| Brandon's Room; 2nd Floor, near library tower stairs | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 1 2012, 10:42 PM (124 Views) | |
| Telsa | Aug 1 2012, 10:42 PM Post #1 |
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Striding though the sitting area, Telsa approached the large four poster bed and tossed the knapsack on the floor beside a corner chair. "Leave us," she growled at the girl, who quickly departed with no question. Telsa stood over the boy, forcing herself to calm. Someone, probably Esther and Thomas, had removed his clothes and left him tucked under a soft beige blanket and thick chocolate down comforter. He was pale, and occasionally a shiver shook his slender frame. |
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| Jimson | Aug 1 2012, 11:48 PM Post #2 |
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After stripping down to his slacks and drifting in and out of sleep for an hour Jimsonweed headed up to his personal library and the study. The room was packed with history books and collections of speeches from the last 150 years and he seemed to pick three books and random and move them to a desk to begin looking at them. Even now he had the faint nagging feeling that something was missing but He just couldn't place it. Jimsonweed had been in his study flipping between these books when he got the summons. Throwing a white shirt on he buttoned it to the second to last button and then moved barefoot down the hall. As he walked in the door he paused to survey his surroundings and to try and assess Telsa's mood. With a glance at the boy he sighed trying to get his thoughts in order. "He still doesn't look well at all, that must have been one hell of a wound." Turning back to her he raised an eyebrow. "I take it something new has come to light dearest?" |
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| Telsa | Aug 2 2012, 12:05 AM Post #3 |
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The boy lay silent in the bed, his breathing shallow. His eyes moved rapidly behind the lids, and by the way his mouth jerked downward it wasn't a happy dream. "He has pictures of us, all of us. Drawings." She pointed to the knapsack beside the chair as she turned to face him. Her voice was soft, her face dark with concern. "And of Thorisson, and one other that I don't recognize." Carefully Telsa sat on the edge of the bed, looking back at the boy. "The sketchbook on top, one of the others has random drawings, I don't know if they mean anything or not. The other is empty, except for an envelope." She turned back to Jimsonweed. "I think," she paused, then stressed the next word, "perhaps, that he may be Quentin's son." |
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| Jimson | Aug 2 2012, 01:41 AM Post #4 |
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His eyes widened momentarily as she spoke. Breaking eye contact he picked up the sketchbook and began to flip through it. He took the time to scan each picture carefully finding the likenesses remarkable. He was still mildly surprised when he saw his picture, and the fact it always included Katelyn. "Quentin's son? Huh, might explain his talent for drawing people he's never met before." For a moment he scanned his memories. "At least I'm pretty sure I've never met this boy before." His attention was diverted as Charlotte and Dominic came in. For a second his mind blanked then he smirked and continued to flip through the sketchbook. "Glad you two could make it." Smiling Charlotte merely nodded. "It wasn't much trouble, but I appreciate your concern." The sincerity was off putting and Jimsonweed opened is mouth to say something and then stopped himself and held the Sketchbook out to Dominic. " I've got no new insights to add, how about you?" |
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| Telsa | Aug 2 2012, 02:05 AM Post #5 |
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Dominic reached to take the sketchbook, somehow surprised that the gunslinger asked for his input. He let his arm fall away from Charlotte and slowly flipped through the sketchpad, looking carefully at each page and holding it so that she could see as well. His gaze narrowed at his own portraits, and he cut his eyes distrustfully towards the boy. When he turned the page and saw Jimsonweed and an unknown woman his eyes widened and he glanced towards the man with raised brow. Deliberately his gazed moved to Telsa then back, but he kept silent and continued to look carefully at each page. The next portrait left him curious, somehow the man seemed familiar but he was sure he had never met him. Quickly he flipped the page to find Charlotte, and he glanced to her with a smile. At the next page he froze. "Nicholas," he whispered, a touch of dread in the word. He had been thinking that all of these portraits were people in Sanctuary, though that didn't explain the girl with the gunslinger nor the man who was pictured before Charlotte. He hoped now that he was wrong, most sincerely hoped that he was wrong. The man didn't resemble him, except perhaps around the eyes. Nick's eyes, he knew, held that same ring of golden amber about the iris as did his own. It was a family trait on the Naomes, bred deep and true into the genetic line. He flipped to the next page, finding Thorisson's portrait, then he swallowed, cleared his throat, and tried to keep his voice steady and off-hand as he spoke. "This man before Thorisson, I know him. It's my cousin, Nicholas. I don't know who the other man is, or the girl." He looked to Jimsonweed. "I suppose you could shed light on that one?" |
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| Jimson | Aug 2 2012, 02:34 AM Post #6 |
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Shaking his head Jimsonweed narrowed his eyes. For a moment he considered saying something nasty about being stupid enough after all but settled for. "I supposed I already have." Charlotte watched eagerly as each page was flipped but kept quiet till the end. "I recognize Myself, and the Baroness, The Baroness' Knight, and You Dominic. the one you call Thorisson is new to me beyond the pictures in the file and I've never met this Nick person or the Young woman on the Knights page. " She looked up at Telsa her fire opal eyes questioning and bright. "How did he get these?" |
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| Telsa | Aug 2 2012, 02:52 AM Post #7 |
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As the others spoke, Telsa had lay her hand lightly on the boy's chest. She closed her eyes and reached outward with her mind. Brushing over his, she felt the dream, more properly a nightmare. But she didn't trust dreams, and she pushed further. The images were, perhaps, distorted by his fear. Sifting though his memories, she felt some of the worry lift away. There was little doubt now that it was true, Thorisson had attacked him, and that attack had led to his arrival at the Bastion. She caught other images, landmarks she recognized as New York, so she knew now where he had been at that time. She caught a sense of frustration, of anger long grown and deeply rooted, and of confusion that even the boy didn't acknowledge. These things surrounded memories of his mother, and of the times she had spoken of his father. His father, Quentin Leece. She caught intentions of London, realized that the boy hadn't been aware that Quentin was now in New York. Slowly she drifted back into herself, bidding the boy to sleep deeply and peacefully, then opening her eyes and reaching up to tenderly brush his hair back from his face. Charlotte's question pulled her back to them, and she turned with a sad smile still curving her full red lips. "He drew them. I know his father, Quentin Leece. I've been his patron for a number of years now, since just before this boy was born actually." She sighed and stood, crossing her arms and turning to face them. "Quentin is a precog. He knows of the talent, though I've blunted the impact as far as I've been able. He gets... upset... about the paintings, feels they're a source of shame. To know something terrible is coming and not be able to stop it from happening." She shook her head, sending the thick mass of her jet black hair to tumble about her shoulders. "The images are rarely enough to act upon, and the few that are seem to come too quickly for anything to be done." Glancing back at the boy she continued softly. "Thorrison attacked him, over the pictures, in a tavern in New York. The memory is true, not planted. If he's a pawn he doesn't know it, has no sense of it, and I don't believe he is. I think it was simply fate, probably the same fate that led him here." "As to the others in that book," she turned back to them again, her eyes falling first on Dominic. "I've met the young lady with Jimsonweed, and with you identifying your kin we know who they all are now. What we don't know is why he drew them. Is it because all are now, or will in the future, be here? That's a troubling thought, with Thorisson's being included. Or is it simply that he would have contact with us all, including Thorisson?" She shrugged. "Precognition is an iffy talent at best, there's no way to know for sure. But we do have more information, I suggest we use it." Crossing to Dominic she took the sketchpad from his hands and returned it to the knapsack which she left in the chair. "Let's continue downstairs, I'll have to do another healing soon and I don't want him disturbed before then." |
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| Telsa | Aug 3 2012, 12:09 AM Post #8 |
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Arriving in the boy's room Telsa took the time to calm herself. She sighed, and acknowledged that she was tired, and growing increasingly bitter. Service to Sanctuary had taken its toll on her, and she found herself more quick to anger, and though she'd admit it to no one, also to tears. For this latest situation she had to believe that she'd taken the best option, as she'd seen it, and not second-guess herself now. When Esther arrived with bags, bowls and candles she put the matter out of her mind. "Thank you, Esther." She relieved the other woman of her burden and turned to place the items on a table next to the steaming bowl of broth. "I'll tend to seeing him fed after the healing." Smiling as the woman nodded and left the room, Telsa moved to prepare things. She carried the bowl of broth and placed it on the table next to the bed, knowing the tempting aroma would help ease the boy to wakefulness. She needed him to awaken so that she could better determine his status, and so that she could begin the delicate process of leading him to understand his new life. Next she turned back for the small bowls of smooth ceramic, setting three to sit steady on their respective stands of shining silver. She lit the candles with a thought and a push of her will, then slid them under the bowls. From the bags she spooned dried herbs and flowers, filling each bowl and letting their soothing scents fill the air. Satisfied with the arrangement, she moved to the bed and sat down gently. Brandon was stirring, coming more fully awake. His eyes fluttered as she laid a hand on his forehead. He was still too warm, and she reached for the damp cloth that lay on a tray placed on the table beside the bed. One of the staff had been tending him in her absence, and a bowl of cool clear water sat on the tray as well. She dipped the soft cloth then clenched it tightly to remove the excess water before draping it across his forehead. "Brandon," she whispered softly, reaching into his mind and soothing him as she spoke. "Brandon, you must awaken for a bit. I need you to talk to me, to assure me of your progress." |
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| Telsa | Aug 4 2012, 01:42 AM Post #9 |
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The world seemed hazy, washed in silver and grey, as Brandon fought against his waking mind. The dream had been so pleasant, he knew that even as it slipped away, and he tried to find his way back there when he realized a voice was softly calling his name. His eyes fluttered, the room out of focus, and tried to make sense of what little he could see. It seemed too much work, so he let his eyes fall shut again and instead concentrated on what he could feel. The bed underneath him was soft, linen sheets cozy and blankets warm. The air was sweetly scented, but over that a delicious aroma that brought a pleasing moisture to his dry mouth and a growl from his stomach. He decided to open his eyes again, the smell was worth investigating, and slowly things swam into focus. "Still dreaming," he murmured, his voice sad for that meant that delectable scent must be a dream as well. She was beautiful, her face full of concern, and exactly as he had drawn her. The thought triggered another and panic tried to set in, memory began to rush forth, and he tried to sit up. "No, Brandon, relax," she whispered, keeping her voice soft and even. She pressed a touch more firmly into his mind, soothing his rising fear. "You are safe here, I will tend you until you've regained your strength, and keep you from harm. You will trust me, Brandon, and know that speak true." The words were whispered as surely in his mind as spoken in hushed tones, and she gently pressed him back down in the bed. Once she felt him relax and saw the fear leave his grey eyes, she smiled more surely and removed her hand from his chest. "How are you feeling?" "Hungry," he replied immediately, then worked to clear his throat as the word came our in a croak. "And thirsty," he whispered when he could continue. He watched as the woman smiled and rose to fill a glass with cold clear water. She sat it on the table and turned to help him sit up, pulling pillows to prop behind him against the head of the bed so that he might lean back in comfort. She held the glass as he drank when he realized his arms were to weak to raise more than a few scant inches from the bed, and his eyes never left her. "You've had quite an ordeal," Telsa explained as he drank. "But the worst is past now, you've only to relax and regain your strength. I've broth here for you, soon you'll be ready for more but we should start with simple liquids. Once you've eaten I'll perform a healing ritual, then we can talk for a bit before you sleep some more. Rest will be your best way of regaining your strength." Brandon wanted to ask those questions now, but he obeyed her as she encourage him to eat, spooning the warm broth into his mouth. It was simple but tasty, filling him up quickly and soothing him with its warmth. He could almost feel his body sucking in the nutrients, and he managed to whisper his thanks as his head fell back against the pillows when it was gone. "Where am I?" "This is my home, known as the Bastion. My name is Telsa. I know you have many questions, Brandon, but first let's tend to seeing you well again." With a smile she let her fingers glide over his body, drawing the runes for healing and protection, for love and for life. She called the four elements; earth, air, fire and water, that make up every living thing, and sketched the sign for blood to be sure that his remained pure and clean, clear of the venom that had threatened his very existence. She directed the energies through him, then let them fall softly about him in a warm and comforting glow. She was gratified to see him smile slightly and relax as she sat back. "Better now?" "I think so," Brandon spoke softly, still a little afraid. "What did you do?" "It's an old art, one that many have forgotten. We'll repeat it every few hours for the next day or so, you should be up and around fine after that." Her smile remained but she grew more serious. "I don't want you to worry yourself now, Brandon. I'll answer a few questions, but if you become upset we'll break it off. I won't let you set yourself back over things you can't change and things can wait." "Do you... do you know what happened to me?" What he really wanted to ask was if it had been real, or if he'd lost his mind, been drugged. He wanted to understand, even as he felt sleep tugging at him again. "Yes, I know", she answered him. "And yes, it was real. But you're safe now, you have my word on that." He wanted to believe her, he clearly recalled the sense of safety that had enveloped him when he had drawn her picture. He also recalled the sense of being trapped, but he didn't want to dwell on that just now. Instead he asked a simpler question. "Do you really have a wolf?" Clear, sweet laughter rang out, and her smile was like the sun rising. "Well, not in the sense that I own him, no. One can't really own a wolf, you know. But he is a very dear friend, and has been for a long time. You can meet him later if you'd like. His name is Schezda, and you were quite accurate in your portrayal of him." "Are the... are the others real, too?" Something like dread pushed into him but he tried to fight it off. He didn't want her to go, didn't want her to stop speaking to him. "Yes, all of those you drew, we're all quite real. Most are here, or will be soon. And more importantly, none of the rest of us are any threat to you, Brandon. Indeed, all of us are going to do everything in our power to keep you safe." Telsa could see the worry in his eyes, the fact that he wasn't sure if her answer should reassure him or scare him more. She continued softly, whispering deeply and quietly in his mind as spoke. "But that's enough for now. You must rest, it's crucial to your healing. I promise there will be time for more questions later, and I will tell you all that you want to know. For now, I'll sit with you until you're asleep. And someone will be with you all the time. The people who work for me are most excellent, and you have only to ask them if there is anything you need." She smiled as she rose up, reaching to brush his hair back and adjust the pillows behind him as he slid down in the bed. She pulled the blanket up over him, her words a soft command. "Sleep, Brandon, and be at peace." True to her word, she stayed until his breathing was deep and easy, watching over him. When one of the girls arrived she gave whispered orders to keep the candles lit and to change the herbs every hour so that their scent would stay potent. Then she stepped into the hall, acknowledging her own state of exhaustion but knowing she could not yet rest. She did pause long enough to lean against the rail of the balcony, looking down into the Great Room, and smiled to see Charlotte and Dominic both seated at the table. She silently pushed away from the railing and turned to make her way to the staircase. As she turned the corner Schezda came through the door from her study, and together they moved down the stairs. |
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| Telsa | Aug 16 2012, 04:31 PM Post #10 |
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(Cont from Telsa's Rooms) The boy was quiet when she entered his room, and after speaking softly with the young girl on staff who had been sitting in attendance Telsa took her place in the chair closest to the fireplace. She watched him in silence for a while, listening carefully to the beat of his heart and watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. He was regaining his strength at an admirable rate, but there was still a threat to his health. Another healing for certain, perhaps two and more likely three, was her best guess. After a time she rose up from her chair and moved to retrieve his knapsack. She sat at the round table near the front of the room, still able to keep him in her sight, and carefully removed the contents. The boy's clothes had been taken to be washed and put into armoire and drawers. She pulled out the sketchpads and the wallet, laying them on the table before her. Quietly she removed opened the single envelope and withdrew the contents. She sat aside the photo after a brief sad smile, then turned her attention to each of the many clipped articles. All had one thing in common, as she had learned before. Quentin Leece. Glancing again at the boy she bit back a sigh. There was no doubt, Quentin was the boy's father. She also had no doubt that Quentin didn't know about that fact. As she read each of the articles, chronicling his rise in the art world and all without a mention of her own guidance, she came to a decision. Though it was quite likely that when the truth was eventually known, Quentin would not forgive her, she could find no reason to inform him yet about his son. What good would it do? She couldn't let the boy return to New York, obviously he had a part to play here, and that wasn't even considering the danger it would put him in. And Quentin knew nothing about the truth of the world, though she had felt on more than one occasion that some unacknowledged part of him sensed something. She could no more bring him here than she could let the boy return to him, for now it was a stagnant situation and as much as she wished otherwise that could not change. To inform him would be nothing short of cruel, however he might see it, and would simply add more problems when she was already dealing with enough. She rested her head briefly in her hands, fingers massaging her temples, then with another glance at the boy she put the clippings and picture back in the envelope and stuck in back into its place in the empty sketchpad. The portraits drew her attention next. She took her time, noting each detail as she turned the pages. He had captured her in many moods, her eyes flashing with anger and lit with laughter. She admitted that she had not seen any work done as well in many years, and he could easily rival his father in talent. The pages of Jimsonweed and Katelyn brought a sad smile to her face. Her fingers moved over the page, a soft caress. She had already made her peace with the death of their relationship, but still it made her sad. And, she admitted, perhaps a little jealous. Not that he had found another. Indeed, the young girl was lovely, and from what little she had seen, appeared to be weathering her introduction to the ways of the world with determination. She wondered what had brought them together, knew she would never ask. When she turned her thoughts to introspection she knew the reason for the jealousy wasn't that he had found another. She wished them well, and knew that he deserved happiness. No, what sparked that envy was the fact that she, herself, was still alone. And try as she might to hope otherwise, in her heart of hearts, she feared that would always be the case. |
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| Telsa | Aug 16 2012, 06:55 PM Post #11 |
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A slight noise from the bed drew her attention, and as she glanced in that direction a sharp moan made her frown. She rose up, taking the beginning steps towards the bed, when the boy sat up suddenly. His eyes were wide with fear and he looked to be trying to see in all directions at once. "Brandon," she spoke softly as she reached for his mind, "it's all right, you're safe." She moved carefully, not wanting to spook him more. "Lay back and relax." She murmured soft words in his mind, soothing his fear and trying to lead him to the area of acceptance. It was a delicate balance. Though she could influence him to the point she controlled him, she didn't want to do that. For one thing it was tiring, and would require constant reinforcement to keep him under control. She didn't have time or patience for that. But more important, she needed him to be himself, fully, so that whatever reason he had arrived in Sanctuary could come forth in truth. The worst was yet to come, she knew that, and was already working to prepare his mind for accepting the truth not only of the Supernatural world, but of Sanctuary and the fact that he was here. She could soften the blow, but not bury it. His breath coming in quick gasps, fear sharp in his mind, Brandon finally focused on the woman who was carefully approaching the bed. He closed his eyes tight, struggling to let go of the nightmare. He remembered her, he remembered the attack, and something in between that was fuzzy and left him unsure if it was real or a dream. The sensation of change, of moving, and the ground coming up to meet his face. He shook his head and opened his eyes, his voice a croak when he spoke. "You're... Telsa, right?" He tried to clear his throat and coughed hard. "That's right," she smiled at him and reached to fill a clean glass with clear cold water. He raised his hand for the glass and that indication that his strength was starting to return surprised her. He was recovering fast, more quickly than she expected. "Do you feel like eating?" The water was clear and cold and tasted as good as anything he'd ever had. Brandon drank deeply, felt like he could finish the pitcher, but instead held onto the empty glass as he leaned back. He propped himself up on one elbow, laying on his side as he answered her question. "Yes, please. Thank you." He glanced around, taking in the black stone walls and the way tiny lights seemed to shimmer in and out far back in their depths. That made him blink, but he pushed the thought away as more important things came to his attention. Such as his knapsack open on the table, his sketchbooks beside them. He sat up a bit, looking beyond her, and before he could speak she answered his question. "Your clothes have been cleaned and put away, and we've managed to acquire a few more things. I think you'll find they fit and are in keeping with what you find comfortable." Her voice was soft and lyrical, and he found himself relaxing. "I'm sorry for intruding by going through your belongings, it was important to find out who you are, and why you might be here." "Here," he began, "you said this is your home, am I remembering right?" She nodded her response as he glanced in her direction, that warm smile once again lighting up the room. "How did I get here, did you find me after..." He broke off, closing his eyes again and breathing deeply, trying not to let the panic rise up again and take control. "No, you were brought here." Telsa wasn't more specific than that. She wanted to do another healing first, and see him well fed before she began answering his questions in earnest. If he panicked too much she would have to send him to sleep, so she wanted to wait on his questions. "Let's stick with the order we established before, okay? Let me do another healing, though I'm quite impressed with how you're regaining your strength. And get you something to eat. Then we can talk some more." She sat on the edge of the bed, taking the glass from him and setting it on the table. "Lay down," she encourage him, placing her hand once again on his chest even as her mind moved out with the command that food be brought for the boy. Brandon didn't fight her, opening his eyes to watch her carefully as he lay back down in the bed. He paid attention to the movement of her hands, and briefly he thought he could see bands of colored light moving about him. He felt a warmth settle about his body as she stopped her actions, and again it seemed a rainbow of softly colored light settled about him. He wasn't sure what she did, but he had to admit he felt better, stronger. "Thank you," he said. "I bet a bunch of hospitals would love to have you on staff." He grinned and was gratified when she laughed softly. Soft footsteps drew his attention to the door and even as the girl entered the room he caught scent of the food. Sitting up he reached back and pushed his pillows up behind him, shoving himself up in the bed so that he could sit upright with his back against the pillows and the headboard. "Thank you, Anna," Telsa smiled a dismissal to the young woman, who curtseyed with easy grace and smiled at Brandon before leaving the room. Deftly flipping out the ends of the tray, she settled it over his lap and moved back to let him feed himself this time. Pulling a chair closer to the bed she sat and watched him briefly before she began to speak. "You're quite talented, I've rarely seen portraits any better than those you've done." She saw him blush at the compliment. She would keep her questions simple, let him finish eating before they moved on to the more complex issues at hand. "I notice you don't date anything, can you tell me when you drew them?" This time the bowl was filled with a thick rich stew, and Brandon almost groaned with pleasure at the first bite. Full of potatoes and carrots and chunks of tender beef, he dug in as if he hadn't eaten in days. Before answering her he swallowed and wiped his mouth with the deep blue cloth napkin that sat beside the bowl. "I started them about two months ago," he said and went on to explain further. "Each person, I'd draw all the pictures within a couple of days. Then the next about two weeks after that." He focused on the bowl again as he continued. "The last one, it was a few days before I left home, so a little over a week ago." He wanted to ask more about the man but decided her advice was good, he'd eat first. It was too good to risk wasting it by spoiling his appetite. "Can you tell me a bit about drawing them," she asked. "Did you see them someway, like in a dream?" He took another bite and shook his head, swallowing and wiping his mouth again before answering. "Not in a dream, exactly. Maybe a daydream, almost like a trance." He let his mind move back, remembering the first one of her. She was smiling in that picture, kneeling down beside the wolf. "It had been a bad day, that first time. Grandfather was mad again, as usual, preaching about end times and how worthless I was and all his usual shi.... uh... junk." He blushed, but carried on. "I was down by the river, in one my favorite spots, and my mind was wandering, trying to think of better things. I remember..." He paused, trying to find the words to explain. "I felt safe all of a sudden. My pencil had been laying on the paper but I hadn't started to draw yet. I don't even remember starting, to be honest. Just that I felt safe, and when I looked down it was half done. I knew what you looked like, how it would turn out before it was finished." His voice had softened as he spoke and his eyes were unsure as he glanced at her again. "The others came quick after that. I did the second page the next day. That last one, I...." He paused again, unsure if he should continue with the thought but feeling the need to be honest with her. "I didn't feel so safe, I felt.... well... trapped." Telsa smiled at him warmly, and her voice was gentle when she spoke. "Most people make us have a variety of emotions. Rarely is anyone simply one thing all the time. It's best to get through different experiences with someone before we judge. Most of the time." She saw the boy relax as he dug into the stew again, and it was just a short time before he dropped the spoon in the bowl and wiped his mouth again. He settled back against the head of the bed with a contented sigh. As she rose and took the tray, carrying it to the table, she picked up that vein of thought again. "Did you feel something with each portrait?" She retrieved the sketchpad and brought it back to the bed with her. Handing it to him, she looked at him curiously. "Can you remember what you felt?" Brandon reached for the sketchpad, mentally preparing himself to look at each picture and do as she asked. He flipped back, looking over her pictures first, then forward to the next. "Can you tell me who they are?" She nodded her head and sat on the bed when he held the sketchpad for them both to see. "That's Dominic," she said, pointing to the page and the man with long dark hair. "What did you feel when you drew his pictures?" He considered for a moment, then let his gut lead him. "Sympathy.... and... confusion." He looked at her to gauge her reaction. Telsa nodded slowly, tilting her head as she turned her gaze from the page to him. "Is that... is that what you felt from him... or for him?" Brandon noticed how deeply blue here eyes were, like dark sapphires. "I think..." he considered carefully. "I think both. From him, mainly... at least by the time I finished... but maybe at first it was for him, the sympathy I mean. The confusion," he shrugged. "I'm not sure." Flipping the page he saw the cowboy and the young white haired woman. This one was easier, and his voice more decisive when he spoke. "Passion and pain, I remember. It was almost like it leapt off the page at me." He looked at her again. "Is he really a gunslinger?" Telsa smiled, and nodded again. " Yes, he is. That's Jimsonweed, he's my right hand here at the Bastion, and a very long time friend. The girl is Katelyn. I've only recently met her." Brandon flipped the page and stared at the couple a bit longer before turning to the next page and another picture. "That's Charles," she told him, not elaborating and waiting for him to speak. "Confusion," he stated after a little thought, "and I think... I that was from me.... and humor, that was from him." He flipped another page and continued. "It's funny, I drew her the same day, there wasn't a break between them like the others. And I felt the same thing when drawing them both." He looked to see Telsa nodding her head, watching him, though she said nothing. The next page made him tilt his head slightly, considering carefully before he spoke. "I think.... honor.... somehow. It's what he made me think, it came from him." He laughed a little, the sound a bit sad. "I don't think honor would be anything that I'd think of myself. And this one," he pointed to the last picture on the page, "anger. And that definitely came from him, though I guess maybe I could have just thought it myself. He sure looks angry there." He paused and glanced at her again, waiting for her to speak. "That's Nicholas, and he's Dominic's cousin. I don't think they get along well." Brandon had the sense there was a lot more to be said there, but she was quiet. He almost pursued the subject. Anything to keep from turning the page again. |
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| Telsa | Nov 23 2012, 10:55 PM Post #12 |
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The boy's soft gray eyes were filled with dread, and Telsa decided not to push any further on the subject. She reached over and took the sketchbook from his hand with a soft smile. "You should rest again," she advised. "It really is the best way to get your strength back. Then soon you'll be up and around, and I'll show you the rest of my home." "I feel a lot better already," Brandon said, but he didn't argue. The questions that were foremost in his mind he wasn't sure he wanted answered, truth be told. His frown deepened as flashes of the attack danced through his mind, and he shuddered as he lay back down and reached for the soft blanket to pull over his shoulders. The words slipped out before he was aware of speaking them, and he immediately wished he could call them back. "Was I hallucinating, why did he look like... like..." Telsa had half risen from where she sat on the bed, but with deep concern she sat once again. For an instant she was quiet, touching his mind lightly and debating her choices. Ultimately the boy would have to be told the truth, and to lie now would only complicate things later. She sighed, wishing he had waited until at least the next rising before pressing for that answer. "No, Brandon, what you remember was real." She watched him closely, gauging his reaction and all the while whispering softly in his mind to reassure him. "There are many things in the world of which most people aren't aware." Her pause was brief as she considered her words. "Thorisson is a shape-shifter. A werewolf, actually, but because of his actions he was cursed with the form of the snake instead of his natural wolf form. He is hunted, by both his own people and others against who he has made threats." She hurried to reassure him again. "But you're safe here, Brandon, he can't follow you here." She didn't mention yet the threat of that changing. "Werewolf," the boy whispered, something dark in his eyes. "My Grandfather believed in all that. Werewolves and vampires and fairies and stuff." He swallowed hard, not quite able to bring himself to look her in the eye. "He said... he said that they were all of the Devil, and to bring their attention was to call Satan himself down on you." The pain, the sad and frightened young boy that haunted his voice, struck deep in her heart and lit a pit of anger in her stomach. She kept her tone carefully modulated, letting her voice whisper in his mind, seeking to lay a soft blanket of trust over those old wounds. "Your Grandfather was wrong, Brandon. They're like any other group, some good and some bad. Some selfish, some motivated by... well, by reasons that are hard for others to understand." She pressed harder in his mind and was glad to see his eyelids begin to droop as sleep overtook him. "You'll find there is much more in the world to learn about, and we'll see you safe as do that. For now, rest, get well." Telsa stayed seated until he breathing evened out, still skimming lightly across his mind. What she found in his memories made her frown deepen, her anger sharp for those who judged. Flashes of her own past, millennia gone, threatened to push into her mind and she firmly put those back in their place. She had dealt with that pain long ago, and had no use for it now. Swallowing a sigh she rose and silently made her way from the room. |
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3:24 PM Jul 11