mayfield_rpg

Entry tags:

[008]

A): phone - mid-morning.

[OPEN;]

[one hazard of spending a good deal of your time lurking on the phone lines is that one might become prone to forgetting that people can HEAR you while you listen. so, it's entirely innocent, of course, when the half-absent and somewhat petulant mumble comes across the phone lines sometime this morning.]

...all this talk of Valentines Day... honestly! As if they're rubbing it in some of us are destined to be forever alone. 'Vow of celibacy'? More like vow of perpetual and ongoing boredom.

[...a pause.]

It's not like I wanted to find out what a romantic holiday with another human being is like, regardless... eh? I'm sure edible underwear isn't all it's cracked up to be, anywa--

[...]

Eh? [wait for it.]

AH--

[...there's a rather flustered squawk, and a hasty CLICK of the phone into the cradle.]

[filter to Charles Fei-Ong]

Alright, so maybe I'm a little late in checking in. You'll forgive me, right? After all, I'm sure you've been busy collecting recipes and taste testing! [no really are you okay... :| last time he saw you, after all, was... uh, colorful, to say the least.]

...I don't suppose you'd be up for a cup of tea, Charles? [he has a feeling you'll just bs him even if you weren't alright over the phone, anyway. CLEARLY HE MUST BE NOSY IN PERSON.]

[filter to Esther Blanchett]

Esther-- do you have a minute? There's... ah, something I wanted to ask you. [AND IT DOESN'T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH EDIBLE UNDERWEAR HE SWEARS DEAR GOD.]

[filter to Django]

How are you holding up, partner? I hope the radio silence is because you've been gloriously enjoying the sunshine, hm? Making up for lost time and all that...! [are you okay partner? :(]

B): action; 1648 Albright Lane - lunchtime.

[there's the smell of something burning, late in the morning approaching lunchtime -- and if Rachel or Cain follows their nose, they might find the source in the form of one (1) Abel Nightroad with his drone wife's FRILLY PINK APRON several sizes too small draped around his neck and haphazardly tied back in the process of butchering... grilled cheese. yes, he is a total failure.

...somehow, he's gotten butter all over the counter and is trying to catch an overturned bottle of orange juice that is apparently spilling its contents over and onto the floor. the pan is burning and he's jostling cups and plates, trying not to drop EVERYTHING EVER as he fumbles to cease the spill of juice fruitlessly.

NO ONE SAID YOUR DAD WAS GOOD AT BEING DOMESTIC. this is why.]

C): action; around town - afternoon.

[the tall, lanky, and often times clumsy priest is among your streets today, Mayfield! anyone similarly prone to hitting up the bakery quite often might recognize his face, or simply wish to gape at the way he's leaving cheerily with a bag under his arm and so engrossed in the effort of inhaling the vanilla frosted doughnut in his hand he is clearly not paying attention to anything else. ...like the sidewalk. which, he may or may not inevitably trip over at an uneven crack and WOEFULLY lose his doubtlessly precious bounty as the bag tumbles to spill the fruits of his labor everywhere...

...and maybe his doughnut might happen to ah. misplace... itself from his hand and end up on your face. WHAT DO?]

D): action; church - evening.

[Abel's day eventually brings him to someplace to seek solace, to rest a weary soul... or something of that effect. one who enters might be hard pressed to FIND said priest who should be more or less easy to spot on the regular, right? how many 6'4 lanky bastards in cassock ARE there in here?

...but if one is apt enough, they might notice that the Father's side of the confessional is occupied. do you care to confess? ...or notice that said Father might just be lightly snoring if you listen hard enough...]

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No... more importantly.

[he looks to be glazing over everything that Charles said, leaning a bit further onto his hand with a thoughtful look.]

Don't you think if you had told this man... 'this 'monster' will betray you,' [his eyes are rather fixedly on his friend, you see--]

...he would have still been his friend?

[he's still looking to Abel, but for just a second his focus seems to be somewhere else entirely. over his shoulder, to the backyard-]

Naturally. Something like that is only to be expected from the sort of person this soldier is. [his focus has returned, though a smile isn't accompanying it this time.]

But if one places their head into the mouth of a dragon even after being warned, they deserve to lose it, kindness or not.

[...mm.

he doesn't seem aware of the divide in his attention, nor does he pay any visible mind to the abrupt disappearance of his smile. instead, he keeps on as he has.]

Maybe he hopes that his faith and loyalty could turn even the monster's heart to want something better than he's got. It's funny, Charles.

[there's something of a tiny smile at his lips.]

For every 'monster' I've ever met... I've never seen one who's truly happy.

They wouldn't make for very good villains if they were happy, would they? [...if he wasn't such a prideful being, he'd have probably dropped the entire metaphor by now.]

So he lost his life trying to do something stupid, and neither of them were any better off for it. It's a horrible ending. Horrible and terribly fitting. [his nose wrinkles a little, and he shifts so his chin is propped up by just one hand so he can pick up his tea.]

I'm very good at story-telling, but I hate all of the stories I know. Still, it might be a good one for you to keep in mind.

'Monsters' are only made villains of their own stories, aren't they? Maybe to someone else, they aren't so terrible at all. [Abel will let him keep the metaphor. like everything else, he won't strip away his pride unduly.]

He lost his life being a good man who believed in others. But that's where the story ended, Charles. Who is to say what effect truly came of that soldier's death? Maybe that monster had a change of heart, after having the blood of someone who cared for him on his hands. If a monster is capable of feeling sorrow and rage... he's capable of feeling regret. In that way, maybe it's possible that the man made a sacrifice for his friend rather than lost it meaninglessly.

[he takes his time to sip his tea, mulling something over, before setting the cup down again.]

...You'll have to tell me a story that ends on a happier note, next time.

[he feels he hasn't pressed hard enough, he hasn't pushed the limits well enough, and for a moment he almost voices the fact that this 'soldier' was only the first of many that had been killed by the monster, even if there were regrets.

but he'd already given his warning, and that's all he feels like doing for now.]

Perhaps. Monsters are fickle things, you know. One can't say whether it learned or felt anything at all. [shrug!! his expression remains neutral.]

I prefer tragedies, so it might take me a while to find a story that suits your taste, but I'll look.

[he innocently and obliviously!!! nudges the glasses further up his nose, giving him a little smile. it's easy, relaxed, despite the morbid subject.]

I'd wager this 'monster' did.

[you felt something. you felt enough to remember this story -- that it was the first one you mentioned. it's in your eyes and you will never forget that man as long as you live. he only irritates you because he got under your skin; meant something. it all means something.

but Abel won't say a word.]

That might be the case. [WELP he's at least managed to distance himself from the story for now. there are certainly no more lapses in his attention or cracks in his carefully arranged expression.]

Or maybe, in classic fairy-tale fashion, it was hunted and punished for its actions and learned nothing from it other than to conduct its business in more private locations.

[that wasn't really the case at all, outside of one acquaintance who just would not let the incident go, but deviating from the main metaphor seems like a good way to disassociate from it further.]

[Abel pauses...]

I wonder, though... why you picked this particular story to tell me.

[he sits upright, pulling his hands back into his lap and swinging a foot idly.]

You remind me of the soldier, and I thought it'd be a shame if you met a similar fate.

...I'm... flattered by the comparison. Do you really think I'm that type of man? [he isn't.]

But, there's one problem. I'm afraid I haven't befriended any monsters. The only friends I have are people I'm rather fond of and believe are good people.

Are you worried about me, Charles?

Kind and stupid seems an accurate description. [he means that in a sort of nice way... if you squint.

but as soon as Abel says that his only friends are people he believes to be good, Charles kind of doubts he had anything to worry about at all. clearly he can't fall into that category, and if he's there, it's only by mistake.]

I'm not worried. I'm just not appreciative of repeat performances, so I'd be really disappointed if I were to hear of such a story a second time.

Kind and stupid. My, how... complimentary we're being tonight!

[he smiles, chuckling in amusement.]

And if I were to get myself into that kind of trouble... I don't suppose it'd be too much to ask a friend like you to save me, right? I can see you in the 'dark knight in shining armor' role rather aptly, actually. You'd claim something like you were just passing by and couldn't stand to see someone you owe a debt to get massacred in such a ridiculous way, and pose dramatically. The moon would be behind you, of course.

[well that definitely takes him by surprise! he knows Abel isn't really as stupid as he acts so he assumes that metaphor didn't sail right over his head, but here he is, disregarding that he was trying to say he should expect to be intentionally harmed, even if they're on good terms.]

The title of a knight doesn't suit me much anymore. [a half-shrug.] And I don't help people who bring misery upon themselves, but if it helps you sleep at night, all the better to you.

[it's a mystery, ISN'T IT?? or, well, it's really not... but Charles' doubt that Abel could very well consider him his friend and trust him despite that obvious warning throws the whole thing into curious balance, one supposes...

he taps his chin thoughtfully.]

Well, if that's how you feel... maybe I should give you a story in return?

[HE'S SUSPICIOUS BY NATURE so suspicious, everything has an underlying motive and the things that don't will end badly anyway...!

but after a moment of mock-contemplation, he waves a hand to indicate his approval.]

I'd like to hear one, though I doubt you're as good a story-teller as I.

Somehow, I imagine you'll forgive me for my failure at exceeding the expectations set by your... wondrous delivery, hm? [he grins a little, before clearing his throat.

AHEM.]

Once upon a time-- as all good stories start, for your information-- there was a boy. A misunderstood hero of sorts, if you would...! He was rather adorable, you see -- with dark hair and refined tastes and mannerisms; if one didn't know better, they might peg him as some kind of nobility, you see. He had an air about him.

Ah, but -- our mysterious hero one day befell some tragedy... He had been under the curse of a wicked witch for quite some time, and while he was no stranger to the occasional woes this curse brought upon him, from time to time... this curse coupled with life's turmoil made our poor hero become... dare I say -- downtrodden? The woe in his eyes was visible for miles. They say the clouds grew darker over villages he passed by in suffering, weeping for his pain.

But one day, in his travels... he met a cleric. An extremely handsome and dashing cleric, actually -- one who was most likely the hero of his own story somewhere, who sweeps damsels off their feet and leaves broken hearts in his wake. Absolutely. --He probably rides a really cool horse, too? And has long hair that flows in the wind, and--

--Ah. Um-- but, I digress! [ahem. he adjusts his glasses.] This cleric met our troubled youth bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders, and despite their differences... they became rather good friends. It turned out that their paths were leading them in the same direction... and so, they traveled side-by-side as it was easier than going it alone.

It didn't take long for the cleric to notice his new friend's troubled state, yet when he asked him what was on his mind... that boy refused the offered hand. Why should he accept the help of a stranger, even if it's a well-meaning one? He's a creature of pride and has always bore his burdens alone. ...No, beyond that... what good would it do? The cleric couldn't remove the curse nor the source of his woes, could he? It was a useless, fruitless effort. A waste of time.

But as days... weeks... months went by, the boy was worn down by his fate. The cleric was at his side, yet he could not be more alone; he had cut himself off from the world, in a way. If he keeps himself apart from it... he can't be hurt by it, can he? If he fails to trust, then he can't be betrayed. If he refuses to have faith, his expectations cannot be met with disappointment. So, despite keeping the other man's company for so long... his heart felt empty.

Eventually, they reached the end of their journey together. As things sometimes go, their paths were destined to split from that point forward -- they had found the fork in the road and their worlds were not one in the same any longer. They shook hands, and parted ways. The boy had been alone from the start, hadn't he? Despite walking beside the cleric daily, he had never let him in. Never trusted him. Never allowed himself to falter in his resolve for what he believed to be good reason.

So... he could not understand why he felt far more lonely and tired than he had before. He couldn't understand why, despite knowing how very justified he was in his choices... his pain had only become more a burden to him. Was it not the opposite of what he had wanted from the start? To protect himself from pain and misfortune?

[Abel's expression becomes saddened, as if feeling regret on the youth's behalf. that poor soul.]

Edited (typos........) 2012-02-27 18:52 (UTC)

[oops it doesn't last long what]

--But, as luck would have it, God was smiling down on that very creature who believed he had been utterly forsaken! His path and the cleric's met once again. The cleric found his woeful companion through the storm, and he held his hand out to him. In a very manly and completely heroic fashion, he draped the smaller in his coat and he said...

"I'm your friend, and you're not alone."

...Then they hugged, and our dear little youth found that the path he walked, however troubled... was not quite so terrible when it wasn't so lonely. The pain he caused himself by pretending his heart was hardened to the world was eased when he let it in again.

[though he's grinning idiotically with the stupidest wink ever, there is something sincere in his eyes as he says the last of it.]

And he realized the only reason he was so afraid of being hurt was because there was still love left in him, or he wouldn't have felt a single thing at all.

[just quietly listening to this entire story and visibly going through a whole range of emotions, yep... pride at Abel's oh-so-very accurate depiction of his noble nature, amusement at his own clearly inaccurate description of himself, indignation at his assumptions, hesitation, irritation, fret...]

[by the end of it he just looks... tired. very, very tired.

but there's a certain measure of appreciation in his expression that Abel will surely be able to catch if he looks, despite the fact that he tries to cover it quickly.]

...As I thought, your story telling is sorely lacking.

[...ah.

that look, is...]

[he gives him a little softer smile.]

I make no claims to being as grandiose at you about it, but... it's the thought that counts, you know.

[the slip in his expression doesn't last long at all, but at least he seems in slightly better shape now. not quite so 'hovering on the edge of having a mental fit and possibly killing more things in the process', at least....]

I suppose so, though that sounds vaguely like the self-reassurance from one who knows they simply can't do better. But they do say practise makes perfect, so perhaps that's all you need, hm?

[Abel will keep the little glimmer of hope to himself; he wouldn't want to spoil it, after all. this wasn't the reaction he was expecting -- really, not at all, but...

it's progress, right? it might not happen overnight. it might not happen for a long time yet, but... at least he knew how he stood on things. now down the line, Abel's got his hand out for Charles to take when he's ready. sometimes, knowing someone was there was necessary.]

Practice? Is that your way of saying you want to hear another...?

[it is a relief of sorts to know someone is willing to offer support despite his clear warning, even if it's one Charles won't admit to himself.

in the meantime, deflection is as good a tactic as any for saving face! his pride and the sore nature of this particular problem make it difficult to tackle head-on just yet. ...which is why he'll just stew quietly with it until he eventually snaps and pisses Ciel off enough to start a fight in the process whoops]

Do you know of any others? It must be difficult for you to thread ideas together into a coherent story without any base examples to work from. Doesn't your world lack fables and fairy tales?

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1/2; god all the tl;dr in the world i'm sorry

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1/2 holds your tl;dr close.....

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