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| Infirmary/Parker's Room [1884] | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 5 2010, 07:37 AM (672 Views) | |
| Anastasia Zytsev | Aug 5 2010, 07:37 AM Post #1 |
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It had taken Anastasia forever to get dressed. Usually Annie would only allow herself a maximum of fifteen minutes to get ready on a normal day, perhaps a little longer on special occasions if she splurged on a 'spa day' of sorts. However, with all the separate clothing she had to wear - and merlin, did she miss air conditioning - it took her a while. She also thought that many of the clothes pieces were meant to have more than one person helping her have it on. However, she did like the way she looked. The gown she had picked for this ball - oh, how lucky were they to be there just in time for it? - was a silk, a deep blue violet depending on which way one looked at her. As typical of the time period she had a corset on, providing her with a tiny waist, and low, embellished bust. Under a cloak of sorts that she would rid herself of when entering, her arms and shoulders were bare (and back; she'd had to glamour away her tattoo). It surprised her they accepted that kind of design, but she didn't mind so much. She actually had some muscle structure to her arms, and it made her a little less hot. After her low waist, her skirts swept in beautiful folds overlaid with a fragile lace all the way down to her slippers; shoes that very nearly reminded her of Cinderella. Yet, it wasn't the extensive underclothing and skirts she had to put on under her dress, nor the dress or corset itself that took her so long. What took her so long was her hair; it fell in natural, shining curls down her back, only pulled in at the sides save for a few wild strands she just couldn't tame. She'd weaved tiny daisies throughout the spirals in amusement at the conversation she'd had previously, also providing her with a sweet scent she didn't have as her perfume was in the future. The makeup was also hard, but she found out how to kohl her eyes and simply pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to make them rosier. Other women, she was well aware, spent a lot more time than she, and yet she felt it was far too long. It was cutting into the time she'd planned on going in and checking on Parker. Wearing only quiet earrings and Parker's necklace that she had transfigured into something more time-appropriate, Anastasia decided she was good enough, and left her room to head across the mansion to the area hastily labeled as the "infirmary". It worked out better for them; it simply meant that not many people - worried about catching something themselves - would be in the area, giving Brandin the time and space to help Parker without having to force the image they were painting. And that she didn't have to worry about whispering and schooling herself when she was with him. Unsure, as she reached the area - and knowing that Brandin too was getting himself ready for the ball - if Parker was awake or not, she opened the wooden door carefully and silently, shutting it behind her in the same way. She'd ended up bringing a few extra daisies with her in a little bowl for Parker, because she was fully aware of how annoyed he would end up getting staying in that one room. The flowers couldn't fix that, but the sight of them were at least a small bit of outside. "Parker?" She murmured near inaudibly, tilting her head as to see if his eyes were open or closed as she ventured closer. If he was asleep she most definitely didn't want to interrupt him; rest was healing. |
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| Parker Faye | Aug 9 2010, 09:45 PM Post #2 |
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Drips of sweat rolled from his brow. His mind was spinning idly, losing track of thoughts. The room decided half the time it wasn't meant to be in focus, but rather appear through the lens of a 16 mm camera (in sepia, of course, because they were in the past). His lungs had decided he didn't actually need to breathe. Naturally, the most pressing matter on Parker's mind was his incredible boredom. Leave it to him to get transported back in time to an interesting era filled with answers to questions he hadn't even thought of yet, and be tied down to his bed. And he was complaining about it, even if it was only internally. That was how you knew it was bad, too; Parker was complaining about being restricted to his bed. If there were actual cuffs or ties involved, it might have been bearable. Might have been. They were in Faye Manor; the house that might have been his growing up, and the irony was enough to bring at least a small smirk to his lips. There was still a world around them to explore and probe; the history and stories rich around them had him drowning in the possibilities. There were twelve and a half (the last was unfinished) potions beside him on the table, laid up as he was in itchy tunics and on top an over-sized satin comforter. Parker had arrived at the Manor a day ago in the carriage conjured for them by his brother; Anastasia's plea had paid off. It still struck him as odd that he'd be living in the manor, but he was relatively comfortable. The cloth was smooth beneath him, propping a spinning head and crossed arms while he looked at his feet, buried in contemplation. Truly, he didn't feel that bad. How much would it hurt to get out of bed for a few minutes? Honestly, sure he was a little hot, and sure he wouldn't be running any marathons, but a walk down the hall? Of course the moment he'd decided it would be all right as his jailers were getting themselves ready for some party, Parker's head lifted and he scooted back quickly into the bed, grabbing a heavy book on the covers beside him. A moment later, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief (and firmly ignored that it turned into a cough), and brightened when he saw who it was. Predictably, an eyebrow popped. "Merlin." A low whistle, and then he smirked and bowed his head just as low. Grinning still, he continued while staring at his knee-cap, "Milady Anastasia indeed." His eyes lifted and he continued with a far softer smile, "You look incredible." And there was no need to finish the sentence with what they both knew to be true: how much he wished it was himself escorting her that evening. |
![]() you always crash your car; you're like a permanent scar; and when they call you misfit...it's so hard to stop the rage. see the misfit in the mirror; see the one that no one wanted; shattered by a world of lies ... all you need, is reason to believe. | |
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| Anastasia Zytsev | Aug 10 2010, 12:48 AM Post #3 |
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The second Annie entered the room, she was aware of two things; one, he was sweating, which typically was a good thing for healing (but that it also meant he was overheating), and two, he most definitely was not reading the book he grabbed. She caught his sigh of relief, and paused. Truthfully, she was torn between laughing - because really, how typical? Parker had to be a horrible patient; he couldn't keep still - and berating him in her worry that he would over-exert himself. There wasn't the same medical possibility here as there was in their time. If he pushed it too hard, if he made his heart go into overdrive, stopped beating...she wasn't sure they could fix it. "Parker." She said again, this time with the more forceful, more demanding, more haughty persona she'd taken on for this 'act' of hers. However, before she could speak any further, he was complimenting her on her gown. For a moment, she tolerated it, spinning around so he could get the full view, and then almost as soon as her spin was finished she was grabbing the cloth and bowl of charmed water (so it stayed cool) with one hand, the other gently pushing against his shoulder so he would lay down. "I tried." She told him, settling on the edge of the bed, careful not to wrinkle her skirts too badly, but being literally unable to not join him there. It was seriously bothering her that she couldn't just sit in here with him all the time. Still, she was very aware that it would get in Brandin's way and...well, it wasn't like she was able to simply become distant when she had first been so warmly flirting with Damocles. Which...right. She wasn't going to tell Parker about that. It wasn't good for his health. After gently using the rag to try, at least, to cool his face in any possible manner, Annie leaned down and pressed her lips against his forehead. She had to close her eyes against the cold hand that was suddenly gripping her heart, because when she had done so his skin burned her lips. Her babushka always said the easiest way to tell how hot a person was came from that kind of kiss, and if he was actually as hot as her lips had felt... Things were bad. She really didn't ask Brandin. She didn't want to know. But either way, that simple action did a really good job of terrifying her. "Please stay in bed." It was a whispered plea, pulling back so she could look at him intently, let him see what she was feeling in her eyes; thumb stroking his cheek. "Please, for me. Just, stay here." |
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| Parker Faye | Aug 10 2010, 03:52 PM Post #4 |
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”Yes, well, you succeeded…” His words were laced with appreciation and good humor, eyebrow staying arched as she spun. ”Damn. And I thought I was hot right now. But luv, you’ve put me to shame.” It was easier to joke, a wave of unease flooding him as he saw the torn expression on her face. Reluctantly allowing the gentle hand to push him back, Parker sank into overlarge pillows while his hand lifted to brush against her wrist. His thumb grasped around while she leaned forward, kissing his forehead. The moment he felt her hand, a cool spark shocked him; she was either freezing, or his skin had set itself on fire in her absence. The crease in her frown, and crinkle around her eyes told him it was the latter. He softened, eyes fluttering closed with her lips on his brow. The gentle kiss lifted his smile, reminding him irresistibly of his mother when he was sick growing up. It wasn’t storybook--his mum was honestly incapable of cooking chicken soup—but she had pretended her kiss was magical while performing actual small healing spells until he’d caught on years later. When he (as he had invariably when sneaking out) was injured, she’d kiss the bruise and make it better. A momentary hope that Anastasia might be about to do the same was dashed, but made bearable as he understood that truly, she wanted it to. This damn curse just had to make itself so difficult to solve, didn’t it? Though he understood many things about curses from his work over the years, the one thing he couldn’t get was why such magic thought it could beat him and Anastasia. Taking on one of them was foolish in the first place, but coming after them both at once? He’d leave it at “it just wasn’t smart” and move on. The rag against his lid lazily dropped more cool shocks of water, mingling with his sweat and Parker’s eyes flicked back open to look at her as she spoke. A protest died on his lips when he saw the look in her eyes, emotions spilling over: concern, shock, fear, and love. What was it he’d just been saying about arguing with one of them? ”Yeah, all right.” He promised softly, hand dropping from the back of hers to place his palm against her knee, smoothing out part of the skirt. With a gentle reassuring squeeze, he continued, ”We're going to figure this out. We'll fix it, Annie.” His own words were as intent as hers had been, his gaze strictly on her radiating, captivating gaze. The truth of course was, that Parker had no idea if he was going to be all right, he had no way of knowing exactly what was giong to happen. All he knew was that he had no intention of leaving her. Squeezing her knee gently--it was so gently, and impossibly hard to find beneath the layers of skirts and metal--he continued softly, lips turning up again. "Hey, I mean think about it this way, it's a hell of a story right?" His grin widened and his hand lifted to tuck a single strand of hair behind ear. He just spent a moment looking at her, overcome with a happiness at being able to do so. It didn't matter that his skin was aflame, his head was pounding, or that there was an immobile gag order on his lungs. The only thing in that moment that mattered was that she was there. The rest they'd figure out. He smiled and his nose twitched, eyes intent on memorizing every beautiful feature. The sentimentality made it somehow harder for him to breathe. For some reason, it was so beautiful and the feelings of adoration so powerful, that it might have made him cry... As the moment passed, he continued after as deep a breath as he could manage, "I'd totally be willing to do the sequel; I'm sure your cover artist would be happy anyway." Teasing again, it was the mentality of laughter through tears. |
![]() you always crash your car; you're like a permanent scar; and when they call you misfit...it's so hard to stop the rage. see the misfit in the mirror; see the one that no one wanted; shattered by a world of lies ... all you need, is reason to believe. | |
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| Anastasia Zytsev | Aug 10 2010, 10:26 PM Post #5 |
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Annie attempted to tease back, though she was wondering just how off the truth that was. She'd seen Damocles' expressions. She prided herself in being able to read people. Although she didn't consider herself entirely so beautiful (her nose too thin and stubby, her lips off-centered on her face, odd inverted dimples) she did see it as a completely different look than many of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed Brits. 'Exotic', only because it was different. And she didn't mind playing off of that. While Annie was busy thinking about Parker's fever, she realized he was holding onto her wrist, knowing he would be able to feel her pulse. Her heart was racing, a much more accurate and unhidden proof of what she was trying to hide on her face. "When was the last time Brandin gave you something for the fever?" Anastasia covered, glancing over to where all the potions were sitting. "Were you supposed to finish that one? Is there something else I can get you?" She hated this. She didn't know to do; what could help, what his condition would be the next time she walked in...the fact that he was so hot worried her. It worried her a lot. People should be in hospitals when they had fevers that high; with IVs to regulate the fluids they were surely burning off, and qualified staff being there around the clock. It wasn't that Brandin couldn't handle this; she had full faith that he would find something to help Parker, find some way to fix everything like he'd done before, but he had to make appearances now too. He had to go to the ball as well. As much as Annie was glad for that - because merlin, she didn't know any of these pepole - she'd rather have one of them with Parker at all times. And unfortunately, Brandin was far more capable of taking care of him. And then he was reassuring her. It made Anastasia sit up straight, her gaze dropping to where his hand was on her knee over the fabric. How wrong was that? How messed up was it that he was laying in that bed, weak, coughing, and running a temperature that wasn't at all healthy and yet he was trying to make her feel better? When he went on to talk about the story, about the sequel, the cover artist...it was too much for Annie. Just, too much. Chest rising and falling quickly in that sinfully tight corset, Annie looked back at him, paling slightly in her - quickly failing - mission not to cry. "We'll work on that once we're out of here." Annie's throat was thick, quickly turning her head. The tears were right there; they were filling her eyes, blurring her vision, and she just stared at the wall hoping that somehow they'd dry up or something. As it was rapidly growing, she gave up pretty quickly. Her fingers flew to her face, wiping under her eyes. In an equally fast motion, she turned and leaned over to kiss him again, whispering, "I'll check back in after the ball." However, with that said she was able to gather her skirts and leave, shutting the door carefully behind her. Somehow, she managed to make it to her room before she completely had a meltdown, tears ruining the odd makeup she'd attempted to do for the ball. Somehow, she just didn't care. |
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| Parker Faye | Aug 11 2010, 12:14 PM Post #6 |
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"An hour or so ago. I'm sure he'll be here soon to make sure I didn't make a run for it." His lips twitched. The rapidfire questions were hardly answered when she twisted his hand slightly; he could no longer feel her pulse. Parker’s hand fell from Anastasia’s cheek with a slow poetic arc when she released him. Her lips brushed cool against his skin, soft with their desperation and unspoken yearn. He held on to that moment as hard as he could before letting her go with a nod of farewell, letting her fingers caress his tired eyes, mapping out his face line by line. The smile he offered her was frozen from a moment ago, his blink and head tilt taking in the sudden flash in her expression: she was about to cry. He knew she was. He knew her far too well, for far too long, for her smile and reassurance to make him think she wasn’t. His hand reached for hers, but she was retreating. Every instinct in his body screamed that he should follow her, but he just kept his own smile soft, remarking, ”Yeah. Yeah, knock them dead, Cinderella.” It was the first princess name that popped into his head. A frustrated twist in his gut did the same to his lips; they drew down and tied themselves in a knot. On the one hand, Parker understood that her show was one of support; she didn’t want to worry him. By walking out the door, she’d protected him from dissolving into tears himself, forced to face the proverbial elephant in the room he was doing his best to paint into the scenery around him and thus ignore. On the other hand, the fact that she was leaving so that he couldn’t see her actually cry meant he could not comfort her. It meant he couldn’t kiss away the tears he wanted to; he could not just take her in his arms and prove he was still there, whatever the temperature and whatever the issues with breath. It wouldn’t change his illness, but any sense of peace he could offer her would be worth it in his mind. Though a small part of him understood he was in no condition to follow her, it didn’t change the fact that he was dying to. Merlin, he needed a less accurate phrase. He laughed to himself at his inner thought, knowing full well if he’d said anything of the sort out loud, Anastasia would have whacked him—either literally or with a narrowed-eyed glare he’d translate as ‘that wasn’t funny, but it kind of was, stop doing this to me.’ And he’d smirk. |
![]() you always crash your car; you're like a permanent scar; and when they call you misfit...it's so hard to stop the rage. see the misfit in the mirror; see the one that no one wanted; shattered by a world of lies ... all you need, is reason to believe. | |
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| Brandin Faye | Aug 11 2010, 02:47 PM Post #7 |
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Standing in the room most graciously provided to him, Brandin’s eyes were trained out the window while he fixed his tie, counting the number of carriages pulling around the cul de sac. Though his expression was one of the idle fancier, Brandin was being thorough in his examination. Introduced as he was as ‘Brandin Zystev’, he supposed the Russian cover made it less important that he recognize the English pure blood households, but he saw no fault with learning them as he went. A few of the crests were familiar: the households were as old as his own. The Morvannas, the Grants, and the proud sons of the Marrids were on parade. He gave a small nod to himself and turned from the window. After fiddling for a moment with a vial, he’d filled the draught for Parker and left the room with a final look in the mirror. Brandin was dressed in the fine robes befit to their supposed station; the look was no different than his usual. It was just now it fit with those around him. Instead of heading directly down the stairs towards the ballroom, Brandin made the simple decision that it was prudent to insure Parker had not made an escape through the bedroom window. Ten feet from the room, the matter was put simply from his mind as he saw Anastasia. He came to a slow halt, eyes widening, a sudden anxiety rearing in his chest. A moment passed while he looked at her, not sure of him self or the proper course of action. She had gone by him, not noting him behind her in the corridor. It turned his ten minute visit with Parker into two--he handed him the vial, sighed while Parker joked about him being his jailer, and then he'd continued on, searching out Anaastasia's room. The door was shut, but he opened it cautiously with a soft call of, "Ana? It's Brandin." The moment he saw her, his arms were around her, his strong embrace offered with no words. |
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I am nothing more than A little boy inside That cries out for attention Yet I always try to hide Cause I talk to you like children Though I don't know how I feel But I know I'll do the right thing If the right thing is revealed | |
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| Anastasia Zytsev | Sep 7 2010, 04:41 PM Post #8 |
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The ball had lasted a long, long time. It actually surprised Annie, for she expected three to be a certain time in which everyone would depart, lest they be considered rude. Instead, the party continued to the early hours of the morning until all were leaving or spending the night. She had kept tabs on who glared at her throughout the night, watched to see if anyone stayed to warm certain beds. As it was, she was planning on doing that herself. First she stopped in her own room, mussing up the bedsheets and changing into something more comfortable. She took off her shoes, grateful when the cold stone soothed their throbbing. High, five-six inched heels? No problem. Two, three? It left her in an odd non-arch, non-flat state, and with her pregnancy she was pretty sore. Either way, she had managed not to limp or do anything otherwise that might have indicated she was hurting. Secure in the knowledge that her cloak would hide her stomach as well, Annie let down the glamour, sighing in sheer relief as her stomach filled back out again and her baby gave one hard kick. "I know, I know." Annie mumbled, wrapping the black cloak around her gauzy nightgown. "It's not comfortable for me either, but we have to." Not bothering to put on shoes, Annie made sure her bed at least decently looked like she'd slept in it, and headed across the castle to the infirmary. When she got there, as expected, Parker was asleep, but she hadn't wanted to keep him up anyways. She just wanted to sleep as well; dancing the night away was exhausting. Hoping that whatever Brandin gave him would keep him asleep so she wasn't disturbing him, Annie climbed into the bed as gracefully as she could at 23 weeks, curling up next to Parker. It startled her when he stirred, but she just adjusted to him moving and fell asleep knowing it was her name that had slipped from his lips, even while dreaming. |
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| Parker Faye | Sep 17 2010, 04:30 PM Post #9 |
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In a feeble attempt to prolong downing the disgusting drug Brandin was trying to offer him--Parker started coughing. He was getting very good at that. In an Olympic sport of coughing, he'd take gold. That was no small feat. The body had this strange belief he needed breath: working against that to keep up the wracking stream of exhale was clearly an underrated talent. He was about to explain so to Brandin, when as his lips opened he suddenly felt his brother's hand firm on the back of his neck and the rim of the cup against his lips. Spluttering in protest, the potion was down his throat before he'd said a word. Eyes fluttering shut, his lips screwed up at the tang. The potion didn't slide down as he swallowed: it globbed and stuck, all but creating a ball to drop into his stomach like a Pez dispenser in reverse. Taking a moment to breathe, the side of his tunic wiped his lips while his hand massaged his throat and chest. "I suppose I should be thanking you for that..." Parker rolled his eyes. |
![]() you always crash your car; you're like a permanent scar; and when they call you misfit...it's so hard to stop the rage. see the misfit in the mirror; see the one that no one wanted; shattered by a world of lies ... all you need, is reason to believe. | |
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| Anastasia Zytsev | Sep 20 2010, 05:07 AM Post #10 |
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Just a week or so previous, Annie had realized that her lack of medicine was starting to get to her. Honestly, she didn't think it was that big of a deal. The baby was still kicking away, she just had a few episodes here and there... What Anastasia wasn't aware of was the fact that she had more than a few episodes. Her skin was basically hanging off bones no matter how much she ate, an ashy tint to her usually warm, browned skin emphasizing her sunken appearance. She had bruises from simply opening doors, or squeezing something too tight; even sitting down for too long, and her mental state was...wildly deteriorating. She just didn't know it. When Anastasia had woken up after fainting in the gardens, she had been told a few things by Brandin. What had happened was one of them, of course, and two was that he knew - and still loved her, though he didn't say it in so many words -, as well as attempting to make her pills in another form, and that their secret was still safe. All of these things were necessary and comforting, but she hadn't honestly found it in herself to care. That'd been turned off. Currently it was nearing one in the morning, staying late to visit Parker. He was slowly falling asleep, she thought, but the latest potion hadn't made him sleepy; in fact, it seemed the exact opposite. She was in an extremely good mood, having spent the entire day either outside wandering around or inside exploring, reading the stories of all the items and histories of the house. The library had quickly become her favourite place to be past the ballroom once it was decorated. She had been telling Parker about this story she had read, her eyes looking large on her face, yet shining and sharp as she retold the tale. It was the most animated she had been in a while. Unfortunately, as most things do, the situation went south. Mid-describing the knife going into the gut of two men fighting over one lovely lady, a similar rush of terror and sharp, persistent pain racked her body. Just for a moment; that emotion washed over her, causing her to pause and sink into the chair. For a moment she just sat catching her breath, before her fingers went to her stomach. Because it had been so late, Annie didn't really think she needed to hide her pregnant stomach, nor wear the nightgown's corset. She was just wearing a gauzy purpleish nightgown, her large stomach free underneath it. Given just another moment, Annie had gone from animated and ecstatic to her entire self crumpling in intense pain; at the next stabbing shock of agony, tears rushed down her face. Sheer panick flushed in waves over her, her lower back pulsing beyond uncomfortably, pressure bearing down in her hips. It hurt so incredibly bad, but it was the emotions that were the worst. Without her even understanding what was going on, she was frightened and panicking, her arms making themselves useful in cradling her still, rock-hard stomach while blood soaked up into her nightgown. Just as quickly as her anxiousness and fear mounted, now grief swept over her, crying out as the next rush of pain hit her. "Oh no. Oh no no no..." |
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| Parker Faye | Sep 20 2010, 06:05 AM Post #11 |
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Simple pleasures were ones Parker had always refused to overlook. Now however, they were even more important. The pleasure of drawing breath without coughing in particular was one he missed--the pleasure of going outside without having to stage a jail break or persuading his brother with the a recitation of the many virtues of fresh air. There were few joys in life however, as simple and incredible as listening to Anastasia recite a story. The personal performance as they neared the early morning hours was doing far more than half of Brandin's potions, in Parker's mind, to heal him. To watch Anastasia as she told a tale was to watch her become her story. Her expressions and entire body were carried with an excited, addictive fervor. Without much effort she could keep a crowd silent, bring a chill in the air with a whisper and tears to your eyes without letting her voice tremor. Half asleep, Parker was drifting off with a comforted air, his fluttering eyes trained on her elated expression. In fact, she'd gotten better at it he thought: he might as well have just watched a knife go straight into her as the fictional blade pierced the skin of feuding lovers. He flinched. The memory of a real knife penetrating her too raw: he sat up straighter, jerked slightly more awake. In this case, perhaps, he wished her acting was less pronounced--less perfectly accurate. In fact, she was even crying... And she'd done something she never did: she'd cut herself off. The fact that this was not part of the performance occurred to him slowly, but with the sharp arrival in his mind that imitated an arrow had just pierced his skull. "Anastasia?" He asked in sudden shock, hand grasping the blanket beneath him and twisting the cloth between his fingers. Panic drove off his exhaustion. He sat up. His hand reached for a shirt. He had taken it off earlier; now he regretted that. Anything that made him take time to get out was a problem. He needed to get up. He needed to get help. He was on his feet when the door suddenly opened. His brother was two steps away from him when Brandin seemed to realize that regardless of him being out of bed: he was not the one in danger. Anastasia was. It was for that reason that his heart was racing, not the illness. It was for that reason that his breath was labored, not his curse. Anastasia was bleeding, crying and her distress was all Parker needed to give him an excuse to stand. Hating the small glare Brandin shot him, Parker nonetheless ignored it as he went to sit beside Anastasia instead, his hand going to her shoulder, forgetting altogether about putting a shirt on. "Breathe." He said it slowly, knowing Brandin was about to launch into other explanations and orders and thinking to himself that truly that was the most important one. There was blood on the floor. He'd noted that when he'd stood: he'd avoided going anywhere near it, stepping purposefully with care. Only a moment later did he realize what it meant... The baby. Oh hell. He...needed to take his own advice, clearly. In, and out... Edited by Parker Faye, Sep 20 2010, 06:06 AM.
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![]() you always crash your car; you're like a permanent scar; and when they call you misfit...it's so hard to stop the rage. see the misfit in the mirror; see the one that no one wanted; shattered by a world of lies ... all you need, is reason to believe. | |
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| Anastasia Zytsev | Sep 20 2010, 01:03 PM Post #12 |
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"No, don't - shit - stand, you need to get back into -" Another tremour wracked her body and she curled with a moan, bending around herself in the fetal position as if that would help relieve the burning ache, "-bed - merlin - don't step on the-" Wthin minutes she was near hyperventilation, tears rushing down her face in rivers. The iron smell she was far too aware of suffocated her almost as much as the realization that she was losing the baby. "-blood." She should have known better. She should have realized that having a chid wasn't a viable option. It was stupid wishfulness on her own part, and now this child, this beautiful child she had watched in ultrasounds and felt kick, and had grown along with, was paying for it. Her daughter - Jason's daughter - was dying. Maybe already dead. Maybe she was already dead and her body was just trying to push out the waste. She hadn't felt her moving in a few days. She murdered her own child, wasn't that wonderful? She shouldn't have tried. Intense grief showed through her eyes, through her body - but mostly through her voice, as riddled as it was by the pain. Breathe, she was told. Breathe...merlin, why should she? She was murdering her child, she didn't need to breathe. She was barely aware of the door opening and closing, not even caring about the fact that it might have been someone else. A servant, or something, and everything would be ruined. She didn't think about that at all. In fact, she almost wanted to be found out. What did they do to unwed, pregnant women? Were they more than disowned and disapproved of? Although in most other cases she would believe it to be completely awful, she'd rather there be some kind of punishment. This was horrible, and heartbreaking and - An ear-splitting shriek echoed in the room as the next stab went straight up her spine, leaving her shaking in her sobs once the pain had receded. "Go back to bed." She whipped out in one, breathless second, her bloody hands going to her face. She refused to look at him, refused to look down; her eyes closed. |
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| Brandin Faye | Sep 20 2010, 04:36 PM Post #13 |
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Parker's inclination towards "jail breaks" had caused Brandin to spell the entirety of his brother's room with spells to inform him if Parker got him and went anywhere. He had also added spells to inform him if Parker's condition changed--specifically for the worse. As it was, Brandin had been in his room reading when one such spell had -- so to speak -- rung his alarm bell. Although he sighed, he carefully marked his page and had drawn his wand before quickly exiting his room, wishing wholeheartedly his brother was not such a terrible patient. His stubborn, recklessness was likely to get him killed, and Brandin couldn't have that. He couldn't lose anyone, merlin dammit. It wasn't an option. He opened the door firmly about to launch into a polite diatribe at Parker about the virtue of resting (for what felt like the millionth time) when he was closing it again for the sudden need of privacy. His gaze swept the scene with speed and ease as he stilled. Though he could not help the small glare at his brother, who was standing, his attention was captivated by the shrieks of his friend. Anastasia's pain was etched across a crumpled face, tears and blood splattering the floor as she grasped through purple fabric to squeeze her stomach. Rubbing a hand over his lips, he took out his wand to clean the floor without words; though there was no time to do that properly yet, he thought it important to take that step. There was also the simple fact that this he was capable of fixing, when the immediate pain of Anastasia, while clearly wrenching out his brother's heart, was not so immediately changed. "Anastasia, I need you to breathe." Parker had said as much already, but Parker was clearly as panicked himself and Brandin the picture of serenity. Though strangely his insides seemed to have disappeared, a very curious sensation, one he would have to take time to think about later... His hands going up, his fingers curled slightly around his wand and he bent over Anastasia to say firmly, "I am going to get you through this." He continued, his eyes intent on hers, though a noise to her left caused him to amend his statement. "Parker, yourself, and I--we are going to do this." He cast a simple spell at first, one he should have cast the moment he had begun to speak, and as a soft blue light bathed the shaking and sweating woman, Brandin took a breath of basic relief. "She's alive." He said, the fact standing for itself. "You both are and I promise you, you are going to stay that way. I need you to stay calm, and I need you to do exactly as I say, and we can and will get you both through this." Fervent eyes searched her pain-stricken ones, while Parker's hand went to caress her cheek, chase away tears. "You trust me, right?" There was no time to waste. There were steps they had to take: a secret to protect secondly and two lives to save whether or not it meant they were found out. If the baby was coming now, they had to find a way t-- The door behind him opened again and Brandin looked up about to curse for having forgotten to lock it--since when did he forget something as elementary as that?--when he realized who it was. Rebecca, her gown splattered at it's hem with what was unmistakably dirt and mud, her hand suddenly going to her lips. "Close the door." Brandin snapped, not bothering to curb his panic for the sake of speaking softly. |
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I am nothing more than A little boy inside That cries out for attention Yet I always try to hide Cause I talk to you like children Though I don't know how I feel But I know I'll do the right thing If the right thing is revealed | |
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| Anastasia Zytsev | Sep 20 2010, 04:57 PM Post #14 |
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It wasn't much of a relief to see that Brandin was the one who had come into the room. If she'd been in her right mind, it would have mattered. It might have been even a really, really good thing. Unfortunately, to her it just meant that Brandin too had to be privy to her failure, and that hurt. He knew too -and so this, hurt. There really wasn't anything she could do that that point for herself. She couldn't tell herself to calm down, or to relax and take it easy, to just take it easy and rest and things would be okay. Things wouldn't be okay - she was bleeding, now. She was tensing, cramping, and knifing, now. No level of calmness would help her at that point. There was a small amount of gratitude when Brandin cleaned up the floor at least a little, though her stream had not stopped flowing. It was odd, thinking about it. Her blood wasn't the thick, black-red mixture she had seen on the ground at Jere's. Hers seemed watery, thin and more of a dusky, diluted red. That was probably not good, right? Telling her to breathe again didn't do much of anything, though she opened her eyes to look at Brandin incredulously. How was she supposed to breathe at this moment? How was it even possible? He was promising her that they would get through this, and it caused her to look aside again. As much as she believed Brandin could perform miracles, she really didn't think this was one of them. Maybe he could get her through it without too much damage - as her baby girl was 25 weeks and mostly developed - but how does one stop a miscarriage so immediately this far along? She didn't think it was possible. She, who believed in the impossible, didn't think this was something they could do. When Brandin waved his wand at her, Annie couldn't help it; she flinched. And yet, the soft blue light was oddly comforting. At least, it was comforting until she heard the words of what it meant. Her baby was still alive, she was told. Wasn't that worse? Wasn't that just saying that instead of being unaware and feeling the loss of that, she had to be an active participant in the death? It made her sick, and if she had eaten anything that day she might have lost it all on the newly, magically cleaned floor. But he was promising her. Brandin was looking her straight in the eyes, telling her that he promised that she - and her daughter - would come out of this alive, somehow. With the gentle hand on her cold skin, wiping away the tears and his eyes on hers, somehow Annie thought that maybe he could do it. When he asked her if she trusted him though? Her immediate response was to nod - no hesitation whatsoever. For a moment she had quieted, stilled a little more, but when the next wave of what she was assuming were contractions hit her, her body crumpled into itself once again. She had attempted to bite her lip to keep quiet, nerves now shooting through her as she heard the door opening once again. Calm. She had to stay calm. "She gets priority." Annie bit out, looking up at Brandin again. "Do you understand me? If you can...if she can make it, she gets priority. Swear to me." Her voice cracked and went up in octaves as she spoke through the pain, but she did so nonetheless, her gaze flickering to Rebecca and then away again in a matter of seconds. |
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| Rebecca Cowen | Sep 20 2010, 05:38 PM Post #15 |
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One glance from Brandin and Rebecca knew he was aware of where she'd been. She lifted her chin, expression taut. Rowland's friendship was the only thing in a long time that made sense to her: she found no shame in expressing as much. It might not have made sense logistically, but when she was with him however short a time she could spend, she was happy, and that? That made all the sense in the world. Rowland was driven from her mind the moment she took in the scene. With a half foot around the corner already, Rebecca's intention of sneaking back into the castle had been, she thought, thwarted as she'd witnessed a harried Brandin coming down the corridor towards her. Withdrawing into an alcove, she watched him pass her and turn off into the hall containing the Infirmary. A flame seared in her chest. Parker. Oh god, Parker... Her heels echoed in the dim-lit hallway. Her taut smile had crumpled as she realized exactly what was happening. Her back went ramrod straight and she snapped the door shut behind her, fingers fumbling on the lock to shut it. Brandin had snapped on reflex she thought, for he looked back up at her a moment as though a thought occurred to him. With her eyes were on Anastasia, her breathing laborious within it's metal trap, she did not notice immediately. It was too soon. However little she knew the woman, Annie's predicament and earsplitting shriek had raised her heart to her throat. It fluttered there, beating it's fluttery rhythm hard enough to leave a bruise. No, no, no... Lifting her gaze from Anastasia, Rebecca suddenly stiffened for a moment to see Brandin staring at her once more. Shifting uncomfortably while her nails scratched at her lips and jaw under his penetrating, thoughtful gaze. Her gaze cast to her feet until she heard him speak. "What we need." Brandin said it plainly, for once appearing not to judge her. "Is a place we can insure we won't be discovered. Clearly this room, however locked and sound-proofed, is least ideal." For a few moments, she snapped tiredly internally that she had no idea why he seemed to be speaking directly at her as he said it. What could she possibly do to help with that? She was no more from this time than they were: who could she possibly know? A beat passed, when an idea snapped across her mind, weak in it's foolishness. Rebecca's frightened gaze was that of a rabbit meeting a lion as she snapped her head back up to look at him. It was almost as though he knew what she was about to say. Almost? No, Brandin knew. Brandin apparently knew everything. "I know somewhere." Her voice was shaking; her gaze flickering from the sweating Parker who was apparently focused on breathing and not looking anywhere but Anastasia, to the shaking tear-struck Anastasia, to the floor, continuously being swept clean by an apparent spell of Brandin's--to Brandin himself last. "Maybe. Rather, I know someone..." Brandin had to stop looking at her like that: her embarrassment needed no further admonishment. "Rowland, Damocles' servant, I can find him." Her eyes were back on Anastasia. "His house is far enough away that you...we...wouldn't be overheard, his mother has had e-eight kids there anyway..." Brandin was nodding now; he'd expected that to be what she said, clearly and she took a steadying breath with his gaze of approval. See, take that--her friendship with Rowland, no matter it complicating matters, was as meant to be as she'd thought: it might just save their lives. "Rowland can keep the secret." She added firmly, her chin raising higher once more. "I know it." Her certainty on this fact caused it to be the only thing she spoke without the trace of a tremor. Brandin apparently had no more words for her. For a moment, she looked at Parker, who had nodded imperceptibly without looking at her, his eyes locked on those of his girl. Taking the lack of an answer to indicate both the direness of the situation and an affirmation that she leave, she turned right back on her heels and was out the door. |
![]() your eyes whispered: have we met? this night is flawless: don't you let it go | |
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| Parker Faye | Sep 21 2010, 12:32 AM Post #16 |
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As though wishing for things to go away could make it so, Parker had not coughed in minutes. Or was that breath? Maybe he hadn't taken a breath in minutes...or hours. The passage of time was a wholly complicated matter that had ceased to hold meaning. The secret of their origin, who the hell cared who knew? Who cared if they couldn't retrieve the Aetas--indeed, what did it matter if they were able to save him at all, if it meant the loss of Anastasia or her daughter? Breath, his pounding headache, the lateness of the hour, their secret: none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered, the only one, to Parker, that mattered--was Anastasia. "Annie..." His voice broke. He spoke her nickname out of habit alone as his hand moved to her cheek, his face arranged in a heart-wrenching gaze. While his fingers urged away meekly the tears and pain, while his brother made promises he hardly could hear and the door opened for the second (or twelve hundredth, perhaps) time, Parker kept his gaze on Anastasia. His helplessness was overwhelming at that moment, but it was second to a nagging thought of guilt at the back of his mind. This single thought was one that would take a firm hold when he let it, but he thought such an exercise pointless. There was no time to spend sitting around assigning blame, assigning guilt. It didn't matter how they had arrived at this horrific situation: what mattered, was that they had. They had, and now they had to deal with it, because the only outcome that was acceptable was survival of Anastasia and her daughter. Their survival... Tears were tracing the edges of Parker's eyes, ready to slide down his cheeks, but he kept a steady mantra of deep breath through pursed lips. He had to focus. There had to be something, anything that he could do. At Anastasia's sharp words, Parker's head snapped finally to look at Brandin. Although he did not dare speak outloud, the meaning behind Parker's glare was clear: Anastasia was just as much a priority. They both were the priority. Neither life, in Parker's eyes, had any more value than the other--though infinitely more so than his own right then. They had to be saved. When he locked eyes with his brother, Parker saw for the first time, the trace of something beneath his stoic calm and understood something: he wouldn't want to be Brandin right now, no matter how much he wanted to help. A ray of gratitude lit in his heart: he could not have handled Anastasia looking him in the eye and telling him she was expendable to save her daughter. He could hardly hear it sitting beside her. He didn't envy his brother's position. What he envied was his ability to help. Although he said nothing, Parker found Brandin nodding at him, and he nodded back with a noncommittal jerk of his head, his eyes already back on Annie. He heard out of the corner of his ear the beginning of a plan; the fact that there was a plan was the only one to penetrate his mind. That and the fact that Brandin was promising. Brandin was promising, and from the little Parker knew of his brother, he never made an empty promise. |
![]() you always crash your car; you're like a permanent scar; and when they call you misfit...it's so hard to stop the rage. see the misfit in the mirror; see the one that no one wanted; shattered by a world of lies ... all you need, is reason to believe. | |
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| Brandin Faye | Sep 21 2010, 01:43 AM Post #17 |
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Seven
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There is a certain serenity in logic. Brandin was giving his mind over to facts and steps that needed to be taken while he looked firmly into Anastasia's eyes and promised her. The deep, wracking breaths did not keep her eyes from his, though his own breath had quickened. He'd snapped into action since the moment he got in the room and he didn't see that changing. Was he certain he could do this? There wasn't a doubt in his mind. Of course Brandin had never delivered a baby before, much less performed a c-section (as this certainly was now going to require). He had never done any form of surgery actually: his healing talents had always been relegated strictly to his fondness for fiddling with strange potions rather than any particular knowledge of the human body. He had studied in the library here since beginning to wonder if this would occur, but there was no way of knowing how precisely inaccurate the books from 1884 were on magical medicine. All that he was certain about there was that they were inaccurate. His inexperience wasn't something he was about to bandy about however, because there were some things going for them. His calm stature for one thing: his hands were steady, his gaze was even. His knowledge of spells and antidotes was a certain plus, as was his potioneer's habit of basic strengthening potions he kept on him at all times. Most importantly in Brandin's mind, was that firm certainty. It didn't matter that he had never done this before: he would do it now. He would do it now. Because what he could not do, was break a promise to Anastasia. Certain the door was about to open once more for Rebecca, Brandin had slipped his hand into his robe to locate a calming potion, not yet certain what anaesthetic she could take and knowing that in order to somehow get Anastasia out of the manor without being heard, screaming would have to be kept to a minimum. The truth was, that would pain him if he thought about it. She was in a hell of a lot of pain, screaming and panicking were both perfectly rational human reactions, a way of the body letting out the feeling. He couldn't imagine the pain she was in at that moment. As he heard her last words however, he suddenly stiffened and his hand grabbed the vial in his hand hard enough to indent his palm as he looked back up. Blinking, he found he was being glared at by his brother a moment later. His gaze flicked between them first, before he nodded at Parker. And then he nodded at Anastasia, his hesitation melting to her certainty. "I swear." He ignored the gasp from Parker: Anastasia's decision was clear. "But it won't come to that, Ana." He murmured quieter, as the door behind him burst open again. |
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I am nothing more than A little boy inside That cries out for attention Yet I always try to hide Cause I talk to you like children Though I don't know how I feel But I know I'll do the right thing If the right thing is revealed | |
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| Parker Faye | Sep 28 2010, 08:22 AM Post #18 |
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Parker had stood, when Brandin slipped gloves on and picked Anastasia up. He'd had every intention of following and had hardly glanced for more than two seconds at Rebecca. Rowland he had looked at curiously for a few moments, while the man fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable and all but literally clinging to Rebecca. Parker's brow had arched high enough when Brandin pushed him back to sit on his bed (with absurd ease) that it was on top of his head. His frustration evident in every line of his face, Parker was nonetheless left alone with a magically-cleaning-itself-floor, a locked door, and enough anxiety that it would have brought Atlas himself down to his knees where the world's weight had failed. For several minutes he fought a losing war for breath. His lungs were filling too rapidly, and his exhale was marred by coughing. Bacteria spotted his esophagus, attacking each breath he took while his hand massaged his bare chest. For how long he'd been sick, Parker had forgotten what it felt like to be healthy. He was not scared or discouraged by his losing battle; he was aggravated. He was used to it. His hand sticking to where it lay over his heart, his hyperventilation fading into heated hisses while his eyes screwed up. There was a sharp pricking at the tip of his nose. His free hand pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to alleviate the pain, realizing only two moments later it had been a warning sign. His tear ducts screwed up, hot tears began to fall from his eyes. His gaze was fixed upon the scrubbing brush on the floor. Harder and harder it scrubbed at the places where dots of blood were scattered haphazardly, erasing the trail she had taken to leave the room. Harder it scrubbed, and harder his hand pinched his nose, massaged his chest... Brandin wasn't a Healer. He wasn't a healer. Parker couldn't see why Brandin was so calm, as he sat there and planned their escape so he could perform an emergency operation he'd never performed before. He didn't understand it. If Brandin had meant to calm him by his sureness, he had failed. Parker felt the opposite. He was lying. He didn't know what he was doing. He was lying to try and make himself and Annie feel better. He was lying to give himself false confidence. He wasn't being honest. He couldn't have been being honest; he couldn't have stood in that room and promised to let Anastasia die. That wasn't possible. The strange thing was, what Parker knew to be true beyond a shadow of a doubt, even as he sat there rocking, was that Brandin didn't make empty promises. He believed he could do this. He was completely sure. If it wasn't a lie, was that better? Or was it worse that Brandin was so sure he could accomplish a near-miracle, achieve the impossible? Brandin had pulled off remarkable achievements before. But this...to perform a c-section, at the wrong time in her pregnancy, in the wrong environment to deliver a child, in the wrong year, without modern medicine or so much as a midwife while her own blood attacked her? That wasn't a 'remarkable achievement', that was... His thoughts languid and twisted, Parker's foot suddenly jerked out beneath him, a hard kick knocking over the brush. A few bristles stuck to his leather shoe, the brush otherwise skidding forward amidst a trail of bubbles and cleaner. A hot breath flared his nostrils as he suddenly stood. It didn't matter to him that the room spun; it mattered that Anastasia was not there. He was half a step towards the door when Anastasia's face burst into his minds eye. Her wide eyes, her firm frown and exasperated sigh brought a sudden smile to his face. With her panic-driven authoritative voice ordering him to sit back down, his hand curled around in a fist around his bed post. He tried arguing with the half-smile on his face still in place. Her firm fingers met the side of his lips and pushed them down; his eyebrow met a similar fate. Around her fingers he could feel the hot tears sliding, her pale skin for once the same temperature as his. The heat was far from comforting. When his eyes fluttered back open, the hazy image of Anastasia had gone. Her touch had faded. His heart constricted. A heavy weight fell on his chest. Swallowing hard, his hand slipped up to massage the tennis ball in his throat. And he fell to his knees. His sweating hands suddenly grasped each other in a death grip, his bare elbows sliding out on the bed spread. His neck craned forward to rest his forehand on his clasped hands, his butt landed firmly on the back of his legs and his forearms pressed against the wood of his bed. Tears still falling from his eyes, his lips began moving in soundless prayer. Hail Mary turned into Our Father faster than he could put sound to his words. The rhythm of his words, usually such a comfort, did nothing but infuriate him. He knew the words too well. It was a problem. It left his mind free to wander. It left his mind free to conjure images of Anastasia's tear struck face, of Brandin bent over top her with a knife... "Dear Father." His voice sounded hoarse and weak, but the word alone gave him strength to continue. "It's Parker." His fingers clawed at his eyes for a moment, pulling tears free as he drew a shaky breath. "I know you've heard from me a lot lately. I know I've asked you to deliver us safely home, and to deliver me back to health. I can't really tell you I still don't want those things because--well--that would be pointlessly foolish of me, and I'm not going to lie to you--but if you can do nothing else, if there's some point to all of this...please save Anastasia and her daughter. Don't welcome them home to you just yet. Please. Please. I know it's selfish. I know it's futile, that we all come home eventually. But I don't know...I don't know how to live without her--without them." His tears had quieted as he spoke, his voice still shaky. He was about to break off, but he found that it was easier to talk, than sit in silence thinking it all through. That was too terrifying. It was too realistic and human. If ever had Parker needed his faith, it was right that moment. "And if I can trouble you a moment more over it. " His eyes opened now; he cast them towards the ceiling, and then towards the plant on his window sill that Anastasia had put there. She'd brought him flowers. She had brought him flowers because she knew how much he missed the outdoors... "Anastasia and Jason's daughter...guide her. Give her everything. Please. Let her know this life. Let her know the wonders of your creation, as you gifted me. Don't punish her. Don't punish Annie. If your forgiveness-- your forgiveness is supposed to be eternal!" Why had he started shouting? "What has she ever done to you?! And I know--" He continued angrily, unaware of himself. "I know--I could never begin to believe I could ever understand your plan, but don't do this, please! Anastasia is a woman who literally, literally portrays every value you beseech us to preach! Anastasia is good. She is kind and she's warm, and she is open and accepting. She loves without boundaries despite her fear and she extends her heart to anyone--whether or not they ask! If your mercy is so great, show it to her, please! Show it now. Help Brandin, guide his hand, do something, don't let this terrible tragedy happen!" His breath couldn't sustain the shouting. He broke off in a heartwrenching whisper, had falling onto the bed spread. "Please." More tears were spilling out of his eyes as he drew breath deeply, coughing for the sake of his trouble. His head shook from side to side vigorously, his head pounding. It wasn't right. Parker had wanted a great many things in his life, but at that moment he would trade anything for their health and well being. The pair of them had to be safe. They had to be well. The hazy image of her back in his mind, he still sat hunched against the bedspread. Anastasia's laugh hit his ears and he flinched. Her beacon of a smile burned his eyes with their light. She appeared to be playing her flute, an activity she often undertook when hurt and upset, when unable to deal with her emotions... His hand rubbed his lips, hard, wishing he had his guitar. There was a song bursting in his chest, a melody of Anastasia. His hand was itching to get notes on paper, his fingers flicked involuntarily. Despite the flame in his heart, he could not have imagined a softer melody, a gentler song. The notes were pure, defined in his ear as though picked out by the highest reaches of a flute. His rhythm was his breath, heated with it's pulsating love and firm with it's protection of the flute. His head spinning, his eyes swimming once more, he bent his forehead back to his palm. He laid his head back down and then lifted his palm up to the sky, murmuring as he lay there hunched against the bed in a whisper, "I trust my brother. I believe. I have faith. And I can only hope." Painful tears still pricked at his eyelids, but the song in his heart had quelled his anger. All he could do now was wait. But it was a painful wait. Edited by Parker Faye, Sep 28 2010, 08:24 AM.
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![]() you always crash your car; you're like a permanent scar; and when they call you misfit...it's so hard to stop the rage. see the misfit in the mirror; see the one that no one wanted; shattered by a world of lies ... all you need, is reason to believe. | |
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