31 Days: Day Twenty-nine
Mar. 31st, 2010 01:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mindsplintersEr, yes. Out of order and this is long and rambling and kind of strange. After all, he isn't my primary character and he keeps wiggling and changing and I can't find my other notes but... Hmph.
I had a good dinner. A VERY GOOD DINNER.
World: Bordertown
Town was never dark. Even during a once in a lifetime electrical failure with all the generators dying at the same time and the magic boxes refusing to kick over, there was still a faint, eldritch glimmer coming from the line of the Border. Not that anything like that ever happened. Even amongst the land of possibilities, reality had a way of putting its foot down every now and then.
Chiron stepped away from the edge of the roof, running a scarred and calloused hand through the rough-cut dark bangs that tumbled over his forehead and made spikes here and there. It was hard to look away from the Border - even if you hated it with every inch of your soul. Despite years spent training in the belief of wicked elven meddling or, even worse, the callous disregard of the Noble Fair for all things human, the echoing promise of that fine bit of land rang through a mind and body.
He had moved beyond those first thoughts; it had taken what felt like another lifetime and countless shifts and bottles at the Spout but he had been broken and remade in that respect. It had been hard and exhumed memories that burned in the night and truths about himself and his choices that still made him cringe away from his own reflection when passing mirrors.
Nearly a decade since he'd run to Town and only now did he think he could claim citizenship. To live on the Border, you had to balance on it, an act so tricky that it broke a lot of kids, both human and elf alike. There was always the river water or the dragon dust when the reality of things got too little like your dreams. He had been lucky that he was too human for the dust and too weak-stomached for the water. All he ever did was throw it up in the gutters.
The problem at the time, though, had left him far too sober to deal with being fifteen and lonely and scared all of the time. So he had turned to the pack mentality and, when you're a scrawny street rat of the human variety, your options were limited. There was no drop of artist to him so he fell into a wolfish, angry group that bared its teeth at all those with pale hair and pointy ears.
Within two years, his new family ate itself from the inside out and he was left with nothing but a worse version of nothing, filled with anger and blood and sickness. When he curled up in that dark, lonely doorway finally, he had resolved to just let it all go and see what was at the end of everything.
Fate laughed at him again and the result of Alfonso tripping over him was a job and a roof and close quarters with elves. It had made mirrors impossible for a while but he had enough sense and survival in him now to give credit to the journey. Chiron glanced towards the Border again with speculative, dark eyes and this time he could easily suppress the shudder. It was no longer the elves that gave him the skin-crawls, he thought. It was the glow. When all things failed, there should be darkness. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth, the fingers of his right hand moving to rub over the thin black tattoo at the base of his left thumb. "Wonder if there's ever a city that goes dark," he muttered.
He started at the hand on his shoulder and had to resist the urge to whirl around with raised fists when a low voice whispered, "Dark is dead, sunshine." Instead, he tensed each muscle and then willed them loose again. He would recognize both the ridiculous tendency to nickname and the scent of apple blossom and motor oil and hops anywhere. He waited, eyes locking on the wavering line of fire that was the Border. The hand finally retreated before he felt it again on the other shoulder; a pointed chin replaced it in the original spot. A sigh stirred the beaded braid behind his ear. "Cities aren't supposed to ever die. Not this one, at least."
He dropped his hands and shoved them into his jean pockets, finding loose threads within to worry idly. "You so sure 'bout that?" he asked. "I thought you said this was your first city."
The soft, barely-there breathing stopped but the pressure of touch to his shoulders remained. Then, even more quietly and in almost foreign tones, the voice asked, "Do you always listen to what I say?" It sounded torn between dismay and pleasure, an uncomfortable middle ground.
Just like the Border. Just like the Town.
Chiron sighed and abruptly leaned back a bit into the warm, slight form behind him. He felt the bracing happen immediately and instinctively and permitted himself a smirk. It was a trust that had not been there years ago. "Hell, no," he replied with a faint laugh. "I'd go back to tryin' the water if I wanted to go loco."
He held still as arms came around to loop over his shoulders and a pale cheek pressed against his. Emmy tried to follow his gaze but, as he knew she would do, she quickly diverted away from the border. The side of her face pressed more firmly to his in an effort to shift his gaze towards the flickering neon of a club three streets over. He resisted and, with a look out the corner of his eye, he watched her close her own eyes in defeat. "I don't like the dark," she murmured.
"... Neither do I."
She suddenly released him and, dropping a kiss on his cheek, she skipped towards the edge of the roof to peer into the alley below. He tilted his head while her attention was elsewhere to press the cheek against his shoulder, not wiping so much as pressing it more firmly to his skin as if he could retain the strange sensation of cool, preternaturally smooth lips. Then he turned on his heel and headed for the doorway down. "C'mon," he said, ordered almost. "It looks bright enough over at the Wheel. You can go there and get your lights."
Emmy twisted to look over her shoulder at him, silver eyes glinting with reflected light. "Me?" she asked innocently. "I don't like being alone either."
He sighed and motioned her to join him with a rough gesture. A smile touched the corners of his mouth, though. "No kiddin'. I hear it's not good to be alone too much."
With a delighted smile, she spun on her heel and darted across the roof to his side. "It's bad for the soul," she agreed. "I'll protect you from the shadows, sunshine." Her hand slid into his briefly as if pledging her words with touch, then away before he could take offense. "And you can at least make sure mine don't nibble at my toes."
He let her go through the door first, waiting until she disappeared down the first corkscrew turn before turning to look back at the shimmering line of faint light in the distance. "You'll never be dark, will you?" he asked the city in general. "Good."
Then he loped after his co-worker, his friend, his crazy elf something or other. The door slammed behind him and the roof returned to quiet dimness. Never darkness. Never something so mundane for the only Town on the Border.
I had a good dinner. A VERY GOOD DINNER.
World: Bordertown
Town was never dark. Even during a once in a lifetime electrical failure with all the generators dying at the same time and the magic boxes refusing to kick over, there was still a faint, eldritch glimmer coming from the line of the Border. Not that anything like that ever happened. Even amongst the land of possibilities, reality had a way of putting its foot down every now and then.
Chiron stepped away from the edge of the roof, running a scarred and calloused hand through the rough-cut dark bangs that tumbled over his forehead and made spikes here and there. It was hard to look away from the Border - even if you hated it with every inch of your soul. Despite years spent training in the belief of wicked elven meddling or, even worse, the callous disregard of the Noble Fair for all things human, the echoing promise of that fine bit of land rang through a mind and body.
He had moved beyond those first thoughts; it had taken what felt like another lifetime and countless shifts and bottles at the Spout but he had been broken and remade in that respect. It had been hard and exhumed memories that burned in the night and truths about himself and his choices that still made him cringe away from his own reflection when passing mirrors.
Nearly a decade since he'd run to Town and only now did he think he could claim citizenship. To live on the Border, you had to balance on it, an act so tricky that it broke a lot of kids, both human and elf alike. There was always the river water or the dragon dust when the reality of things got too little like your dreams. He had been lucky that he was too human for the dust and too weak-stomached for the water. All he ever did was throw it up in the gutters.
The problem at the time, though, had left him far too sober to deal with being fifteen and lonely and scared all of the time. So he had turned to the pack mentality and, when you're a scrawny street rat of the human variety, your options were limited. There was no drop of artist to him so he fell into a wolfish, angry group that bared its teeth at all those with pale hair and pointy ears.
Within two years, his new family ate itself from the inside out and he was left with nothing but a worse version of nothing, filled with anger and blood and sickness. When he curled up in that dark, lonely doorway finally, he had resolved to just let it all go and see what was at the end of everything.
Fate laughed at him again and the result of Alfonso tripping over him was a job and a roof and close quarters with elves. It had made mirrors impossible for a while but he had enough sense and survival in him now to give credit to the journey. Chiron glanced towards the Border again with speculative, dark eyes and this time he could easily suppress the shudder. It was no longer the elves that gave him the skin-crawls, he thought. It was the glow. When all things failed, there should be darkness. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth, the fingers of his right hand moving to rub over the thin black tattoo at the base of his left thumb. "Wonder if there's ever a city that goes dark," he muttered.
He started at the hand on his shoulder and had to resist the urge to whirl around with raised fists when a low voice whispered, "Dark is dead, sunshine." Instead, he tensed each muscle and then willed them loose again. He would recognize both the ridiculous tendency to nickname and the scent of apple blossom and motor oil and hops anywhere. He waited, eyes locking on the wavering line of fire that was the Border. The hand finally retreated before he felt it again on the other shoulder; a pointed chin replaced it in the original spot. A sigh stirred the beaded braid behind his ear. "Cities aren't supposed to ever die. Not this one, at least."
He dropped his hands and shoved them into his jean pockets, finding loose threads within to worry idly. "You so sure 'bout that?" he asked. "I thought you said this was your first city."
The soft, barely-there breathing stopped but the pressure of touch to his shoulders remained. Then, even more quietly and in almost foreign tones, the voice asked, "Do you always listen to what I say?" It sounded torn between dismay and pleasure, an uncomfortable middle ground.
Just like the Border. Just like the Town.
Chiron sighed and abruptly leaned back a bit into the warm, slight form behind him. He felt the bracing happen immediately and instinctively and permitted himself a smirk. It was a trust that had not been there years ago. "Hell, no," he replied with a faint laugh. "I'd go back to tryin' the water if I wanted to go loco."
He held still as arms came around to loop over his shoulders and a pale cheek pressed against his. Emmy tried to follow his gaze but, as he knew she would do, she quickly diverted away from the border. The side of her face pressed more firmly to his in an effort to shift his gaze towards the flickering neon of a club three streets over. He resisted and, with a look out the corner of his eye, he watched her close her own eyes in defeat. "I don't like the dark," she murmured.
"... Neither do I."
She suddenly released him and, dropping a kiss on his cheek, she skipped towards the edge of the roof to peer into the alley below. He tilted his head while her attention was elsewhere to press the cheek against his shoulder, not wiping so much as pressing it more firmly to his skin as if he could retain the strange sensation of cool, preternaturally smooth lips. Then he turned on his heel and headed for the doorway down. "C'mon," he said, ordered almost. "It looks bright enough over at the Wheel. You can go there and get your lights."
Emmy twisted to look over her shoulder at him, silver eyes glinting with reflected light. "Me?" she asked innocently. "I don't like being alone either."
He sighed and motioned her to join him with a rough gesture. A smile touched the corners of his mouth, though. "No kiddin'. I hear it's not good to be alone too much."
With a delighted smile, she spun on her heel and darted across the roof to his side. "It's bad for the soul," she agreed. "I'll protect you from the shadows, sunshine." Her hand slid into his briefly as if pledging her words with touch, then away before he could take offense. "And you can at least make sure mine don't nibble at my toes."
He let her go through the door first, waiting until she disappeared down the first corkscrew turn before turning to look back at the shimmering line of faint light in the distance. "You'll never be dark, will you?" he asked the city in general. "Good."
Then he loped after his co-worker, his friend, his crazy elf something or other. The door slammed behind him and the roof returned to quiet dimness. Never darkness. Never something so mundane for the only Town on the Border.
