he believed in forgiveness

Jefferson Soul · 09-22-2010, 01:34 AM

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Gwen, 'cause I promised. But only because you asked that guy for three pencils and hit on that other one. I love you. XD Short post thread?

The onset of autumn seemed to bring the Mirror Lakes to their prime each year with minimal effort; the trees had just barely begun to show color. The brute had no "favorite" season. They were all the same to he, each with its advantages and disadvantages. Springtime brought a constant itchiness to his nose but color to a dead and barren world; summer was far too hot but ripe in prey; the rains of autumn made his bones hurt despite lovely foliage; and of course winter was winter, cold and dead and wet. He hated every minute of the snowy season, and like always the brute did not look forward to the one closing in.

He sensed the change before it came, a different scent on a wind that steadily bolstered in strength. In no time that breeze would twirl and dance fallen leaves in the air; for now it simply rushed over the still green grass and through his fur. A bite laid within. Jefferson raised his nose to the air, delighted in his small sojourn from the ranch house and packly duties to rest momentarily at the lakeside, his back against a tree, fishing rod in hand. The brute had taken little to no time for fishing most of the summer, yet his typical sleepiness still settled in. In no time Jefferson had drifted off, rod steady in hand, rings circling the line in the water.

Geneva Stockholm · 09-22-2010, 01:58 AM

Yes, lets do this! Love you too.

The first summer of Pripyat's life was rapidly drawing to a close. Bit by bit, she stopped holding her breath. As a mother, she had not failed thus far. Her blue eyed boy was flourishing with Phoenix Valley, slowly stretching his wings aand discovering new things about life and about himself. Geneva did not think that she was physically capable of being any prouder of him than she already was. In her eyes, Pripyat was nothing short of remarkable, her own little miracle, born of love and in spite of bonds broken.

Geneva had done her own healing, in her own quiet ways, during this idyllic summer. The warm summer months had been a good time to return home. Life was good, food was plentiful, and things were quiet. As Whilom, she still tried to stay active and responsible, both to set an example to Pripyat and to reintegrate herself into the daily grind. However, since she no longer held a real leadership position at this time, she had more time to be a mother, and more time to devote to setting things right in her life. For many weeks, she had been looking after the injured girl, Bindu, and she was glad to see how rapidly she was improving.

Summer had also seen the return of Jefferson's adopted daughter. The gray wolfess was grateful for her return. She had not spoken directly to Jefferson about it, but she knew that her once estranged mate was joyful at her return to Phoenix Valley. Jefferson was regaining a family that had been scattered to the winds. When the Whilom happened upon him drowsing by the lakes, she was not at all surprised. She was happy to see that he was at peace enough to do such things. Instead of leaving him to himself, as she had in the last few weeks, she decided to change her course of action. Without much thought or ceremony, the slight wolfess curled her fingers in her long, flowered skirt of the dress that she had recently found in the city and plopped herself into his lap. "Good morning, Patriarch."

Jefferson Soul · 10-16-2010, 03:30 PM

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Hi, I'm back. I'm sorry love. Want me to postdate this a little to make it more up to date?

Perhaps it was the sudden changes that had taken a toll on him most. He had not noticed weariness in his eyes, the bags that hung there beneath; so much had happened in such little time that it bent his back and weighed his shoulders while at the same time relieving him of such weights. Perhaps it was that consequent peace of mind that allowed him those blissful, sporadic naps once more—a few months ago he had been at war with the love of his life while his adopted daughter danced her life away in an unknown place. He had worried endlessly for them both, and in the end both had somehow returned to the undeserving idiot. The Patriarch counted his blessings. Geneva was back. They had a son, a chance for Jefferson to redeem himself, even in the least. Addison was alive and well with an addition of her own for the family. Phoenix Valley thrived.

"Hello, Patriarch." With the added, sudden weight on his lap, Jefferson dimly blinked awake his single eye and peered green into her. A smile touched at his scarred lips; it seemed eternities since she'd drawn so close. "Well, look at you," the man said, admiring the sunlight in her eyes, the way she beamed like she had so many months back before the accident. It was, perhaps, like that fall had never happened. They had never ran through the rain, he carrying her broken and bloody body. They had never fought in the ranch house, then separated. And yet, as the leader brought his tattered fingers to cup her face, Jefferson knew the experience had only brought them closer together. Sleep still lingering in his eyes, he bent forward to kiss at her neck, then reclined once more. "No Pripyat today, hmm?"

Geneva Stockholm · 10-17-2010, 04:25 AM

Sounds fine.

His small display of physical affection, although not surprising, arrived a bit unexpectedly. Geneva felt a small flutter in her chest, one of wamrth. The feeling inside her chest, as tremulous and small as the wings of a young moth, was almost unfamiliar. She had experienced the cold thrill of nerves setting her heart fluttering or hammering, but the innocence of his touch, although it seemed strange to think of it as innocent, warmed her to no end. They had come a long way, the two of them, since the cold, cruel months of the previous spring.

"Our son has outgrown having me as his constant shadow," Geneva said with a small, faux sniff of indignation. There was a levity to her words. She was making fun of herself, and acknowledging the fact that she did indeed hover. Sometimes it was so hard to let Pripyat wander off on his own, although he was certainly old enough to do so without her as his constant shadow. She still worried about him, but not to the point that it drove her to fits of anxiety. She would always worry, as any mother would, but she knew that Pripyat was intelligent and capable of handling himself, so long as he did not stray far from the places that he knew best.

"I'm afraid that means that I will have to find someone else to attach myself to. I wonder who I should choose..." Geneva mused teasingly, tenderly tracing her fingertips over his ragged brow, her fingers touching the ridges of scar tissue on his face. It was nice to simply sit there with him and share the uncomplicated intimacy that had eluded them for so long.

Jefferson Soul · 10-29-2010, 02:07 PM

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Hi, I'm back. I'm sorry love. Want me to postdate this a little to make it more up to date?

He was certainly growing fast, that boy of his. How long had it been? Geneva reported the boy's birth to be back in June, and now it neared the end of the year; before the Patriarch knew it, it would be the gray boy's first birthday the following year. Where did the months go? He smiled at the olive-eyed woman, a flicker at his tattered ear; he breathed in her smell and drew delight from it. The cyclops hated to admit it, but there still lingered doubt in his mind, fear that she would vanish once more or find solace in a division between them once more. They had not spoken much on the subject, really, yet the two moved on as if those long, lonely weeks had never happened.

"He'll be on his own before we know it," the male replied, a strange sound deep within his tone. Sadness? Worry? Perhaps. "Addison grew up and whisked herself away. It all happened so fast, it's hard to believe she's back again." The cyclops shook his head and scratched idly at his ear. He sensed a worry in Geneva as well, a desire not to separate from her son in the way he worried for a separation between she and himself. A frown tugged at his scarred lips. "Don't worry about him. He's in a safe place here, with Grace to keep him busy." A smile of encouragement, though slight. He brushed hair from her eyes, then straightened his shoulders against the rough bark of the tree and pulled her close.

"Is it that hard a decision?" he smirked over her shoulder. If she was to attach to anyone else, she'd first need to pry away from his attaching embrace right then.

Geneva Stockholm · 11-01-2010, 08:55 PM

Geneva's smile faded around the edges, although her playful attitude remained. The truth was that their son was growing like a weed. It seemed that each time the Whilom blinked Pripyat had grown. When he had been much younger, he would come up to her with all sorts of questions about the world around him. Now she was most accustomed to seeing him in the distance, but he was much too old for her to be running after him. She felt like his shadow at times, and although her gentle-spoken son did not seem to chafe at her concern, his growing independence was a point of worry for her. She was glad that he was capable, but she hated to let go.

"I suppose I could make sure that you bathe regularly, and pester you about eating properly," Geneva mused, an edge of laughter to her tone. "And make certain that you don't stay out much after dark." She continued, fussing with his hair a little bit, arranging it so that it stayed out of his face. "Although I don't think I will be able to get you to play well with others," the gray woman said wryly.

Jefferson Soul · 11-06-2010, 03:22 PM

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As much as she toyed with his hair, the bangs always drifted back into his eyes. At times they masked the monstrosity of a scar on his face, though still it peeked out as it laced over the surface of his muzzle. Jefferson had watched for himself, independent and alone, for far too long; he had become coated in scars and tatters as a result, yet blamed such disfigurements as payment for his sins. He cared little for his appearance, not once considering he could cut his hair from his eyes, for he had far too much else to worry himself over. She mused with playful words, returning a smirk to his scarred lips.

"I have too much else to worry about than bathing or eating," he shrugged, a coy glint in his eye. "A pack, a son, a woman and her tumbles... she takes good care of me." He missed his independence, that once-upon-a-time feeling where he owned nothing and nothing owned him, but that was nothing but a past life. His place now, the place he had lingered in for what felt like such a short time, could not have made him happier. "The dark is exciting," Jefferson hissed through the teeth that formed a sly grin, "don't you remember the night with the fireflies? You and me. You want to take that away from me?"

He snickered at last. "And I think the matter is that they don't play well with me." A pause. "Most of them," and he laid a kiss on her nose.

Geneva Stockholm · 11-10-2010, 05:28 PM

Geneva laughed and rolled her eyes at him. Jefferson's satirical explanations were nothing short of ridiculous hilarity. Geneva felt her heart lift; it was so comforting to know that whatever had befallen them, they had not lost this part of their relationship. She treasured the times when they were able to be whimsical and not so burdened by the harshness of reality. Jefferson might insist that this pack was full of fools and dreamers, but she knew that he dreamed too.

She slid off of his lap, but lingered close to him. She laid her head on his uninjured shoulder and playfully poked him in the ribs with her elbow. "You are worse than your son," she teased. Pripyat was very much like both of his parents. He was generally courteous, but that did not mean that he was soft spoken like Geneva; he also possessed some of Jefferson's fire. Geneva did not know how he would channel it, but she was so proud of their child.

"Would you change it?" Geneva asked suddenly, her gaze tracing the ripples on the water. "Would you change us?" She had thought about this question before. And although it seemed that matters between them were mended, she knew that they should not sit forgotten. They had fought horribly and then remained separated. Although some healing had taken place, they had talked very little about the way that things had fallen between them.

Jefferson Soul · 11-11-2010, 02:15 PM

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Would you change us? He didn't know. The Patriarch gazed at her for what felt like eternity, eye glowing with a worried disturbance, shoulders sagging with discouragement. Their relationship had been a rocky one, the most complicated out of any he'd seen of any others; the Patriarch had insisted his independence, both from she and from the rest of the pack, and maintained heavy walls to defend all that lurked within his grim, twisted mind. He'd hated her for breaking through at first, especially since she had managed to do despite his utmost efforts to keep her out. How had she done it? The idiot still didn't know. He hadn't wanted to be happy. He hadn't deserved to be happy. All along, and even as she rested on his shoulder so lovingly close, he wracked himself with guilt. The beast had committed too many sins to deserve happiness.

But would he change it? The brute could not see himself capable of it; she had not controlled him, per se, but something within him rendered himself vulnerable and controllable. Perhaps it was the newness of the experience, the unknown features of falling in love, and the lack of defense he had against such a foreign thing. Eye lingered on the lake, features sinking to an emotionless gray. Would she herself change any of it? Had she ever considered turning her back on him, leaving him behind? Leaving behind that scarred, sarcastic idiot with nothing going for him and a thousand sins on his soul? What, he wondered, could possible keep her to stay?

What they had gone through he did not consider necessary for their relationship. It had been a tedious, complicated time of their lives; the brute had questioned for weeks if they would patch things up or not, and by the end of it he had grown used to standing alone once more. Jefferson was glad they were united again—but had things not succeeded, the Patriarch would have simply moved on. He didn't deserve that happiness anyway. "Yes," he said boldly, though it was probably not what she wanted to hear. There was simply too much that had happened, throughout all their relationship, he might have altered somehow only because his conscience constantly demanded he do so. "But it's too late now. Things worked."

He turned his gaze to her, however, with an earnest eye that questioned the same of her without a word.

Geneva Stockholm · 11-18-2010, 06:36 PM

Geneva listened to his answer, and although she wanted his honest opinion, her heart sank for a second. And then he added those last few words and his statement made complete sense. Jefferson did not feel that he deserved happiness of any sort. Whatever had happened to him before the days he had assumed the name Jefferson, he still felt like a sinner. She did not know even to this day if he felt repentant, of if he was still plagued with the blind sense of guilt. However, from where she stood, the only creature capable of lifting that great guilt was Jefferson; he held the key, and she hoped that one day he would allow himself to be free of it.

"I might change things," Geneva said honestly. "Small things, big things, more things than I care to enumerate." It made her slightly miserable to ponder such things, but Jefferson deserved an honest reply. She had asked him hoping for the same honesty. "But that has very little to do with you, and much more to do with my own actions." Geneva was no stranger to guilt. It had preyed on her in the same way he preyed upon him, in a sense. In relation to their falling out, she felt that she was entirely responsible.

"I am just glad that we found our way back to each other," she said. It had taken much time for them to return to each other. Although she was still recovering most of her self image, she felt less like she had to be completely self reliant. She was finding ways to bend and not break. She was finding ways to adapt to their new life, and she wanted to share it with him as much as possible.

Jefferson Soul · 11-22-2010, 11:22 AM

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"What happened wasn't your fault," or at least he couldn't blame her wholly for it. The brute heaved a long, drawn-out sigh and pushed his back against the rough surface of the trunk. He couldn't continue at first, unsure if he was lying to himself in saying those words. What had he done wrong back then? He had rescued her, carried her miles and miles to Muggles and back again. He'd nursed her in the ranch house, or at least until she wouldn't allow him to anymore. Jefferson had never been entirely sure what had irked her so, and such confusion had led to his own frustration with her. He had never asked her more about it, for fear it would all happen again. "It was scarring for both of us," he finished, leaving out a thousand more things to say.

He gazed into the water, fingers shifting a little on the fishing pole. For some time the brute listened to silence, cracking a slight smile only when she expressed happiness for their reunion. They had Pripyat now; all was fair and good again, or so they assumed. His brows twitched, his scars frowned. There were still too many questions.

"Geneva," he said finally, holding his gaze on the water, "it... was an accident, right?" He spoke of the accident—or what he'd always hoped was just an accident.

Geneva Stockholm · 11-22-2010, 08:35 PM

Geneva could tell that Jefferson was troubled. When wasn't he? Geneva personally possessed an inexhaustible amount of curiosity, but it seemed that her mate's mind was always working, the gears turning and grinding out something new for him to worry about. He existed under a constant weight of regret, guilt, secrets - things she could not name or even begin to list off. But things had seemed a little easier for him lately. She did not think that he had achieved true peace of mind and doubted that he would for some time, but things had more or less been positive.

Her falling and the repercussions of it were not things that she cared to dwell on. However, the fact that she had tumbled down stories and that the impact had shattered more than just her body was something that she could not deny or ignore. Perhaps Geneva should have left well enough alone, so they could have set together watching the ripples on the lake, but there would be time for that later, hopefully. It had been long enough, and although she felt as though she was picking at scabs, talking about this would draw some of the poison from her heart. These were things they needed to be honest about and doubts that they needed to address before they grew into shadows falling over their entire relationship.

She sat silently for a few minutes, her own lime colored gaze touching the water. She watched the ripples form his fishing pole and contemplated the depths of the lake before she spoke. "Losing Shae and Jordan was one of the hardest things I had to deal with. I never knew what life was like without Jordan; he was all I knew. He knew my parents before I was born, and I grew up with him by my side, my protecting shadow. And I loved him. But Jefferson," she said without lifting her eyes from the water. "I chose you. Because of that, I would never choose to lose you in any way possible. I love you."

Jefferson Soul · 11-26-2010, 06:29 PM

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Perhaps he had forgotten about Jordan, the man the cyclops had somehow replaced, and Shae, the child Pripyat had done the same, or perhaps Jefferson had simply pushed them out of his mind. Out of sight, out of mind, after all; Geneva had stopped mentioning them long ago, and the Patriarch had understood the Whilom to be over their respective deaths. However, she still spoke of Jordan with a tenderness of voice, like shadows of a former affection still lingered somewhere within, and instantaneously the cyclops unconsciously shifted away from her just slightly, withdrawing some at the new information. She'd chosen Jefferson, she said. She loved him. Had Jordan never left, would things have ended up the same?

He couldn't hold such questions within. "Then things would be different if he were still alive," the cyclops said flatly, emerald eye grim at the water's crest. She didn't love him in the way she loved Jordan, and as a result she didn't love Pripyat the way she'd loved Shae. He could not ask her to feel different, he could not expect her to change her affections. Their existences, their consequent deaths, had had a lasting effect on her. That much was out of his hands completely, but it wasn't jealousy that twisted his stomach then. It was, just maybe, hate. Disgust. Fear, maybe.

Though his brow remained furrowed and scarred features stiff, he did not reveal such feelings to her. There was no point. "You jumped because of him," he said. He shifted again, withdrew more, pulled away from her ever so subtly. You jumped because I'm not him.

Geneva Stockholm · 12-03-2010, 08:53 PM

Geneva stared at him coolly, swallowing whatever is convoluted mind had churned up and sent flying out of his mouth. Before, Geneva might have felt enraged to hear such accusations coming from it. It still certainly hurt her to hear them; however, she had been with Jefferson long enough to learn the way he operated. Jefferson always looked to the dark side of anything first, searching for flaws, especially when an issue involved him personally. She acknowledged this with a bit of bitterness; this aspect of his personality was still hard to swallow. But she had to take this with a grain of salt, because the other qualities that he possessed eclipsed this perpetually doubting part.

Taking a breath, she finally spoke to him. "Sometimes you are absolutely ridiculous," she said with mild annoyance and affection in her voice. Knowing that it would probably tick him off, she reached over and ruffled his hair, something she might do to Pripyat he was being foolish or silly and she was chiding him. She would not let misunderstanding get out of hand and get between them again. They had spent long enough chasing after one another.

"Do you really believe that?" the female asked, green eyes intent upon his face. "Because I'll tell you what, that sounds like utter shit to me, and I feel crazy most days." Whatever he was feeling now, she had faith that she would be able to make him see the truth, and the way she felt about them. They had a long way to go, but they had come so far already. She could put her faith to rest in that.

Jefferson Soul · 12-08-2010, 10:24 PM

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Not many could spit shit into his face and eye, but Geneva was one of few who knew of her ability of doing so. Jefferson was no fool; he was no sucker for love, nor was he fallen for the girl beyond his rational capability to handle himself in the midst of it. Against his sarcasm and pessimism was her constant, even balance of a cool optimism. They were like a rushing tide, pushing and pulling at the sand, always at odds with the coastline and yet so easily receding back into the safety of the sea.

"Sometimes you are absolutely ridiculous," she said, and the brute furrowed his brows like a pouting child. That was hardly the intent, of course, but the beast still thinned his eye and heaved a rather pathetic sigh, frustrated by her impudence in the face of his own honestly. She continued on, but despite it his thoughts and beliefs remained solidified, confirmed in concrete within his own mind. The scarred man was stubborn, and Geneva knew it best.

He made a point not to admit to it, however. "Fine," he said flatly, eye returning to the fishing line at the water's crest. He waited a long while, then finally twitched his nose irritably and spoke again. "I don't believe you simply fell from that Quarry. You rescued Addison there. You're not stupid. Neither am I."

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Geneva Stockholm · 12-13-2010, 05:40 PM

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Table by Jenny. .

Geneva sighed as he refuted her previous statement. At this point in time, there was nothing she could do to convince him. He had not been there; he had not been inside her head. The only thing that existed for him was the image of the bloody aftermath. Whether by her own will or by the force of gravity, she had fallen and broken her body, fragmented her mind, injured her spirit. There was little she could do to change the past or his understanding of it right now. All she could do was deal with the aftermath.

"You don't have to believe me for it to be true," Geneva said, concluding the topic of conversation for now. This was something they would have to face, probably continually. Did he trust her as much as he used to? Geneva could honestly not tell. She knew that if he found her completely unfit, he would have cast her aside entirely. She had room to grow; but then, so did he. Their foundation might be shaky, but it had stood against the tragedy they had faced together in the spring.

She settled against him, closing the distance he had put between them. She would not draw away from him; it was natural for him to question things, to pull away from what he did not trust. But he would be able to trust her again. She would find a way.

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