salvation à la mode

Jefferson Soul · 07-08-2010, 08:57 PM

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Geneva @ Splash Zone. <3

Where had he been, those many days? Each time he returned to the Valley, it felt like ages and ages had passed since he'd left. And where was he going, he wondered each time he left and each time he returned, for the trips he made were to nowhere in particular. No destinations were set and he met no one, for indeed Jefferson had learned to make his scarred and ugly face scarce when his mind raged so horribly inside. Jefferson desired no companionship, both in and out of the packlands, and for many weeks he had strayed here and there alone. The cyclops was not happy with his newfound solitary life, though the pack still depended on him and Geneva was still there with him. In fact, he was more miserable than he had been in years.

He wondered for some time if his voice would perhaps disappear forever from lack of use. He'd muttered no more than short, brief commands in recent weeks, months maybe, he couldn't remember. There had been a fight with Geneva, she'd cornered him or something, there had been shouting and tears... but the cyclops was quick to flatten the memory and discard it, refusing to acknowledge it was the reason for his mood. The Valley had seen little of him since, and the green-eyed girl even less so. Perhaps they had seen each other in passing, it was hard to remember. Jefferson had pushed her from his thoughts, tired of the ache and questions in his mind. The ranch house grew hotter beneath the heat of dead summer, but the weather was hardly reason for his absence even there—Jefferson had simply begun sleeping outside, here, there, anywhere. Away from her. Away from the problems she'd made for him, away from the scowls and scars and disfigurements they now permanently shared with one another. All that he had found so endearing in her, all that she had promised him forever when she claimed to love him with glittering olive eyes, had been stolen away like the children she'd claimed to have been carrying and lost at the fall.

Not once did she thank him. A grimace crossed his scars at that time, and Jefferson shook himself out of his memories. He straightened the sling over his shoulder and released a long, drawn-out sigh. The Patriarch had wandered the coastline for some time, it seemed, for the sea-filled potholes that neared the edge of the territory suddenly lay before him. Not a soul had been seen in his wanderings, allowing the cyclops the privacy in his own thoughts and his feet the opportunity to wander without hesitation. The day had been humid, but with the dusk the air had cooled considerably, and the sunset painted brilliant violets and pinks into the sky. It was meaningless to him, he realized, as it had never been before. The dips and holes in the coast held the sea, calmed in their traps, separated hues of the colorful sky as if the coast itself was the sky's palette. He couldn't bring himself to appreciate it.

Jefferson weaved through the puddles, the damp sand soft beneath his feet. Finally he stopped, the coolest of sea breezes blowing past, and raised his snout to the canvas of colors the heavens beheld. The cyclops released a quiet, sad howl into the sky—not one quite loud enough to echo the packlands, but a despairing sound that reverberated over the empty ocean instead. The point, he realized, was hollow—it was as if he simply needed to acknowledge he was still capable of sound and emotion.

Geneva Stockholm · 07-08-2010, 10:20 PM

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Every single moment now was a terrifying blessing. She realized how truly scared she really was as she tread the damp coastline with an uncertain smile on her imperfect face. Her heart hammered in her chest, a sensation that was becoming familiar, as her olive colored eyes stayed fixed the form of the creature that had become the center of her world. It hadn't been very often that they ventured from the light house, but at his earnest insistence, Geneva had decided to cautiously venture forward.

The sky was beautiful, a wash of sunset colors, but she doubted she would ever be transfixed by it ever again. Eyes of the palest, iciest blue gazed up at the kaleidoscope of colors in the sky, and it was those eyes that arrested her heart and made her catch her breath as she beheld the simple wonder and pleasure within that pale gaze. The last time she had watched the sky, it had been the day he had been born. She had stayed awake through the evening and into the day, terrified that he would never get to see his first sunrise. The sun had set upon her daughter's life before she had been able to feel the sun on her face. But that had not been the case for the boy with the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

She shepherded him away from the water, letting him experience the coolness of the sea in the puddles that dotted the sand. Geneva watched as he took special care to step within each puddle he could find, catching sight of his reflection, and her own over his shoulder. She was never very far from him - not yet. She supposed one day there would be a time to let go, but for now she clung with a joyful desperation, completely unsure why she had been found worthy of such a precious gift of life; it was a strange love, one that completely encompassed her every waking thought, and inspired every motive and action. Everything now was for him, and she loved him - truly, madly, deeply.

Her happiness was not perfect here, but it was enough, more than enough for the scarred woman. There were times she ached, but she had pushed those feelings aside, because the blue-eyed boy needed her. At first he was dependent on her for everything. During the first nights of his life, she would lay awake with her face by his nose, making certain that he breathed. And she was desperate, too, to reconcile herself with someone else. But she had called, and he hadn't come. And now fear - of rejection, of loss, of the unknown - kept her here, close enough to know if something had actually happened to Jefferson, if she ventured out. But she couldn't leave her blue-eyed boy, not yet.

A low sound reached her ears, and her eyes widened in panic as the boy with blue eyes took off like a shot. He chanced a glance behind his shoulder, knowing that this would upset his mother it seemed. But curiosity reigned supreme, and the sound did not seem to be that far away. "Pripyat!" the scarred female yelled, her thin voice rising high in the salty air as she took off after him. It was not long at all before she caught up to her son; and in the same breath, the boy with blue eyes found himself looking up into a set of imperfect features and the glow of a single green eye.

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Jefferson Soul · 07-09-2010, 04:40 PM

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Perhaps, he realized, it wasn't just Geneva who didn't need him anymore. When had he ever been worthy of a leader rank, of dominance over so many souls younger than he? Why had a sinner like Jefferson earned himself a place above them, and how was he worthy of staying there? The cyclops' tattered ears twitched; he had been more than absent among them for the past few months, instead straying away with his own thoughts for company, and not once had he complained. Jefferson had forgotten he had once been a loner, content with roaming on his own. He'd once considered taking advantage of Iskata and her silly pack, filling his stomach and feigning 'membership' long enough to gain his strength back before leaving again. He hadn't gone then, however, and he couldn't bring himself to go now. What was it that so desperately called him back each time he left?

Movement behind him stirred his ears to attention; the beast's instincts flared suddenly, as if his life as a pack member and leader had never happened, and the three-legged creature whirled around in one fell movement. A snarl rose from his throat, his green eye glowed, his jowls parted and bared—and each choked to peace when his eye fell upon a child, shocked and frozen, just feet away. Jefferson straightened quickly, but thinned his eye—whose pup is this?

Geneva's familiar voice rung out before he could consider further. The cyclops squared his shoulders, his scars grimacing as he watched her approach, life and spirit in her step that he hadn't seen in so long. His ears flicked back, his brows furrowed. And why was she so happy? It wasn't like they had seen each other for more than a few seconds in recent weeks. He cast another short glance at the child, suddenly hating it for its presence alongside the Whilom.

He glared at her one last time, thinned his eye, and began to stalk off without a word.

Geneva Stockholm · 07-09-2010, 06:20 PM

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For a moment, Geneva was paralyzed by the sight of her estranged mate. But that only lasted for a moment as her world re-centered itself around its new anchor. She curled her body protectively around the boy's body as she watched Jefferson's eye thin into a familiar glare. The Whilom's coat blended almost perfectly with the color of the boy's coat. She had seen that look on his face before, in the months before they had truly come to know each other. She felt a coldness in the pit of her stomach as he turned his eye to her.

He turned his back on her, something that she should know to expect. It was an act that came hand-in-hand with the look on his face. She turned her olive colored eyes to glance at the expression on Pripyat's face, and found that the boy's blue eyes were tracing the path of disfigurement marring one side of her face. Then he turned to look questioningly at the Patriarch's retreating form. He was a bright boy, and she could see the inner workings of his mind as he compared the similarities between their faces.

He was a child, and a trusting one at that. If he questioned Jefferson's appearance, she could let him disappear and tell Pripyat nothing. But her heart longed for more, even as she recalled with sorrow, fear, and anger the night of his birth. She had called for him, and he hadn't come. She had called for him since, and he still hadn't come. It was either because he did not want to, or because he was not around. It didn't take the hurt away. She had tried to come back for him, to share Pripyat's coming into the world. But she had brought him into the world alone, and had felt that way since.

There was a sharp edge to her face as she raised it to him, any soft whisper gone. "Jefferson!" She took a few steps forward, standing now in front of the boy. "Run from me if that is your wish, but do not leave your son."

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Jefferson Soul · 07-09-2010, 08:21 PM

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She curled herself around the pup, the dual pair of eyes staring into him expectantly. At first her words hardly reached his ears; his thoughts clouded them instead, curious why a child had been allowed into the pack without his knowledge, without his permission. He had awarded Geneva the power to accept members, yes, but a pup so young? Hell, he looked hardly older than Addison when Jefferson had found her—his heart twisted suddenly, the cyclops inwardly scolding himself for neglecting to check in on her. Addison had been absent from his life for quite some time now, and like most of everything else that had been important to him, she'd been forgotten and abandoned altogether as well.

But this boy was not Addison, and it was then that Jefferson chose to hear Geneva's words. No alarm struck his face, no emotion seemed to pass his scarred and broken features at all; Jefferson chose to dismiss her utterings as sheer nonsense. Did she think this a joke? Was she trying to rage a war, find the means for revenge against him, against the fact that he had once rescued her from certain death? The cyclops stiffened, hardened; he did not understand what he had done to be worth such abuse, but Jefferson was hardly going to stand and take it.

"You think this is funny?" he growled, green eye piercing. His shoulders hung and his entire two-legged frame seemed to sag with an unsaid heaviness; he seemed tired, worn. The darkness that struck his face was legitimate, however, but lacking the true forcefulness he had once been so terribly known for possessing. He had opened the prospect of arguing, but suddenly found himself unwilling to. Resigned, the brute shook his head, then staggered a few steps and ran scarred fingers through his hair. "Leave me alone," the cyclops muttered, wary. It had been a long time since he had said those words to her.

Geneva Stockholm · 07-09-2010, 10:01 PM

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Geneva's brow furrowed as she fought to keep her voice even. When she spoke again, her words had a raw edge to them, but she was better able to make her tone even and calm. She did not want to unncessarily upset Pripyat. This had not been the first meeting she had imagined between them. "I ran here, for you, before he was born," she said, her voice lower than usual. She tried to disguise the hurt, the old feelings of fear and rejection that had resurfaced, but she was unable to mask them. "And when I couldn't get any further, I called for you. I tried. And you never came."

The Whilom narrowed her eyes. "You are ridiculous," she said. "Utterly ridiculous." He had regressed. They had regressed as they had grown apart. It seemed that they had lost parts of themselves to each other, or had forgotten some of those vital things that made them good, both together and apart. Jefferson said that he wanted to be left alone again. She did not know if that was what he truly wanted, or if that was from some anger, some hurt that she had put upon him.

"Who else could he belong to?" Geneva challenged, unwilling as always to let him walk away with the last word. Some of the passion that had been absent from her voice in months before had returned. Pripyat was quiet, wide-eyed and wary as he watched this exchange. "I know that things between us have deteriorated, and I am not asking you to forgive me right now...But I've never told you an untruth intentionally."

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Jefferson Soul · 07-10-2010, 05:58 PM

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Why did she choose to insist on this silly game? Again he froze and was forced to hear her out—her voice had a subtle command in it like that, one he had found himself ever incapable of escaping. Jefferson flicked his tattered ears at her, no pity in his face whatsoever. There was no need for this foolishness, this childplay of revenge and jealousy. She claimed to call for him, as if that had really happened—if she had, judging by the boy's age, Jefferson had been gone from the territory. He had known his children would have been born then. He had disappeared on purpose, and any calls from him purposely went unanswered.

Still the brute wasn't convinced, and still he was silent as she muttered on in her vicious play. You are ridiculous. He agreed, silent. Utterly ridiculous. He was so bold as to nod, though the brute was wholly unconscious of it. And finally she challenged him—who else could he belong to? That was the game, wasn't it? That was for Jefferson to figure out, to erupt into a jealous rampage to find out who his once-lover had slept around with, or from what parents she had "borrowed" that child for her foolish need to get back at him. She softened with her last words, as if speaking from her heart, but the stony man was unmoved. His walls stiff, his expression grim, he finally bothered to answer her challenge.

"I don't know whose he is," he hissed. "Jordan's?"

Geneva Stockholm · 07-11-2010, 03:31 PM

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Geneva sighed heavily, looking at him with a mixture of anger and aggravation in her olive eyes at his last question. She had told him, when they were growing close, of the loss of her mate. She had told him that he had met his end, and at the time she had wished that she could go with him. But she had had the promise of a child, one that was broken by circumstance and her situation. It seemed that her current predicament closely echoed her past experience, and she was just as helpless as before. There was an edge of strain to her voice as she spoke to him finally. "Jordan has been cold and dead for two years,"" she said. She put an emphasis on those last two words. Had he doubted her even then?

"You are no fool, Jefferson. You are a great many things, but a fool isn't one of them." The woman stepped forward once more, leaving a bit more of heartrending space between her and her child. But she cared for Jefferson too, even though he had inspired another title wave of anger inside of her right now. She had to fight through it to make things right. "We didn't lose them all in the fall...Although we may have lost each other."

It stung to admit it, but it was the truth. They had grown apart, and it had been her behavior and his unwillingness to acknowledge how much things had changed, that had driven them to this point. She could acknowledge her fault in this without a problem, but he needed to acknowledge that this was what remained between them, a young boy with icy blue eyes.

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Jefferson Soul · 07-14-2010, 09:31 AM

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It looked for a moment that she believed his feigned stupidity, that she actually thought him to be so thoughtless to forget that Jordan was long gone and dead, his cold bones buried somewhere beneath the earth and never again to rise and father children with her. It was a low blow, he realized, and yet the one-eyed brute felt no shame. Jefferson squared his shoulders, then noticing the exhausted stiffness in his muscles. He was in no mood, no condition for arguments; the cyclops had raged a war in his own mind, reminiscent of the old days when he had done so constantly, but perhaps for once he was losing his own war. The world around him had only shifted slightly, but enough to put the beast in a place that never stopped spinning.

His ears flicked. We didn't lose them all in the fall. How was that possible? Jefferson had convinced himself he was not properly fit to be a parent; there was no reason any terribly merciful gods above them would decide otherwise, would feel it amusing enough to drop a child into his incapable arms. Geneva openly admitted to the distance that had developed between she and the scarred man, but still Jefferson said nothing; his green eye, emotionless, fell upon the gray-furred child.

It seemed like ages before he could muster words. "He has blue eyes," Jefferson grunted, his voice still gravelly and unfeeling. He hardly seemed able to accept these news, as sudden as they were. Then, slowly, he turned his eye to her again. "Why did you wait?"

Geneva Stockholm · 07-22-2010, 12:25 AM

"My father had blue eyes, and so did one of my sisters," Geneva replied, and her voice was empty at that point. She did not know what she could do to make him believe. But it became clear soon enough that Jefferson did believe her now. And he posed the most logical question. Why had she waited to tell him about Pripyat? She felt a lump in her throat as she looked into the face of her estranged mate. There were so many things she had wanted to say the day that Pripyat had been born, but she had swallowed them down and left them mostly forgotten as her son took center stage in her life. She had not stopped loving Jefferson, but there had been so much fear to accompany the loss of his companionship, especially the night that she had called for him.

His voice was emotionless. Maybe he was having a difficult time processing all of this. Maybe he wanted no part in it. That had been Geneva's secret fear. The night of their final blow out, when she had told him that they had lost any children that might have existed between them, she had seen the love flash in his eye for a moment. Now things were different. It seemed like the weeks had turned into years, and he had grown cold like an old winter wind blowing across her life. But how could she blame him? They had had each other, and that had been enough and more for her.

"I was afraid," Geneva said simply, although she did not feel that this was simple at all. "First I was afraid that I would not make it back to Phoenix Valley in time for Pripyat to be born, and I was afraid when you didn't come. I've been afraid that if I left here, he'd be taken away from me...I was afraid of the way we left things. I still am...I'm afraid that we can't be fixed...that even I can't be fixed...I'm afraid, Jefferson, of everything."

Jefferson Soul · 07-24-2010, 04:53 PM

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He couldn't bring himself to move forward and touch the little thing, not quite yet. It was so small, so fragile and weak, and yet somehow the little gray thing was an extension of himself, something he—the sinner, the monster that he was—had somehow created. That couldn't be possible, he had decided sometime earlier. Jefferson was hardly nothing more a disaster on three legs, a beast that had ended up in places more fortunate than they should have been; the fall and miscarriage of Geneva's litter he had decided to be his fault, that fate would not possibly allow him to be happy or bring more creatures of destruction into the world. They would not allow it, he'd decided. It would hardly be fair to the children.

His single green eye gazed down on the child, unmoving, as Geneva continued to speak. She poured her heart out to him, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her. Anger ebbed away, his chest now awash with confusion and sadness. The last time they had spoken had ended terribly, which led to this; he'd missed out on this child's birth, on being there for its mother, on raising it in its first days. Pripyat didn't recognize him as a father, and Jefferson questioned if he ever would. Was there still time to make that up to him? The cyclops didn't know; he had failed Heath and his siblings by being an absent parent, and evidently it was too late for they. For Pripyat, he could only wonder.

Jefferson was not filled with sudden desires to carry the child on his shoulders or show the world. An emptiness, a sort of void dwelt in his chest he chose not to identify. He had no feelings for the pup, not yet. He who had barely known love could not create it so suddenly and willingly, but Jefferson knew his place as the boy's father, and that was all that really mattered. For now, when she finished speaking, the cyclops raised his eye to her with sympathy pooled thick in its green. "I'm sorry," he said finally, struggling past the lump in his throat. "It's over now, we're... past it. ...We need to move on—" he glanced briefly at Pripyat, "—for his sake."

The brute raised his good arm and pulled free his bad, opening them in a quiet plea for forgiveness and an embrace. He didn't move, however, still hesitant from the long weeks when she hardly looked at him, let alone allowed him the sense of touch. His expression was no less than resigned and weary, tired of this current state, this need to make himself miserable, this need to declare himself an untouchable.

Geneva Stockholm · 08-01-2010, 10:38 PM

Geneva had not expected some latent parental instinct to spring forward when Jefferson saw Pripyat for the first time. Their young son was silent now, his ghostly, icy eyes resting on the scarred male with the single, electric green eye filled with tumultuous emotion. This was not the way she would have imagined their reunion, but there was a kind of perfection in it regardless. It took long for Jefferson to trust, as their courtship had proved to her. And although he seemed reluctant to trust, it seemed that their time apart had not erased those lessons in trust, and perhaps, love.

His open arms were an offering. Of what, she could only begin to wonder about. His open arms should have symbolized the completion of the broken circle of their relationship, of their family. But it was all impossibly flawed. There were things she still was not at peace with. But the difference now was that she was willing to put those things aside now. They would have to be addressed at a different time, but there was one other important thing that overshadowed them all. She loved Jefferson, and although at times that did not make sense to her, it didn't have to. She just needed to accept it, and she did.

With only a moment's hesitation, she moved forward and carefully, nervously, anxiously wrapped her own arms around him. Pripyat stayed at arm's length, his icy eyes calculating the situation. Her ghost child - their child - was silent, and not unsure as his mother, but quietly curious as to what this might mean. "I'm so sorry, for everything," she said.

Jefferson Soul · 08-09-2010, 10:16 PM

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Geneva crept past the wide-eyed child and fell into the scarred man's torn and ripped arms. Jefferson hadn't known he held his breath until that point they touched when it suddenly released from his lungs in the form of a sigh; the slight, sad smile on his face disappeared as he wrapped his arms around her, replaced with a pained frown turning at his scarred lips. How long had it been since they had touched like so? Months and months—too long, he decided instantly, when the brute realized at that second how terribly he had missed her, missed her like he had never missed anyone. Even Iskata, DaVinci. The parents he had never known, the half-sister who had disappeared from Dahlia, the memories and a childhood he could never recall. How was it—why was it—that Geneva suddenly meant so much more?

"Don't be," the cyclops said. His green eye closed, treasuring the seconds they held close, and yet his arms felt the difference in their binds around her—indeed she had healed strangely after the fall and Dawali's attempts, for he felt the various small, subtle differences in her form. The brue had tried to save her, to avoid the feeling he felt now.

Again he swallowed a lump and tightened his embrace, burying his face into her neck and shoulder. "I love you," he murmured, his words shrouded in pain and regret. They had sat in his throat like a lump until he released them, understood them. He was not supposed to be capable of love, he recalled, and yet he hated to deny the twist of regret in his chest. Its origins were not unknown.

Geneva Stockholm · 08-10-2010, 03:11 PM

This was harder than she thought it would be, although it was also infinitely simple. His words, three simple words, cemented the reality in her mind. He didn't say it often, and it was strange - to her at least - that he would say it now. But it was something to cleave herself to. It was something to anchor her as she tried to find her way back to a place and a way to begin to belong with him again. But she did not even feel like she belonged to herself anymore, and she wanted a hold on her own identity too.

"I love you too," she responded. Those words were not hard to form, not hard to say. But the actions behind them, that would prove them to be true, those would be difficult to conjure. Because although this was a step forward, fear was still a prevalent presence in her life, and it still dictated much of what she did. It was a cycle that she would have to fight to break in order to find her way back to him, really and truly. "I'm going to need time..." she said gently, trying to make him understand. She wanted to leave this sandy shore behind and go home with him and take her son with her, but she wasn't ready.

Jefferson Soul · 08-11-2010, 04:21 PM

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He nodded slowly, understanding. The ranch house had been empty of Geneva for months and months; although Jefferson had grown accustomed to the still silence within its walls, the cyclops had also grown rather tired of it as well. Jefferson had not expected Geneva to rush back with him, and as a result had purposely left out the request. Perhaps he himself was not quite ready for that step again, needing the stillness of the ranch house to provoke his thoughts to action. Pripyat was accustomed to wherever they had been living, and uprooting him now to live with this scary, scarred giant could have been traumatic. Jefferson knew little of the feelings of love, but even he was aware how dramatic such a change could be. The cyclops knew he would have to earn his son's trust late into the boy's childhood, but he had no choice. He could not force Pripyat to see him as a father just because he was a leader; he needed to prove himself fatherly first. The cyclops hadn't the slightest idea on how to do so.

"Me too," he said quietly, releasing her from his embrace. There was a darkness, a regret in his green eye, but a hopefulness lurked inside as well. He turned away from her, eye watching the boy briefly before averting to the sea. "Just... don't cut me off from him."

Geneva Stockholm · 08-13-2010, 03:57 PM

Jefferson made the quiet plea before casting his one-eyed gaze over the ocean. Geneva swallowed, bewildered by this line of thought. It was true that she had not exposed herself or her child to anyone since his birth, but that had been due to her relentless anxiety. But she hadn't dreamed of keeping Pripyat a secret from Jefferson for long. Whatever had happened between them, she knew Jefferson to have a core of good, despite whatever darkness had seeped through the fault lines of his soul. She knew that he would be a good father, and grow to care for Pripyat in time, if nothing else.

Gently, she took his chin in her hands to turn his face to hers. "I want you to be in his life," she said firmly, leaving no room for argument. There was no doubt in her mind that Jefferson would be a good protector for Pripyat, if nothing else. And she believed that he would grow to love Pripyat just as madly as she did. How could anyone not love her blue eyed boy? "I want to be in your life," she admitted freely. It was not hard to formulate those words. It was a concrete desire.

Jefferson Soul · 08-30-2010, 09:31 AM

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Fading out and closing this now! :3

His features softened. This was the Geneva he knew, whose hands held a delicate quality he found nowhere else; it was as if just the slightest touch of her fingers had a healing effect, easing the mist in his mind and calming him to a peace known only to she. He sunk a little into his shoulders, an apologetic smile at his lips, ashamed that he had even suggested a concept in the first place. Jefferson trusted her like he trusted no one else. She had been different, her own opposite perhaps, after the accident; Jefferson feared she would become like he, brooding and dark for the things he had done to himself and the physical problems he had to live by, but the olive-eyed Whilom had endured and survived. She was herself again, despite his worries she never would be. He breathed relief, for she was clearly so much stronger than he.

Scarred fingers raised to meet hers on his face and he nodded, understanding. Things would return to the past when life was easier between them, but bridges had to be rebuilt and habits changed. He glanced briefly at the blue-eyed beside them—Pripyat was the foundation on which they were to build, and Jefferson could not have desired anything more. He moved cautiously, bending down beside the boy and looking him eye-to-eyes. "Hello, Pripyat," the Patriarch said gently, smiling. "My name is Jefferson. I, uh... I'm your dad. I'm sorry I haven't been able to see you until now. Will you take a walk with us?"

Whether or not the boy agreed, Jefferson gingerly scooped him up and propped the boy on his shoulders, raising him a good eight feet in the air when the scarred man straightened. He next looked at Geneva, nodded his head, and began walking. Now was the best time as any to catch up.

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