He looked up, meeting her gaze directly, pleased to see a new glow of confidence lightening her face.

“I may just have to say yes.”

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