life's like an hour glass glued to the table

Geneva Stockholm · 01-02-2011, 01:01 AM

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IT IS MAMAxBEBE TIME.
Dated Jan 15

Geneva was content to have some time to herself. It had been a while since she had enjoyed the joys of solitude. As much as she loved the constant clamor of pack life, it was nice to retreat into the recesses of her mind and reflect on her thoughts and feelings. She had been unable to do so for several weeks it seemed. She was busy from the moment she rose to greet the day to the time she laid her head down to rest. She often divided her attention between her own family, either seeking Jefferson out to share a few stolen minutes alone together, or seeking out her son. He spent more and more time by himself these days, which was natural. And giving him the space to do so came more easily to her than she thought it would.

Within the warmth of the ranch, Geneva spread out, lying on her belly on the braided rug in front of the fireplace. This room held such happy memories for her. She had spent most of her time with Jefferson here, content to be quiet and in his presence. He would often read in his rocking chair, and she would do what she was doing now. Her lime green eyes skimmed over older pages of writing. Her journal had been scarcely touched in many months, because she had her renewed subleader duties to occupy her.

She turned to a clean page and began to write in her journal. After the pack meeting, I could not stop thinking about Jordan. I am so happy with Jefferson, and I love Pripyat more than I thought I could ever love another creature. But I still wonder how life would be different if my father had never died, if Jordan had never gotten sick…and if my daughter had lived. Would she be like Pripyat at all?

Geneva pushed herself up, setting her pen aside. She rose to find another pen to use. Pens in good working condition were scarce, and she had not thought to retrieve many more from Halifax during her recent trip there. Perhaps she had a spare one in her bedroom. She padded quietly down the hall, her journal still wide open and forgotten for the moment on the braided rug.

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WC 380

Pripyat Soul · 01-02-2011, 04:09 AM

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fweee! Prip is getting so much attention cause of SSWM 503 XD .

Pripyat came and went more freely now. He did not feel restricted to the ranch, he never really had. He had felt obligated to check in, and he still did, but not as consistently as he once had. Nor did he spend as much time there. All his free time was spent wandering outside the packlands, for as far as he felt comfortable before he turned around and came home. Sometimes he slept in the lighthouse now, rather than at the ranch. Jefferson nor Mother had remarked upon this, but he knew they had noticed. However he always returned to them, always would, and he knew they knew this. That was perhaps was allowed such freedom for the boy, and he was content to have it so.

Ever since talking with Jefferson about his half siblings, and shifting, he felt better. Relieved almost. Miriette still made him uncomfortable and he was not eager to meet any of the others, but Addison's company was enjoyable and none of their existences could be denied. Nor did he want to, he simply didn't want to have to think of them always. It wasn't hard, he found that after their first meeting his path with Miriette's crossed rarely. And now that he could shift, he felt less laughable, more secure in himself. He spent most his time on two legs now, proud that he was able to do so.

It was in this form he entered the ranch, with no reason in particular. Pripyat found that after exploring outside the pack he was glad to come back to the ranch, to find his father reading and his mother sitting in the same room and he would join them, sitting there in silence. They didn't need to talk, they never had really. When he was younger it had been him who did most the talking between the three of them, a question for Mother or for Jefferson, and now he was content to just be with them. They were fine as they were, they didn't need to fill in silence with useless words.

However when he came into the room that they so often sat together he found neither his mother or father but only a roaring fire and an open book. Geneva had taught him to read, and though he struggled still with large words he had been reading since a young age. Naturally he picked up the book, found the writing to be that of his mother's , became intrigued and read. Ears fell back as the words came off the page and tore tiny holes into the peace he had made with himself and his place with his family. All at once he was hit with too many emotions, guilt for reading something not meant for his eyes, betrayal at Geneva for what he didn't know, anxiety and some sort of longing. Unable to help himself he held book, reading and rereading the passage, trying to steady his breathing and his thoughts all at once.

Geneva Stockholm · 01-02-2011, 04:31 AM

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IT IS MAMAxBEBE TIME.

Geneva did not spend very long rustling about in the room where she kept her things. Most of the time, she slept with Jefferson in their shared bedroom. However, she still retained ownership of the room she had occupied upon first taking up residence in the ranch. When she had first lived here, it had been before their mate ship. Now it just seemed more natural to be at Jefferson’s side; there was some solace in it, and it felt like a sanctuary to her.

The thin, lithe woman crept back into the common area, not paying particular attention on her way. Her mind was occupied with nonsensical musings that shifted until her thoughts launched themselves into other tangents, what ifs colliding with the realities of her life. Jordan and Shae often crossed her mind, but she did not speak of them. She let the dead lie still in their graves, but their memories continued to live on in the quiet quarters of heart.

The Savant was surprised and pleased to see Pripyat sitting in the middle of the floor. She had not seen him as much as she used to, because he had finally grown to the point where he was making discoveries for himself. This was part of the process of him growing up, and she was able to accept it with more grace than she had anticipated. Her blue eyed boy always returned home to her eventually, and that was all that she could ask of him.

”It is good to see you, love,” she said, her voice warm as she continued to approach him. At a closer glance, she noticed that he was clutching her journal tightly. His fingers were tense where they gripped the small book. Geneva searched his expression and looked concerned. He had never before read her journal, the haven for her private thoughts, but she had never expressly told him not to. She was more concerned now with why that look was on his face. ”Pripyat, what’s wrong?”

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WC 336

Pripyat Soul · 01-02-2011, 02:23 PM

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535.

Pripyat heard the footsteps in the hall and knew he could fling the book aside. Across the room, under Jefferson's chair, into the fireplace. Anywhere but in his hands. However Mother would know either way and Pripyat had no real desire to hide his actions from her. Instead he only gripped the book tighter, and he gripped it tighter still when his mother's voice reached his ears. It's good to see you, love. His fingers seemed to be clutching the book so tight they hurt, but he did not return her greeting and couldn't even look up at her just then. Yet he couldn't ignore her forever and as she didn't deserve it. Looking up his ocean eyes caught the lime of her's, but his voice failed him just then.

Pripyat took a deep breath, trying to sort out what he would say. That she had had a life before him, and even before Jefferson, was a given. Certainly she had not always resided here and known his father, but he had never wondered about her life before. Or Jefferson's. It had never occurred to him to ask, and so happy the three of them had suddenly become in the present that the past wasn't discussed. Yet as more ghosts from Jefferson's past came back to them Pripyat was slowly coming to accept them. Addison had been easy, she was kind and he had met her when he was younger. She played with him and he had heard bits and pieces of her existence before. Miriette and the others were harder, but acceptable. They weren't going to go away. His father had a past and he did his best to deal with that, to ignore it or accept it as the situation warranted. He was doing okay. He could share Jefferson with the others, he already had to share him with all of Phoenix Valley. Pripyat knew better than to be selfish when it came to his father. His mother was a different story altogether.

Geneva was his. Had always been his. And he had been her only child, or so he thought. The slate colored boy liked it that way. It was comfortable, it was safe, it was special. And none of it was really true. She had had a daughter? What had happened to the child? How old would she be now? And if that child had lived, would Pripyat even exist now? If Geneva had her daughter who knew how the past might have played out, but the ghost of his sister seemed to threaten his existence now and his relationship with his mother. It was silly, he knew, to be so upset by something that had already happened, but he couldn't help himself. It had happened and their lives were still their lives, nothing really changed. Except that he knew about it now. And why hadn't he known before?

Setting down her journal gently, his fingers relaxed their grip and he pulled his hands into his lap as his hands sought out on another to wring. He couldn't bring himself to be angry, but neither could he hide the hurt in his voice when he finally did speak. "Who is Jordan?"

Geneva Stockholm · 01-02-2011, 06:43 PM

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Geneva’s breath died in her lungs when her blue eyed boy uttered that two syllabled name. When she whispered it to herself, or let it ring within the recesses of her heart, it seemed more bearable to hear. For these last two years, Jordan had been dead, and now his body was dust. She did not speak of him here, did not let his memory be rekindled to life within this mortal coil. She had only done so a few times before, and the sense of sadness that followed the mention of his name was enough to teach her to lock him away within her heart and let him stay there.

First, when Jordan’s memory had invaded in Crimson Dreams, she had felt shame for the feelings that she had developed for Anu. She never knew where that path could have led her, but she knew beyond a doubt that those feelings were gone, latent in her bones. She had moved on from that part of her life, a time she could not truly understand. At that time, she had considered her heart treacherous for even considering straying from Jordan, even though he had already been deceased at that time.

And then more recently, Jefferson had accused her of loving her life here less because she missed Jordan. She supposed that she always would. Jordan had been a distinctive presence in her life. Besides her father’s face, Jordan’s was the first that she could recall with stark, startling detail through the eyes of her childhood. She had been weak and frail as a child, kept indoors because she was so small. Alethia, her sister, had been the one amongst her siblings who had spent the most time with her. But Jordan Saer had been a constant in her life; when she had been young, it seemed that the sun rose and set with him. And when she had come to the age of majority, she had scarcely expected someone so wonderful to want her, but he had. And she had poured all her untried love and adoration and her innocence into him, like a worshipper blinded by the majestic, indistinguishable face of God. He had filled those first few months of her life with wonder, and at that time she had not even conceived of a life without him. He had been her fixture, her rock, the individual who always stayed at her side when she was too weak or afraid to take on the world. He had been her safe place, her sanctuary, and after he had died she had been set adrift into a world she scarcely understood without him.

”Jordan was my mate,” Geneva said evenly, her face a mask. Usually, she did not speak in such a way to Pripyat, but she was caught off guard. It had been easier to think of Jordan and to speak about him from time to time, but her love for him was always met with mistrust. ”Jordan is part of my life; he is an intimate part of my history. He was my rock when I was a child, and he earned my love and trust as I grew. He took care of me when I was not able to do that for myself.”

She did not know if she could expect for Pripyat to understand, but she had not expected for him to feel this way once the truth finally came out. Her own son, her beautiful blue eyed boy, was unreadable to her in a way. And for a startling moment, she felt that perhaps she could not reach him. They were inexplicably bonded, tied together by their mutual love and affection. But now she could see him as less a part of herself, and more as an individual with his own feelings and reasoning. With every breath they took, with every tick of the clock, they could be drifting further away from one another. This was another of her fears, but she knew that beneath this sudden tenseness, that this situation could be healthy for the both of them. Despite his seemingly negative reaction, she knew Pripyat to be a kind, patient, and intelligent creature. Whatever he was feeling now, she did not know if it would last. But she hoped that he would be willing to listen.

She sat beside him on the floor and gently took his hand in hers. She had yet to really investigate his new bipedal shape. He was thin and lithe, as she was, but she could see a hint of his father’s build. He had already surpassed her in height, but she still retained a sense of his smallness. He did not have very much life experience yet, and perhaps that was partially her fault for holding on to him so tightly, but she could not deny that he was growing. She would have to treat him differently; their relationship would have to evolve as he abandoned the trappings of his childhood. Her love for him would always remain, but she knew that it would change from this day forward. He was growing up.

”Pripyat, I love you very much, but you must realize that I will not be sorry for the fact that I had relationships before I came here. And you may not like it, but you’ll have to tolerate the fact that I have had my reasons for not telling you things about the past, because I have been more concerned with getting you to a point where we could talk about it, and getting myself to a point where I could talk about it without aching so much.” She let go of his hand and let her own hands slide into her lap. Her fingers were slightly curled, her brow furrowed, and her shoulder slumped as she looked at him. She had not expected to be confronted by anyone about this, least of all her son. She felt blindsided. Of all the creatures on God’s green earth, she had the least amount of defenses when it came to her son. It was just natural for her to let him in. ”Ask any other questions you have,” she said tiredly, her lime green eyes shut for a moment before she opened them to regard her only child.

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WC 1053

Pripyat Soul · 01-03-2011, 03:43 PM

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824.

The boy barely realized it but he had been holding his breath, waiting for his mother's answer. When she spoke her voice sounded unfamiliar and distant, and the tone made him squirm in discomfort more than the words did. The words however hit him like a ton of bricks, and although he attempted to take a breath in he felt a heavy weight against his chest. Why couldn't he breathe and why did he suddenly feel like he had to run from her, his mother? Yet he couldn't do that, he was transfixed on the spot, his ears buzzed and his vision was going blurry before Geneva's voice cut in again. Pulling himself out of the haze he forced air into his lungs as she continued, but her words were fuzzy and made little sense just then.

Jordan is part of my life. It was this sentence that he focused on. Is? Is?!? Not was, but is? Why is? Wasn't he dead? Wasn't he gone? Wasn't Jefferson her mate? Jefferson and him were part of her life, not Jordan. Not some other child. If Pripyat knew that his insecurities were much the same as his father's at one point he wouldn't have felt so lost just then, but his father wasn't there. It was only he and his mother. But she wasn't just his mother, she was someone else's mother too. Someone dead, and if Jordan still was part of Geneva's life, than perhaps the dead daughter was at as well. And Pripyat didn't know how he felt about sharing his mother with a ghost, although from the lack of oxygen and the overwhelming pressure he felt upon his lungs just then he didn’t think that this knowledge was a good thing. Not at all.

The buzzing in his ears did not cease until finally Geneva lowered herself beside him and took up his hand. For a while they sat as Geneva examined his hand, and his ocean eyes turned dully towards the interlocked fingers, not really seeing them. Nothing had ever come between him and Geneva before, nothing had ever made him feel apart from her. Even when he was out and about, she was the glue that cemented him to Phoenix Valley. Of course he had come to love and respect Jefferson, and the desire to please and win the respect of his father grew daily, but it was his mother that made Raven Beacon his mother, and then the ranch, and all of Phoenix Valley. Without her he was lost, and despite that she was there beside him her fingers in his, he felt lost just then.

Her words came over him like an ice bath, pulling him from his cloud of confusion and ache. Of course she loved him very much, he knew that, even still with the lingering threat of another child and lover. His eyes slid shut, eyes that matched neither her's nor his father's and he tried to focus on that. She loved him, she loved him, she loved him. That should have been enough. And yet, why did he still feel so miserable? Pripyat didn't want to feel this way, didn't want to be jealous or hurt or confused, it was simply how the knowledge was being processed and maybe it would have been better if he had never read the damned journal in the first place.

"I don't want you to be sorry." Finally the words came to him as he opened his eyes, meeting his mother's gaze once more. Even if he felt miserable about the situation he didn't want her to. Didn't want her to feel bad about how he was reacting, and he didn't even want her to ache for Jordan anymore, not because he was jealous but because any unhappiness of his mother's was unhappiness to him. Still he couldn’t bring himself to say more and he squeezed her fingers gently, hoping that he could communicate better through that than he could with words right now. He could tell her not to worry, it wasn't a big deal, it was okay if she had Jordan and the other being, but those words wouldn't come, and he couldn't force them.

For a long while he sat there, not saying a word, clutching his mother's hand. Geneva had opened the floor to questions, any other questions he had, but there were too many and none at all at the same time. What did any of it matter really? He should just stand up and walk away, try and forget it, pretend it didn't matter. Maybe he shouldn't know anymore than he already did. Yet he could never just walk away from Geneva and if he didn't ask now he might never ask. And he would want to know one day. "What was her name?" What was his sister's name? That was a good place to start, or as good as any he supposed.

Geneva Stockholm · 01-05-2011, 08:39 PM

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Geneva was at a loss for words. But that did not seem to matter, because her son, who had been the veritable center of her universe since the moment she had known he existed, also sat in silence. It seemed that this was so much for her blue eyed boy to absorb. She had never experienced Pripyat in such a way before, and this situation was hard for her to understand in some ways. She could not admonish him for having his own feelings.

Pripyat was coming into his own, developing the tools that both his parents had strived to provide him. She should be proud now, seeing that her son had developed his own autonomy. He questioned things; he learned, and he seemed to be learning now that sometimes ignorance was far less painless. The gray scale lady just felt hollowed out. How could she explain to Pripyat the deep, dark chasm of loss that loomed within certain parts of her life experience? He had never experienced such loss, and Geneva hoped that he would never have to. She would not wish that upon anyone, let alone the child she had striven to protect and shield from any negativity. When he had been a child, Geneva had tried to keep him cloistered and protected from every dark thing in the outside world. But now that he was older, those boundaries that she had set up to cocoon him were rendered meaningless. And she realized that this was a good thing, but now she had no control, and she could not navigate this situation in a way where she could be certain that neither of them would be hurt afterward.

”Her name was Shae,” Geneva said shortly. Of all the questions her son could possibly ask, it seemed strange that he would ask for his dead sister’s name. She had named her despite the fact that her daughter had not survived her first day of life. Perhaps names gave things meaning, creatures meaning, although Shae had scarcely had time to breathe in the atmosphere of the cruel world that had taken her away from a mother who had wanted her more than she had wanted to live. After her daughter’s death, she had not felt that she could go on. Some unnamed part of her had decided to push forward after that, and that was when she had collapsed in Crimson Dreams, still covered in the afterbirth from her failed litter.

But she did not want her son to know the depth of the sorrow that surrounded his sister’s death. Even Geneva had found the desire to cease being disturbing after she had had time to analyze it. She had had to find new meaning in life, and she had found it time and time again with Pripyat. If only he knew how much he meant to his mother, but words failed her at this part. There was no way to express how much she loved her child.

”Your sister lived less than a day. Her eyes never opened; she was very small,” Geneva did not know what else she could tell him about his sister. ”She was the only one to survive from her litter,” Geneva said. She did not know if it had been because her miniscule size or because of the stress of dealing with Jordan and her father’s deaths, but her body had not been able to sustain the lives of her unborn children. There were chilling parallels between Shae and Pripyat. ”Like you, she was the only child born to me. Her father’s eyes closed before hers even had the chance to open.” There was so much sorrow in those words. Life could be cruel; the cold realities that descended upon her sometimes startled her, but she had pulled through to better times.

”I do love her, Pripyat, even though I never truly knew her. How could I not love my own child? It worked the same way with you. I wish I could tell you…for so much time I loved you, and never knew your face, or your name, or what you would be like, but I loved you.” Geneva did not know if she could explain the undefinable love of a parent for a child to Pripyat. Although he was growing into an adult, he was still a child in so many ways. How could she explain the mystery and the muscle of love to her blue eyed boy? He had never known a life without love, and therefore could not consider the magnitude of such a force that moved her.

”Can you understand, Pripyat?” she asked her son helplessly, her lime green eyes searching his oceanic gaze. She gazed at his beseechingly. She did not want this to cause a rift to form between them, although it probably would. She knew that Pripyat needed his own time to sort through his feelings, but it wounded part of her to know that she could hurt her son, even inadvertently. And at the same time, she was so sick of hurting herself by keeping this inside of her. Jordan and Shae were parts of her history. Their lives had touched her own, and formed her into the creature she was today. It seemed sacrilegious to deny their existence, to whisper their names instead of speaking them openly. The gray scale lady had some healing of her own to do.

She was at a loss. It seemed that the gray colored pair had reached at dead end. Each of them had to consider the contents of their own hearts before they could make sense of any of this. Geneva could accept this, and knew that they would both need time. But there was a desperate part of her that just wanted to lay this to rest now. She had already lost so much time with loved ones within her own lifetime. It killed her to think that she would be robbed of more time with the child she loved with the entirety of her heart.

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Pripyat Soul · 01-10-2011, 09:19 PM

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SSWM: 640 .

Her answer came as easily as she had given him the other answer. Shae. Shae and Jordan. His mother seemed to have less trouble talking about the two of them than Pripyat had in hearing about them, but that was natural he supposed. This was the first time he heard about either of them, he hadn’t been prepared. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t practiced for this. Geneva at least had practice. Talking about them to others, or in the very least thinking about them. Sorting her feelings out beforehand. Pripyat hadn’t any time to sort out anything, it was all suddenly in his lap and he didn’t know what to say or think or do, and for the most part he did nothing. His ears flicked a bit, catching his mother’s words as his mind tried to make sense of them, but he did not speak before he had sufficient time to compose his words.

Although he had only asked for her name, Pripyat was presented with a whole slew of information for his heart and mind to work out. Shae had only lived a day. A day was nothing. How many days had Pripyat lived? More than one, many more than one. More than he could count or cared to count. And Shae hadn’t even gotten one whole day. At this information Pripyat felt sorry, felt guilty for his jealous feelings over a sibling who had never even gotten half a chance at life. And then, he felt sorrier still. Shae wasn’t the only being who had never gotten a chance, Geneva’s word had made him realize something he hadn’t really thought of before. There were others in that litter, in his litter. Other puppies who must have come out were already dead, and only one each time was still living. Did Geneva love them too?

More words, asking him to understand. Trying to make him understand. And he tried. Pripyat once more closed his eyes and tried to imagine his mother as he had never seen her, large and pregnant, carrying him or Shae it didn’t matter. Yet that was part of her life he couldn’t share in. Not now. Maybe one day, Jefferson and her would try again. Maybe one day he could see her full of life, not just her own but other’s, and he could look at her and feel love for his unborn siblings. That was a far off day, if ever, and the only image Pripyat could muster when he tried to picture it was dead puppies, and one wiggling live one, him or Shae. Him or Shae it didn’t matter.

Looking once more into the lime eyes of his mother, he sighed helplessly. There were no more questions, she had told him more than he had even asked. One could not unlearn knowledge once it has been entered into their conscious mind, a sad fact of life for the boy just then. How much more information he could take, he didn’t know, nor want to try and find out. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t forget what he knew now, and he knew that when he left Geneva her voice would stay with him, recalling the ideas and images of wolves long dead that weren’t part of his life but part of his mother’s.

"I’m sorry." It was all he could say just then. Sorry he couldn’t understand, sorry that he couldn’t say more. Sorry that he was making her feel bad because he felt bad. Sorry that any of them had to feel bad over something that shouldn’t matter anymore. But it did matter. It mattered to her, because she still thought about it, and it matter to him now too. He would have to think about it. "I’m sorry mom. I’m going to have to think about this."

Geneva Stockholm · 02-07-2011, 12:26 PM

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Geneva could not help feeling like her heart was breaking in a sense. In a completely intangible way, she was losing a connection to her son. She knew that they would grow apart. It was a natural process, but this situation definitely cut deep. She could almost feel the ties severed as they became more emotionally distant. She knew that their bond was strong enough to withstand this, but it still hurt to know that they might never be as close as they used to be, because Pripyat was becoming his own entity by distinguishing himself from his parents, and exploring his own feelings.

"It is okay, Pripyat. I understand." Her words were hushed as she looked steadily into his face. Her lime green eyes sought the oceanic blue of his own. He had his grandfather's eyes, Geneva realized as she looked into her son's eyes. They so closely resembled eyes she had looked into with complete trust as a child. And now she found herself several years later, as she met blue eyes, this time trust strained between them.

"I love you," she said. She needed him to know that. She was certain that Pripyat knew that she did, but she wanted him to hear it, again and again. She wanted him to know that at this moment, there was nothing no one could ever do to diminish her love for him. And she hoped that he would grow to understand. But time would tell, and all she could do was wait for him to come to her again, when he was ready.

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Pripyat Soul · 03-03-2011, 09:38 PM

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Ah. sorry for the wait. Last post! Great thread Gwen <3 A new one when you feel up to it?

His ears fell flat at her kind words. Always so understandings. So loving. Part of him wished that she might once say an unkind word just then, so that the resent toward her he had might have some grounding. Some reason. But it didn't and that just made him guilty. Guilty and angry and sad and empty and so many other emotions swarming him that he couldn't stand it when she said she loved him. Of course she did. She loved him and always would and maybe he didn't deserve it because he was so selfish and insecure that he couldn't share that love with the dead ghost child from a life before he had even existed. Ocean eyes stared up at the lime ones and he swallowed hard, not wanting to say the words out loud.

"I love you too Mom." It came automatically. It was a conditioned response, and even though he really meant it, his words seemed forced and empty as he turned from her. Four sets of nails clicking on the wooden floor signaled his exit as he averted his eyes, staring at his own feet as he found his way out of the room and away from his mother.

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