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She loved the way the sun could shine through the snow as it fell, casting miniature prisms momentarily before the snowflakes twisted, turned, and tumbled to the earth below. Perhaps that was why her lime green eyes watched the endless stretch of sky instead of the world at her feet. It kind of made her entire trip pointless, but there was something in the air that made her feel light-hearted and lifted concern from her mind. It was a relief to feel this way after so long. The last few days hadn't been pleasant. The nights accompanying those days had been far worse. She had lain awake, her mind churning with black thoughts.
She walked in her bipedal form, her eyes returning to the lay of the land. She slipped a hand to the leather satchel that rested at her hip, rummaging through it. She withdrew and unfurled a large sheet of paper. She had begun to make markings on it, tracing lines to indicate land masses, bodies of water.
She had decided to venture out of Crimson Dreams to continue her ongoing project. She really had fallen behind in it. She had been in these lands for a good amount of time now, but had next to no idea how to get around still. Geneva had been content to stay close within Crimson Dreams, but as her responsibilities grew, so did her need for new information, which brought her here now.
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The world had fallen down around him. Iskata, one of his dearest comrades, had been attacked by a bear, blinded, and traumatized to a new and unwanted demeanor; she was no longer the creature he'd know, the woman he'd looked up to as both a relative and a leader. He'd enjoyed her company once. Now, he could hardly stand it. His best efforts had been proven worthless to cheer her up. She was changed forever, and he couldn't control a second of it. DaVinci was depressed, difficult to talk to since he'd realized the love of his life was too far away. Deuce, the only leader left, had thrown him into Iskata's leader position, forcing Jefferson to unwillingly serve as Patriarch, and then shortly thereafter departed the back. He was the last one standing to run Phoenix Valley, and he was only standing on three legs. Jefferson had never wanted to lead anything. On the side of optimism, however, he supposed at least Lucifer was out of his hair, hopefully for good.
He wanted to be left alone. Jefferson didn't want to lead, didn't want to bother with the idiots in his pack. A few months ago, he'd just been a shadow somewhere low in the ranks, and there he had preferred to be. Tyrone had wanted to speak to him lately, concerned about his father and his grandmother, but the gimp had refused him. Jefferson didn't want to hear about DaVinci and Ryan, didn't want to hear about Iskata and her antisocial behavior in the cabin, didn't want to hear about the pity he was getting from his members and from the other packs for being stuck as the lone leader. He'd been hiding in the barn and neighboring cottage for days, refusing to see anyone.
But he'd taken a walk that day, having shifted to his two-legged form to avoid the extra frustration of his limp and slowness. He needed fresh air, and he was well aware of it. The beast had decided to heal from his frustrations as long as he wanted to--he was in charge now, after all, who could demand anything of him now?--and he was doing so. Someone else could bother with newcomers at the borders. If they wanted him, they could come find him, and he would at that point shoo them away. It was all a dignified system, at that point. So when he saw a stranger near their borders, doodling and staring at their lands and skies like they were in a museum, his brows furrowed and his lips tightened into an enraged scowl. He stood before her, then, green eye piercing the wind as it glared shamelessly at her.
"Leave," was all he said.
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Lime green eyes snapped to the form of a bipedal male. Her eyes washed over him, starting from the bottom before resting on his face. The details of his body were ten times more distracting than the new landscapes and scenery surrounding them. Strange, unfamiliar, everything about him screamed of an untold story. A history lay written across his body in the script of scars. Geneva couldn't even begin to guess his life story, except that it had been a hard one.
Her eyes lingered on his face, although she studiously avoided the single emerald eye that blazed at her framed by his formidable scowl. She wasn't here to pose a challenge, and she certainly wasn't a perceivable threat in the slightest. She was a small wolfess, having attained the majority of her growth at a time she had been particularly ill. She had always been thin, and she was undersized, full grown at the size of an adolescent wolf. She had met a coyote in Crimson Dreams, and they had been more or less the same build, although Geneva had been just a smidge taller.
The wolf before her bore a proud gait, although she expected that he wasn't at all conscious of it. He came on strong, but he seemed thin and looked rather worn. His energy was at odds with his damaged frame. She found that infinitely interesting. What could his story possibly be?
She let her hands arms hand loosely at her sides, one hand with fingers splayed loosely. Her tail lowered and her ears flicked black slightly. But this wasn't a show of being intimidated. Instead it was a show of submission as she made a choice to not mark herself as a threat to this male. But despite his request - no, his order - she stood her ground.
"Why?" The word came out soft as falling snow, with the gentle tone of hummingbird's wings. It wasn't a challenge, but something half way between a request and invitation.
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He was the guardian, she was the intruder, in his eyes. He'd lost all tolerance for that, for intruders, for strangers barging onto their lands to visit Iskata. They'd visit her and steal away some of her inspiration for life, bother her, make her frustrated. The brute was trying not to care anymore, trying to force that sense of apathy he'd once had that had controlled everything he'd down. The concept now was so difficult, so impossible to him that he could only muse about how apathetic, how indifferent he'd once been. It was because Jefferson had been a killer. He'd killed, he'd committed crimes, he'd hated the world. Then he'd stumbled into Phoenix Valley and learned how to have emotions again, how to put aside sarcasm when it wasn't appropriate. He'd been reshaped, somehow.
The cyclops might have given anything to go back.
"Because I don't want you here," he barked in his deepest, darkest voice. The brute's patience was already running thin. No, she posed no threat. She looked completely harmless; innocent, almost, and he envied her for that. Perhaps she didn't know he was dangerous, somewhere within. It was stifled at its surface, but a monster still lurked within somewhere. The pack and the lands were beautiful and picturesque, and he was the piss stain that ruined it all. He knew. "Leave," he repeated gruffly, eye thinning and single claw forming a fist at his side. The shoulder that held the sling and arm tensed, but could do nothing more. Jefferson could only fake that he was intimidating enough to shoo away intruders, but with his scars and unusable arm, well...
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There was only one reason that Geneva hadn't turned tail and walked at a fast clip away from the male. And that reason was becoming painstakingly obvious. Geneva had a deathwish, plain and simple. At least, that was the only explanation she could think of for the reason she was still standing there stupidly. It certainly wasn't because she was brave. She felt anything but brave with her heart hammering a nervous rhythm in her chest. She just hoped it wasn't too obvious on her face, but it probably was. She couldn't hide anything.
It was obvious the one-eyed male wanted her gone. And more than that, it seemed as though he never wanted to lay eye on anyone again. That concerned Geneva, but she couldn't figure out why. Perhaps it was because she remembered feeling the same way, although she had never acted out agressively to isolate herself. She had been so unhappy and she hadn't even known it. She had thought it was the glory of solitude that called to her, but that hadn't been the case at all. Her isolation had hidden aspects of her personality she hadn't even known about at all.
She leveled her eyes with his face, taking in that glowering green eye. It was a spot of beauty within his scarred face. He had tightened his hand into a fist. She read the tension in his body and her heart speeded up to double time. But still, she was rooted to the spot by some insane fit of determination.
No man could be an island, no matter how hard he tried.
"It seems to me like you don't want anyone to be around," she said softly.
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Jefferson is kind of depressed. >_>
Why wasn't she gone yet? He could see the fear in her eyes, in her bright, innocent green eyes, and he felt the guilt, but he could not stop. He was at wit's end with life; he wanted to hide away, sleep for days, start over. Before he was anywhere near the lands he stood on now, he'd attempted suicide a couple times, considered it plenty more, succeeded not once. Her green eyes were nothing like his. She hadn't seen the things he had, gore and bloodshed, tragedy in the eyes of children. There was still a spark within her eyes, though it was flooded with the fear she harbored of him, but it was there. Jefferson wondered where his had been, had gone. He wondered if he'd ever had a spark at all.
He stepped a few paces closer to her, at which point it became increasingly obvious that he towered over her in height. Standing immediately over her, he bent at his waist a little and pointed his bitter green eye into hers. Breathing down on her a long moment, he spoke suddenly, in a caustically grim tone: "That's right," he hissed, hot breath blown onto her face. "I want all of you to just disappear." There was a brief moment longer spent glaring at her one-eyed, before he stepped back, scowled, and spun on his heel. "Now get off my lands," he grunted, starting away.
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Geneva is sort of retarded & can't take a hint. ♥
Her heart pounded out a primal rhthym as her fight or flight instincts warred with one another. He loomed over her, and for a moment she felt as though he eclipsed the sun. He seemed larger than life, and the fire burning in that single green eye was electric. She felt her pulse pounding against her throat as his hot breath swept over her face. But still she stood, rooted to the ground. Although she was not sure if it was determination or fear that kept her there. They warred within her head.
His words shook her, but also confirmed her suspicions. Despite that angry tone, she pictured a void, a long, wide yawning chasm where there should have been light within him. Where had it gone? Or maybe she was just overreacting. It wouldn't be the first time.
She couldn't put a name to it anymore, but there was something that kept her from running away. As he turned, she tighened her jaw and swallowed. Keeping a good grip on the rolled up map in one of her hands, she walked slowly at first, but then sped up as her deliberation grew.
Before she knew what she was doing, she was nearly walking side-by-side with the angry male. What on earth was she doing?! She swallowed a hard lump in her throat, but continued resolutely until she was by his side. "Your reasons aren't good enough," she whispered harshly, her naturally soft voice raw with her nervousness and her underlying determination.
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He froze in place when she spoke again, the fury deep within building. He was all too familiar with that fury, and he didn't need it bubbling up now. It was disastrous... it was his enemy. It was the thing he knew best. The cyclops's fist tightened and he gritted his teeth. Jefferson yearned to just be left alone to try to think things through, to figure out what to do next, to sit and muse his frustrations and miseries over. He could pull a Laruku or an Iskata very easily. He had just not wanted to before. He hadn't been so alone then, when he tried to talk them out of their depressions. He hadn't been depressed when he was a loner, months ago, he had just been angry. Jefferson was alone now, and he was angry again. He was angry, frustrated, pissed, disgusted. Unwilling. Alone!
"I am the leader on this land," growled his voice from the depths of his throat, dripping with caustic disgust and hatred. He wanted to be left alone. "This is my land, you are my intruder." He began to hiss through his teeth, now pointing his blaring eye at her over his shoulder. "I don't know what you want from me. A comedy routine? Should I start telling jokes? A musical number, maybe?" He turned somewhat, thinning his eye at her. "Or should I attack? Show my teeth? Get off my goddamn land!"
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"Do something!" she said harshly, raising her voice. She'd almost screeched the last part, fright making her edgy. She blinked and snapped her mouth shut, surprised at herself. She never, ever raised her voice to anyone or anything. A chronic wallflower, she usually preferred to fade into the background. Instead she'd brought herself front stage and center to the one-eyed man's fury. There was no graceful way out of this one. No way out, period.
She swallowed hard, but squared her shoulders. Although she hadn't given her actions much thought, she'd committed one hundred percent to her decisions. Since she was going to hell, she may was well go all the way. Her diminished height didn't help things much, and she'd definitely have a crick in her neck later (if the male didn't tear her to pieces), but she looked right up into his furious face resolutely.
"Do something," she repeated, but this time her voice was low, steady. "Anything you could do to me couldn't be even half as bad as what you're doing to yourself." He probably wouldn't like that she was attempting to read him. He'd probably say she was making inappropriate assumptions, that she had no place to make such claims. But she saw the fury all over him, a negative energy written in his every tense muscle which hinted at a destructive force. She didn't know this man from Adam, but she'd seen this before. She couldn't let it happen. Not without trying to stop it.
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She was a challenge, still the invader she was before, but slowly progressing into something more interesting than such. He didn't understand her, why the fear in her eyes was so great and the tremor in her voice so unconsciously heartbreaking to the one-eyed monster, while her voice tossed stimulating words into the air just begging for him to rip her to shreds. This grayscale girl was crying out inside to run, to scream and escape from the monstrosity of a leadership figure that stood before her, yet forced some sort of trembling audacity and stood her ground against him. The scientist was always smarter than his horrific, disfigured creation, but the monster's strength was always too overwhelming for the master. The temper and mind was such an easy thing to break. "Do something," she screamed at him. Twice. He couldn't hurt her, she said, because he was killing himself first. Do something, she'd told him. His heart pounded suddenly. He broke. Jefferson shattered.
"Shut the hell up!" He cried, whipping his arm out in a frustrated display of his lack of control. He did not strike her--no, he could not do that--but held his hand up in the air, beaten and scarred fingers grasping at the air with white talons stressfully extended. Jefferson's single green eye jumped out at her, nearly glowing a neon-like color in his sudden painful aggression. "I know what I'm goddamn doing and I don't need anyone's fucking help with this pack! All you fucking idiots need to leave me the hell alone!!" He gritted his teeth suddenly, clamping his trap shut and immediately covering his face with his hand. The monstrosity took a moment just to breathe, to slow his heartbeat, to allow the throbbing pain in his head and useless arm to settle somewhat. After a long pause, he began to shake his head and hissed a few more words from his teeth. "I don't even know who the hell you are," he muttered.
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300+
Geneva flinched as the one-eyed man turned on her, raising a hand as if to strike. She braced herself for the impact of the blow, her ears pressing down tightly against her head and her shoulders rounding. She still kept her hands down, though she held them tightly at her sides. Her lime green eyes remained wide open and trained on him as before, despite how her body readied itself for his strike. His reaction hadn't been unexpected. She had practically invited him to attack her in retaliation for her words. Her mind knew this and she accepted it, but her body instinctively curled itself against the thought of pain. It was entirely instinctual to shy away from pain, which made her question the man before her even more. The pain was obvious, written in every line and curve of his body. Why did he hold it so close to his chest?
She was surprised when he didn't bring his hand down. Her eyes switched from watching it to watching his face once more. His expression hadn't calmed. If anything, it was stormier than ever. She sucked her breath in sharply. The look on his face was terrible. There wasn't just anger there spelled out in that electric green eye. Despite his fury, she saw pain lurking so close. She felt for a moment that she had probably worsened his suffering. Guilt was plain, evident and readable on her face as fear. But she stood resolute, unwilling or unable to move. She wasn't sure.
"I'm sorry," she said, and her voice was little more than a breathy whisper. Her voice was hushed, a subconscious change on her part. She was compensating for raising her voice to him before. She wasn't cowed, though she was terrified. It just wasn't in her nature to be so loud. And she was apologizing not for incurring his wrath, but for acting as a conduit for magnifying his pain. That had been the last thing she had wanted to do. But then again, she didn't even know why she was here in the first place.
Death wish, she reminded herself, her terror addling her a bit, twisting her adrenaline into slight hysteria. Not that she could express it, rooted to the spot as she was.
"Geneva," she breathed. " My name is Geneva." Her voice was softer this time. It was all she had to offer him. Or at least, the only thing he would accept at the moment.
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He'd frightened her again, with that sudden display of miscreant emotion, and he regretted it. Jefferson was never frightening on purpose, at least not anymore, but many things about him had changed. The fury within his chest had not; that temper of his had always been there, and he had a feeling it had been even when he was known as Maluki, many moons before. He was Jefferson now, had been for a long time, and he knew he was different than Maluki either way. That creature wasn't the scarred miscreant he'd become then, he had been a good kid--or so Iskata and Laruku had implied, anyway. Jefferson had never been "good". He'd never been a leader, at least until he'd been thrown into the position. He'd lost any choice. Phoenix Valley was his... whether or not he wanted it was another story.
"Don't apologize," he sighed, voice assuming its normal, calmer tone as the gruff temper began to melt away carried by regret. It wasn't her fault he'd suddenly erupted, no... it was his, he knew it, and as much as he wanted to blame her, he couldn't. If he was anything, he was smart. She'd withdrawn a little from him, and although he wished she'd have turned and ran after such a display, she didn't. Surely, this little foreigner had more strength than he did, more audacity in her character than he'd ever mustered. Jefferson had survived off a false courage, somehow. What emotions he felt were raw, unjustified. Useless. "Geneva," he repeated quietly, nodding his head just slightly. His rage had soothed, and now it seemed he had just withdrawn, evident by the somber emptiness in his voice. "...I'm Jefferson. You should go." He turned his eye away from her, looking back on his packlands. She had nothing to gain there. ...There was nothing to gain in any lands he ruled.
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The way his expression could change and shift over his face fascinated her. But at the same time his abrupt shift in mood also startled her. He had gone from completely furious to resigned, it seemed he was withdrawing. For a moment she saw a look of regret on his face. She blinked for the first time in what seemed like hours, not sure if she should trust her eyes.
When he spoke again and his voice was no longer tight with rage, she let out a slow breath. It was audible, but she knew it wouldn't help if she tried to hide what she was feeling. It always played so obviously on her face and in her body language. She just continued to look at him, the terror still there but subsiding quickly She felt like she could move again and dropped her shoulders. They ached from the tension. She rolled her shoulders to lessen the ache, bringing her arms up to cross them over her chest. She couldn't shake a sense of vulnerability their encounter had left, but looking at him, she sensed a vulnerability too. She hated that she had brought it out in him, but it was better to be vulnerable than unreachable and burning from it.
Her eyes slipped to the ground when he didn't accept her apology. She had every reason to apologize to him. He didn't need to accept her apology, he had every right to refuse anything she said after the way she had kept coming back for more. But his words implied no apology was necessary. She wanted to repeat her apology, tell him she had been in the wrong. But she knew better than to talk back to him, sensing that this fragile truce between them would break so easily.
"Jefferson," she repeated his name the way he'd repeated hers. She was subconsciously mirroring him, taking her cues from his behavior. Anything he did was safe to do - she matched the volume of her voice to his. She took a step forward when he turned. It was a small step, but broke the spell of her complete caution.
"Jefferson, don't go," she said, countering him softly. "I won't go any farther, if that's what you want," she added. "I'd like to talk..." if you'll let me.
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She was so afraid of him; why did she stay? Why would someone insist on leaving themselves in a vulnerable position, speaking out against a leader whose lands she was trespassing? He was a failure at being a leader anyway; the creature couldn't frighten the pain in the ass of a woman away, let alone attack her for trespassing for no specific reason anyway. The cyclops hadn't fought something in months; he couldn't let himself fall back into that mindless rage and wake up with her bloodied, lifeless body at his feet and no recollection of what happened. She was gentle, innocent. He was just an ugly stain.
She repeated his name and stepped a little closer, and for a brief moment he wondered if she was even right in the head. The beast was scarred up to no end, one-eyed, and internally pissed beyond reason... and yet she was still standing there, gaping after him like he was an expensive item in a museum. God, how he hated that look. Awe and amazement, yet fear deep within her eyes. He turned his shoulder and looked down at her with a deep scowl and furrowed, almost puzzled brows. "What do you want?" He inhaled deeply and sighed. "I don't have any answers for you. I can't help you."
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Geneva got the distinct impression that he didn't like her looking at him. She cast her eyes to floor. Why hadn't she run? It was so obvious Jefferson didn't want her or anyone else here. There were scars on this man, deeper than the ones on his body. And she didn't know why or how, but for some reason, she felt like she was making it worse for him. She didn't like that at all, but she didn't know the right way to do this, or what exactly she'd done in the first place.
He'd turned toward her once more, but this time her shoulders didn't round themselves and she didn't try to compress herself lower to the ground. Her heart still sounded like thunder, but in all honesty it hadn't stopped. The rush, the fear - all of the excitement was tiring. And that tiredness let her chase away the chaos in her head, let her make sense of things again. Fear, apprehension was still there. She was still so unsure of this situation, but now she felt she could better handle it.
Jefferson seemed all violence, volatility and intensity at first - and there was still a threat, she felt. But she remembered the vulnerability that had been in his face just moments before - imagined or not. She swallowed once, not wanting him to go, not wanting him to have the last word if his last words were these.
But she hated to make herself vulnerable too.
Admitting a weakness to a man who moments before might have wanted to rip her to pieces went against even her most basic of instincts, but she pulled her chin up slowly to let her eyes rest on Jefferson's face again. "I can't smell anything," she said in a quiet voice, and in those words there was definite insecurity. She thought of all the times she had been lost, all the times she couldn't find her way back home because it was raining too hard and her eyes weren't of use, or when it had snowed and everything looked the same to her. She had been small her entire life, and the malfunction of this most basic sense had handicapped her, denying her the most basic and vital information about others and the world around her.
She offered the rolled scrap of paper she had held tightly clenched in her fist. It had wrinkled in the middle where her fingers had curled around it in her anxiety. She shook it out slightly so it fell open, glimpses of contours and lines showing and along the edges, a border made up of the constellations in the winter sky in each direction. "I came here to learn, to record," she offered. "I understand if you don't want to the details of your land recorded." And she certainly could understand that. If a stranger entered the borders of Crimson Dreams wanting to map each detail, she'd be severely suspicious. "But maybe, maybe," her voice softened even more - she was going to ask him a favor and didn't know how he'd take it, "you could let me know the boundary lines, the name of your lands. I would know which side of the line to stay on."
And Geneva was almost positive which side of the line he'd want her to stay on. Her and the rest of the world.
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I realized that the name of this post is from a Pearl Jam song and I ALMOST DIED, GWEN, YOU ALMOST KILLED ME. O_O
When she mentioned she could not smell anything, his eye wandered to her. Was that compassion? Surely he was not feeling sympathy for the poor girl--no, she was an intruder. There was no sympathy necessary or wanted. She looked so tired all of a sudden, as if all her energy was being sucked away by his temper and attitude. He was impressed that she was still standing there, still trying to make conversation, still trying to get through to him. Jefferson was not an idiot; he knew she refused to give up on him, but they were complete strangers. He couldn't understand why. For once in his life, he could not understand something--there was always an explanation he could find for questions. But Jefferson simply could not figure out this Geneva Stockholm.
She clutched a paper all of a sudden. The one-eyed brute blinked and looked down at it, taking it from her hand gently and glancing it over. The silver-furred woman wanted to learn about his land, but did that include the leader himself? Why was he being dragged into her musings and recordings. He gave her a quiet look that clearly portrayed how much he wasn't understanding her and her behavior at that one moment in time before his gaze turned back down to the paper. "Phoenix Valley," he said, handing the paper back to her but turning his line of sight elsewhere instead. "That's what it's called. The boundaries are here... Write that down now before you forget." Had he just cracked a joke? Don't smile, Jefferson, don't smile. He cleared his throat. "We're just a pack full of misfits and dreamers. The rest of the world doesn't bother with us anymore, so we don't bother with them." Or at least Jefferson didn't, until they came traipsing on his land.
"You should... be more careful doing this," he muttered. "I just hope there isn't anyone worse than me out there." Her curiosity would never let her leave, if there was. He turned back to her. "Don't you know how dangerous this is?"
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500+It was a day for surprises, or perhaps it was a day for Geneva's heart to give out. It had gone from thundering in her chest to beating so quietly. When she couldn't hear its pounding in her head anymore, she had felt strangely disconcerted. Instead, her body was steadying itself as her mind cleared and took hold of her situations and actions again. She felt her muscles twitching, the need to shake and tremble hard to quell as the rush of adrenaline left her body empty. She kept herself under control, glad that the stress of the situation was gone, but unsure of how to continue further. Geneva took comfort in logic and the things she could think through. She could sit and ponder just one bit of information for hours, until the mystery unravelled before her. She didn't know why she felt drawn to Jefferson. She didn't know why she hadn't run when he had so clearly demanded that action over and over. She didn't know what had made her stay. And now not only was this man a mystery, but her actions were a mystery to her too. When he took her map out of her hands to study it, she took the opportunity to study him. Covertly, of course. Her lime green eyes traced over his body, but lingered on his face. Hard lines that had softened when his expression became less harsh. He didn't seem frightening anymore. Instead he seemed tired. She felt as though he represented an answer she could halfway comprehend, but that she couldn't even begin to ponder the question. He looked up at her for a moment and she let her gaze slip away. She kept her eyes fixed on his hands, where he held her map. But she could see in the look that he gave her questions that spun in the back of his mind. Like he didn't understand why she was here at all. Hell if she knew. She accepted her map back silently, gathering it to her chest. The warmth of his hands lingered on the thin page, slight creases where his fingers had touched. She couldn't help but smile when he spoke again, pleasure at knowing the name of the lands on which they stood. When he seemed to make a joke, she cocked her head to the side curiously, felt the small smile linger on her mouth at his admission. "Curiosity killed the cat," Geneva mused. "I guess it is a good thing I don't have any feline heritage." A peace-offering. A small, delayed response to the bit of humor he'd used. She looked at him quietly for a moment. "I'm glad I met you." The truth came out without her really knowing why she'd uttered it. She didn't know how he'd take it, and braced herself for his reaction.
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Sure, this can be the last post. I'll archive it. ^^
She seemed to do everything so slowly and cautiously; this fact was ironic against her character, whose risks and curiosity seemed to overwhelm all other emotions and impulses. Her curiosity could have gotten her killed, had Jefferson been the maniacal beast he'd been so long ago. Of course, that wasn't to say he wasn't a terrible, horrible creature still. One-eyed, one-armed, scarred to no end. He was a monster whose scars had originated in a cloud of mist; the disfigurement he'd been forever cursed with was due to reasons he couldn't even remember or understand. Somehow, Geneva had seen something through it all. The cyclops couldn't fathom what it was she wanted from him nor what it was she'd seen, but it was provoked his curiosity and stirred the embers in more ways than one.
He didn't smile when she gently tried to humor him, but instead his green eye remained affixed on her in a still, quiet gaze. It was confused, frustrated even, but no anger or resentment was held within. When she admitted something more, though, his ears perked and his eye seemed to widen a little. Such words had never been spoken to him; not many could be considered "happy" to have met a one-eyed idiot like Jefferson. He didn't exactly have many redeeming qualities, and his attitude was hardly anything that someone could be fond of. Jefferson frowned and looked away thoughtfully, for a moment pondering over the concept, before seriously returning his eye to her and nodding his head solemnly. "Just be careful," was all he could say. He didn't know what it was like to be liked or appreciated. Actually, the Patriarch had never really even thought about it. He turned on his heel and started away. "Stay and draw all you want," he muttered quietly, making the distance between them. "...Just leave me alone." And he was gone.
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