04-16-2011, 02:02 PM
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HIDE YOUR INNOCENCE BEFORE THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH
And I'm sorry for MY wait. wc: 311
With amusement written all across her features, the strange lady repeated his name in a funny way and then introduced herself as Tlantli, a mouthful of consonants the boy could doubtfully reproduce. “What’s musik?” he asked, staring wide-eyed at the trinkets on her wrist when they created that delightful clink sound again. How did they do that? Yet Tlantli was full of questions of her own, and the hybrid pup answered eagerly.
“I’s from New Brunswick!” The previous moment’s uncertainty was now gone, replaced once more by some his youthful pride. He had been born in the cult pack that many of Anathema’s founding members had fled from. Jackson himself had only experienced two months of peace there, most of which he couldn’t remember, before the ever-suspicious Tribunal turned his world upside down. His father first fled with one of his sisters, and a month went by before a friend of his father’s brought Jackson here to reunite with them. Esmeralda was still missing, but the hopeful boy just knew she would be here any day now. Perhaps the boy’s pride had more to do with being able to answer this lady’s question, rather than being fond of his turbulent origins.
The woman rambled on again in her strange accent, and the boy took a moment to try to decipher her words. He had no idea what a “madre y padre” was, but “parans” he could figure out. Parents. He nodded, though she likely wouldn’t notice as she examined the cave wall once again, and he dropped himself unceremoniously into a sitting position, still guarding over his precious stick. “Papa lives here wit me an’ Agony.” He pawed briefly at his stick. “Mama’s dead.” The words were delivered matter-of-factly, but his feelings were betrayed by the touch of sadness that flashed to his features, a rare thing for the rambunctious boy.
With amusement written all across her features, the strange lady repeated his name in a funny way and then introduced herself as Tlantli, a mouthful of consonants the boy could doubtfully reproduce. “What’s musik?” he asked, staring wide-eyed at the trinkets on her wrist when they created that delightful clink sound again. How did they do that? Yet Tlantli was full of questions of her own, and the hybrid pup answered eagerly.
“I’s from New Brunswick!” The previous moment’s uncertainty was now gone, replaced once more by some his youthful pride. He had been born in the cult pack that many of Anathema’s founding members had fled from. Jackson himself had only experienced two months of peace there, most of which he couldn’t remember, before the ever-suspicious Tribunal turned his world upside down. His father first fled with one of his sisters, and a month went by before a friend of his father’s brought Jackson here to reunite with them. Esmeralda was still missing, but the hopeful boy just knew she would be here any day now. Perhaps the boy’s pride had more to do with being able to answer this lady’s question, rather than being fond of his turbulent origins.
The woman rambled on again in her strange accent, and the boy took a moment to try to decipher her words. He had no idea what a “madre y padre” was, but “parans” he could figure out. Parents. He nodded, though she likely wouldn’t notice as she examined the cave wall once again, and he dropped himself unceremoniously into a sitting position, still guarding over his precious stick. “Papa lives here wit me an’ Agony.” He pawed briefly at his stick. “Mama’s dead.” The words were delivered matter-of-factly, but his feelings were betrayed by the touch of sadness that flashed to his features, a rare thing for the rambunctious boy.
YOU MUSTN'T DISAPPOINT THEM