[html] Poe. This is really long, because I'm building some character here. Don't feel pressured to match it, of course. XD You don't even have to read the italicized part, really.
Despite the fact that his mother had been the supposed Diviner for their pack, Ari had never been very sure about the supernatural. Spirits. Ghosts. Things one cannot explain through means of this world. He had never believed that his mother's powers had been true, because he saw no reason why. But perhaps he had picked the wrong thing to think of, because the previous night he had been visited by a dream that was so vivid, he couldn't get it out of his head.
It was inside of a small house, the air thick with the smell of incense and smoke. It must have been night, because the only light was flickering candlelight. There were two others in the building other than Ari (though he seemed to be nothing more than a bystander), and they were two others he knew quite well. Even through the sparse light, he could see his mother's long, matted hair and crazed eyes. She sat on a platform, legs crossed, with her hands out in front of her. Her eyes were fixated with maddened anger on the other one in the room, who was Ari's dark and stoic brother, Nikolaos. Both seemed to be having a match of silence, battling with stares. Finally, his mother spoke.
It was the voice he had always remembered — one that was vaguely reminiscent of nails on chalk boards, and hoarse by smoking far too much. You mean to tell me, she hissed, lowering her head minutely, That you didn't kill him. Ari remembered his stomach plummeting. He knew she meant him. Nikolaos continued to hold his ground, though Ari knew he was resisting squirming under Melantha's gaze. He's as good as dead. I took him far southeast, to the coast. There's no way he'll last a week. He paused, giving a chilling laugh. Besides, I'm not as heartless to kill him in cold blood, by my own hand.
Their mother laughed, a shaking her filthy head. Stupid, stupid boy, she muttered under her breath. Don't try to justify your actions. He still yet might live, but you had abandoned him. You are no better than us. If you had truly wanted to protect him, you would have taken him somewhere and kept him alive yourself. If you wanted to pity him, you should have killed him like I asked. She lifted a hand to her lips, taking a deep drag off of a wooden pipe, before exhaling the noxious gas. Anger flashed across Nikolaos' dark face. You never did tell me why you wanted him dead, dear mother, he said, straining not to shout. So tell me, why? He never did anything to trouble us! What was wrong with him? Melantha shook her head once more, continuing to smoke. He was cursed, she replied after a few moments had passed. When he was born, it was the night of the full moon, and as I looked on his face the clouds passed over the glorious moon. It had been a clear night. Owls called outside. It could have been no clearer of an omen. I had the right of mind to kill him then, but I didn't. I was soft. But if he had remained here any longer, doom would have visited our pack. After we have survived for so long...
You're a fool! Nikolaos had shouted, taking an aggressive step forward, Truly believing in that. He never did anything wrong, and in all those months he lived here with us, nothing had happened. Why did you choose that— He didn't have the time to continue, because Melantha had lurched forward so fast. Ari had never thought his decrepit mother could move so swiftly, but there she was, one hand holding her pipe to her lips and the other clenched like a vice over his brother's throat. Nikolaos' hands went to his mother's, trying to pry her fingers off. She hung on in a death grip, though. Such speak is treason, she hissed, pressing him down to the ground. Nikolaos was very tall compared to her, but as he sank to his knees, she could look down on him. Pray to the spirits that you can continue to live here. She then let go, striking him across the face so that he fell, crumpled, to the dirty floor. She then stormed out, possibly going to the Council to see what she could do against him. Ari had tried to move to his brother's side, but the rays of the morning had called him from his dream...
He had woken in a cold sweat, with the thick smell of incense and smoke still in his nose. He had sluggishly tried to cope with what he had seen — wondering if his imagination was simply fooling with him in dreams, or he was really having visions — and eventually wandered away from his den, and ultimately away from Jaded Shadows. He wandered west, eventually losing himself in the mists and tall, skeletal trees of the Haunted Forest. He knew he could find his way out, but, for now, he was pleased to lose himself.
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[html]  Ahaha! I have been so into Wolf Parade lately.
The young boy that she would soon spot was very different and very similar, as they often were. Their mothers were caricatures of what one another could have been. A little less of this, a little more of that. Misery had killed one of her bad-omen children (bare hands, cold blood), and kept the other. Because that one, that sick, tiny girl had been a mirror of her own. It hung heavy in her head as she walked alone through the woods that were in some way, reminiscent of the one she grew up in. Ghosts and ghouls, floating in the branches and turning underground, they were a bizarre familiarity, or at least she could settle her skin to believe.
Misery had disappeared entirely again, for all she could tell. Her scent was nowhere on the borders of Clouded Tears, and without a consideration to her death (because her mother was out of reach of such things—she defied earth’s laws and logic on a regular basis) Poe was left with the sullen conclusion that she had left without a word once more. She couldn’t be sure if it was her mother’s waned sanity, or the result of a consistently shaky and cracked relationship between the two, but it was the nature of their mother-daughter path no matter. A glimpse of what good might be, may have been there, followed by a long period of dark words, sinking guilt and nothing at all. At times, it was difficult to believe that she was not an overgrown orphan. Just like so many in Bleeding Souls.
Poe slowed to a stop and watched the figure across the mist ahead, waiting for signs of life or illusion. He moved without the concern that was expected from one as young as he in such parts, but his footsteps were solid and his body seemed true. Without much thought as to why, she began walking in his direction and beyond, at an angle. Through the mist and trees, she began to come up by his side, but did not speak a greeting or give him any warning to her presence that he wouldn’t pick up by himself. Small and sure-footed, she wore the lower half of an Egyptian Princess dress, and a pale grey scarf as a top, hardly painting the picture of a typical ghost in these parts, but she wore the eeriness of the land just as comfortably.
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As the shock began to wear off and he was more and more sure that what he had seen was the truth, and that his brother indeed faced danger ("treason" in their pack was punishable by death, and his mother had more influence than one could know) and that his mother had really wanted him dead, he couldn't help but feel very insignificant. Nikolaos had been right — he had never done anything wrong, minus being born at the wrong place and on the wrong time. Or maybe he was really under an omen. He had just seen something happening somewhere else in a dream; that wasn't normal. Clairvoyance was something he didn't necessary want to worry about. Perhaps he was better off. What he had seen, however, showed that his brother had little incentive to come and rescue him from here. Nik was either going to die, or get thrown out. Neither option was very good. In the best possible circumstances, neither of the wayward Sohs brothers would be able to come home.
The motion of a dark blur in the vague mists caught his eye, and he sought it out despite the fact he still walked on. Being in this Haunted Forest made him feel very detached, so he didn't feel any fear as the small werewolf joined up with him and continued to walk. He wasn't even sure if she were real — surely if she was, she might try to say something. He continued to walk. He wasn't a social creature by nature, but his head wasn't in its usual place. As he walked, he couldn't help but wonder why she was there, with him. Without even looking back to her, and in a small, tired voice, he asked, Who are you? Ghost or not, she might answer. It was best to try and see.
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[html] He could have been sleepwalking, the way he moved. Calmly set on moving through nowhere, unconcerned by his surroundings or company. She wondered if he was in fact a ghost in his own right, the remains of a world that had used him up and spit him out. Then again, by those standards just about all of the population in Bleeding Souls was a ghost. Suitably, she thought with a small quirk of her head that led her gaze to the edge of this lost-boy’s face. The distinguished edges of adulthood were just below the surface to give some hint of his age. Not quite a kid, not really an adult, unbalanced on an edge as far as Poe remembered of herself. She remained silent in her ponderous stare up until the moment he asked her a small, simple question. She was only mildly surprised that it had taken either of them so long, so she allowed another length of silence between their voices before answering.
“Poe,” she said with a large step, bringing her shoulder in line with his, her step matching his own. A mirror, a mimic, a game. “Edgar Allen Poe in another life. A talented writer and poet, if you haven’t read him. Me.” Her tone was simple and serious while her mind swung from the words that moved between her lips. Was that what her mother had intended for her? To carry some of the hauntingly lyrical grace of a dead human? Or did she just intend on honouring the darkness that had festered there? She couldn’t say that she upheld either. Another few quick steps, and she moved in front of the boy, walking backwards while facing him, trying to capture the shocking blue of his eyes. They brought a small hint of a smile to the corners of her own eyes. “Who are you?”| There was a whimsical quality creeping into her voice—it was a game of Let’s Pretend to her, now. Who do you want to be, boy?
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If there was one thing Ari stood for, it was a sort of no-nonsense thought process when it came to who he was. When he was around others, he did not pretend. He was a scrawny, possibly good-for-nothing boy who had a passion for painting and who took up space better left for more capable wolves. Alone, however, he painted his own tapestries of huge battles, grand adventures, and journeys to the ends of the earth. This duality in his imagination offset him from the others of the world — making his own solitude seem much more appealing. Nevertheless, he didn't mind walking with this stranger — Poe, as she introduced herself.
She continued on, speaking of poets and authors. Neither made any sense to Ari. As the lowest son of a Diviner — one who worked with spirits, not books — he had never learned to read or write. He had never learned geography. He had never learned arithmetic. He had never learned science. The only thing he had learned was art, and it was self-taught. Despite the fact that she could have been leading him on with this talk of another life, he thought to believe it. The lines between his lonely fantasy and simple self seemed to blur in these haunted woods. I can't read, he stated in his matter-of-fact voice, not caring that she probably didn't care to know. She should, he guessed. If she continued on about reading and authors, he might have to stop her eventually.
She didn't, however. She moved before him, turning and facing him while she continued, walking backwards. He watched her warily, though he didn't break his stride. He was horrible at judging age, but he knew that she was an adult. Probably more than double his own age. Despite how old she looked, she wasn't very tall — Ari wasn't very tall, but he still stood taller than she. He, with his gaunt build, was put to shame by her however. He had to admit — walking together, they made an odd pair. Focused on her green eyes — perhaps the only color he could see in the mist — he spoke with a similar tone as he had earlier, I'm Ari. My mother told me my name meant 'lion' and was short for 'Aristotle', but... I'm not sure what either of those are.
He was either stupid, or hopelessly sheltered. Or both.
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[html] Poe’s features increasingly clashed as time went on. Her skeleton had never really evolved beyond youth—a childish, cheeky face and a comically puny height—but her heavy-hipped figure, deep set eyes and comfortable gait matched her true age, which was closer to three years than Poe would like to imagine. They were a dense three years, there was no doubt of that, but her personality hadn’t matured or wizened in step as far as she was aware. She was happy to keep playing her games, taking long, steady steps backwards before this sullen boy, making up passing stories of his story, his reason. She didn’t openly react when he said (without regret or regard) that he could not read, but it certainly added to her wonder. He was not from these parts very likely—it was unusual for wolves in these parts not to know how to read.
“Well,” she said, washing away any surprise she held towards his naivety. Perhaps he was younger than she thought. Perhaps he was an orphan. A true orphan, that was—not her psychological abandonment sort. It didn’t matter at the moment, and possibly never would, though. “If you are interested, I could tell you about both,” she offered, deciding to air on the unassumptive side. He didn’t seem bothered by this missing knowledge—or by her presence, or their cool-mist, whispering surroundings. “It seems only right that you should have the opportunity to know of your namesake,” she explained, only to switch onto another train of thought immediately thereafter. “Then again, sometimes that does more damage than interest. Living up to these things,” she said with her half-siblings in mind. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes. Meth, the raging drug. Broken little Rift. They had been doomed from the beginning, perhaps. “Curiosity killing the cat, I suppose,” she added, well aware that she was not one to preach such things.
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She knew about both? He wondered how the wolves around these parts were so educated. Did their families teach them? Why? What was the use of learning how to read and write if you weren't going to use it? Edgar Allan Poe had reason to, because he was a poet and an author, but Ari had no reason. He was an artist, at best, and worthless, at worst. Her words made sense, though, but he decided it didn't matter. Whatever they mean, I don't know if I was really named after them or it was coincidence. My mother could care less. He paused, looking to his feet, before returning his clear gaze to Poe. I'd like to know, though. Maybe I can prove her wrong. It was a dangerous, treasonous idea. Trying to prove his mother false in any way would have been punishable at home, but here it was perfectly fine. He couldn't help but grin at the danger of it. I'd like to learn what you know.
To learn; what a rebellious thought! He hadn't been able to learn anything at home, and here others were offering him knowledge like it was simple. Knowledge incited thought, and thought produced unrest, and unrest beget rebellion. Still, the rebel hidden deep under months of repression was beginning to awaken in Ari, and so he stood ready to learn whatever this ghost Poe could teach him.
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[html] His response brought an instant, bright smile to the girl’s face, accented by the grey-speckled spots beneath either eyes. There was a hint of some movement in his tone—a bridge between resignation and towards his mother (to whom Poe quickly determined was less than supportive of this boy, no matter who, what or where she was) and a spark of rebellion through his interest. Regardless of the situation the boy was in, deciding to defy ones parents for your own self worth and meaning marked a significant point in growing up and growing strong, and Poe was simply peachy to be a witness. There was an impish edge to her smile as she nodded to him and begun to explain. “Well, now. A lion is a large cat that lives in Africa—a continent far across the ocean these lands sit on. It’s hot there, and the animals are very different; exotic. They’re a little like the cougars we have here, but the males have thick, regal fur all around their necks and faces,” she gestured theatrically around her own neck and shoulders to explain. “And far bigger. I saw a few of them from a distance while I was there. They are beautiful and powerful, and certainly not an animal to be messed with. I’ve seen them dubbed Kings of the Jungle, but they mostly live out in the plains.”
Her stroll was slowed as her words hastened, pausing altogether now to shift her mind to the next subject. “Now Aristotle is a much more complicated one to explain. He was a very famous human philosopher from hundreds of years ago. I haven’t read enough of his work to give you detail, but he was well-respected by humans even up to the time of their extinction, which was long after this guy’s.” She glanced up into the gangly branches hanging overhead in thought, nipping her lower lip. “I’ve caught portions of his work on a variety of subjects. Physics, logic, animal biology. And even things like music and poetry,” she flashed him another grin. They were all interconnected. “A very smart guy, especially for his time. Not a bad namesake, but he’s got some pretty big shoes to fill. Like mine, if you get literal about these things.”
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Whoever this ghost named Poe was (I'm fighting back Legend of Zelda references here), Ari decided that he liked her. It didn't matter whether or not she was simply playing a game with names and meanings, because she was telling him more than others had when he had ventured towards questions. She had a kind of way that didn't make him feel pressured to talk — and he talked without being asked. That was monumental enough. Ari's usual strict anti-social nature was broken, but perhaps it was just the spirits of the Haunted Forest effecting his consciousness. Oh, well.
Of course, now was not a time for him to speak anyway. He did what he did best — listen, and absorb every sliver of information that Poe could give him. As she described the land of Africa and how it was across the ocean, all Ari could think was if it was close to Italy, as Beppe had talked to him about. But the thought of a lion was totally mind-blowing to Ari. He had seen a cougar once — it had strayed too close to the packlands at Veneficus and the warriors had to chase it away — but the description Poe gave him sent his mind spiraling into an imaginative vortex. Of course, the images of magnificent golden beasts who reigned supreme on endless plains weren't as intriguing as when Poe continued her tale. The more words she gave to him, painting pictures of subjects he had never heard of, much less grasp in any way, made him feel totally overwhelmed. When she finished up, though, they both seemed to be linked by their namesakes to famous humans of the past. How odd.
But, actually, Ari found it rather funny. At first chuckles broke through his usual breathing, but then he just started to laugh as if he never had. And hey, he didn't laugh too often. He just couldn't imagine what had gone through his mother's sick mind when she had named him after the regal beasts of the plains and one of the more well-known human intellectuals of old. He wasn't sure if Poe was made awkward by his laughter, so he stopped as quickly as he could. He smiled minutely, looking at her with clear blue eyes full of admiration. I'm sorry. I was wondering why my mother named me that at all, he said, trying to give her some reason. He paused briefly before continuing, I doubt I can fill either of their shoes, but it's nice to know what I'm supposedly named after. Thank you, Poe. Besides, how was an illiterate runt of a boy going to match up to the 'king of the jungle' or a great human philosopher?
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[html] I played a friend's Zelda the other day and was like, "JUST LEMME CATCH THE POES!  " Sorry for this very blahshort post, though. :|
Poe was not the most articulate of speakers, but to kick her off into a ramble meant that she could and likely would talk for excessive amounts of time. This Aristotle-boy did not seem bothered--though perhaps a little baffled--as she tried to summarize the history of his name. In fact, when her voice faded off and absorbed into the cool fog that curled past their feet and hands, he merely laughed. Softly at first, and then with a fullness that only grew out of layers of humour. She was not put off by his laughter, and his apology was replied with a short sputter of her own and a dismissive shake of her head. "No one else's shoes really fit another's feet, do they?" she asked with a light air of consideration, or perhaps condolence. "That isn't to say you won't find a spiffy pair all your own, though." A quirked smile, and tilted head, she seemed content to stare at the young male for a beat before bursting back into the realm of questions and answers, curiosities and nosiness. "What would you have named yourself after?"
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The post was fine.  And the Poes kind of annoyed me. If it weren't for them, I wouldn't have to do that stupid Cave of Ordeals. But I did it, though. -shudder from that fight with the three Darknuts-
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He shook his head neutrally, thinking that he would much rather be just "Ari" rather than either a lion or Aristotle. At least when he was himself, he didn't have a shadow of another looming over him — be them living beasts or dead humans. Therefore he found a lot of sense in her next statement. He liked his own shoes very much indeed, which prompted him to answer her question as such, I... I wouldn't name myself after anyone, really. It was a tie between him liking himself as Ari and him not knowing anything to name himself after, but he thought it seemed a noble answer enough. I like myself as Ari. What about you? Do you like yourself as Poe?
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[html] There was indeed something rather noble about the boy's reply--mature, at the very least. He was too old for his age, she thought for a moment, watching the way he moved, the direction of his gaze, until he asked her a question.
"I know myself as Poe, for whatever that means," she replied, looking up into the gnarled branches above them. She couldn't imagine herself going by any other name, which brought up the question, does a mold a personality, or does a personality change the meaning of a name? She shrugged in reply to her own inward question and suddenly reached out to link her arm with Ari's. "In any case, what are you doing out here all alone? This place is thick with ghosts and ghouls, you know." Things that bite and bark, that come to get you in the dark, she heard an echo in her mind. Ahren, so long ago, leading her to spooky places. She couldn't have been much younger than this boy was, and expected he would have as much fear of such things as she had. But she moved closer to him and began to walk forward along the misty path, listening for whispers and screams that it might carry.
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[html] Sorry, but I'm going to fade this to black and close it. I'm trying to clean up all of my old threads and all. (: I'll surely have another thread with you later!
Of course, what was in a name? Someone might go into an in-depth quote of Shakespeare's here, but I'll refrain. To Ari, a name meant little more than simply a shortened way to call someone. Nevertheless, he nodded to her reply, and stiffened only slightly at her inquiry. He looked away, his blue eyes ghosting over with the memories of his vision earlier this night. I don't fear the ghosts here. I don't think they could hurt me more than others have already, he added quietly. He had no qualms with confiding so much in this near-stranger. It was normal to him, as he knew that he might never see her again after this. I had a dream tonight, yet I felt it was more than just a mere dream. I fear that my brother — who saved my life — might have endangered his own in doing so. Ari's shoulders hunched involuntarily, the guilt of perhaps having his own brother and savior's blood on him too much to bear. All he could do was direct his wordless prayers to whatever deities might be watching, though that might be a stretch. Still, there was no shame in trying.
Mists and thoughts clouded his mind, but perhaps it was the appearance of Poe that helped him survive through his hazy dreams of past hours. He had to thank her, and did so before they parted when the early morning rays were penetrating the thick fog. Then he departed back to Jaded Shadows — back home.
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