[html] http://i76.photobucket.com/albums/j40/k ... ump/12.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> Forward dated to February 26.
1. Character Name: Geneva Stockholm
2. Character Birthdate (including year): May 31, 06
3. Whether s/he is a regular wolf or a Luperci: Luperci
4. Gender: Female
5. Your e-mail: gwendolynsflight
6. A secondary form of contact (AIM, MSN, Y!M): PM
7. How did you learn/hear about 'Souls?: Current Member
Geneva reminded herself to breathe as the trail of her footprints grew. If she looked behind her, she could see a clear path in the snow of her paw prints. Taking that first step had been the hardest. It had been foolish, but she had squeezed her eyes shut tight when she had first stepped out of Crimson Dreams borders. As if she had expected to encounter an invisible barrier to keep her there. But leaving the borders had been easier than she had ever imagined.
The grayscale wolfess felt equal parts relief and guilt as the distance grew.
The pads of her paws were chilled by the snow. She squinted lime colored eyes as the wind gusted. The route she took now was one of memory. She had no sense of smell to work with. Instead, she recalled a day not so long ago when she had spoken to a one-eyed male.
She had no idea why, but the scene resonated in her head. She had been so terrified that day. She didn't know why the scene would offer her some peculiar comfort now. It was funny how she found herself, before she even knew it, at the very location that event had taken place. Geneva stood at the borders, waiting, her mind turning each phrase around. And then she knew why she had come.
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He could have been compared to the wind, always coming and going but primarily unseen. His gusts went from furious to calm in an instant, from weak to strong in another. Those days, that had been all he was. Iskata was dead, his friend was dead. The Patriarch hadn't acted in such a way when he'd gotten wind of Laruku's death or murder, whatever it was, even though they had been about as much family as he and Iskata had been. But no, the ex-Matriarch and cream-furred woman he'd grown to love and care for was dead, and he hadn't even been there to defend her. He didn't know how, he didn't know why. All he knew was that she'd never come home, and he was unbearably... lonely. He'd never been lonely in his life.
At the same time, he'd never met the death of another and understood it as tragic. All death he knew of had been by his hand... merciless, regretless. He didn't know how to handle not having her around anymore. In fact, it tore at each and every heartstring he had.
He'd assumed a behavior similar to when he had first joined Phoenix Valley, months before when Iskata was back in her prime again. She'd been the one to accept him in after Deuce tried to send him away, after all. Perhaps that was why he was wandering the borders, pacing through the wind and snow as if it couldn't even touch him. Jefferson was numb to the cold; it was nothing compared to the storm within. He wanted to go back to where he'd first seen her, to where they'd first met. To remember... to make things not how they were so suddenly.
Instead, he saw Geneva. She stood just feet away from where he'd first collapsed, where Deuce had approached him. A couple yards away from where he'd turned his back to return, agreeing to the invitation the dead woman had given him. He stared at the grayscale-hued woman with a desolate, lost look in his eyes, like something within was broken and beyond mending. He stood limply, some yards away, and sadly stared at her as long as he could. "Geneva," he said quietly, voice suddenly devoid of the hardness it had so grimly possessed for the past few miserable days. No, instead a vulnerability laid within. He didn't even bother with trying to mask it... she'd see through him either way. "Now is not a good time, Geneva," he said pathetically, eye turning to the soil.
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Geneva's ears perked up when she heard someone approaching. She squinted lime green eyes against the cold wind. She saw that it was Jefferson that approached her, his thin frame easily recognizable, framed against the empty palette of white snow and gray sky. There was a moment where she only held her breath, didn't dare to move from the spot. Her body recalled the ghost of adrenaline and the terrified rhythm of her heartbeat, her mind jolted into memory at the mere sight of him.
She could recall exactly the way she had felt during their first meeting, which led her to wonder why she had even thought to come here at all. She already knew the answer, but the question still burned through her veins. She waited for him to move near, his words arresting whatever she might have said by way of greeting.
She was quiet for several seconds, her eyes tracing over his haggard frame and the peculiar expression on his face. The single green eye, capable of firing with fatal electricity, seemed to lack luster. His eye was cast to the ground, and she felt an answering resonance in the emotion so clearly expressed in the tired lines of his body.
The look on his face was...delicate. It shocked her. For one who so readily presented the world with an offensive front, an acerbic tongue. It seemed his mask had slipped, or maybe he was just too tired to put on his game face for her. For some reason, that bothered her more than anything she had on her mind.
She closed the distance between them until she stood a foot away. This was the first time she had seen him on four legs, and she was just as small in this form too. Still, she lifted her neck, her eyes intent on his bowed face. "Tell me what I can do." Not, "is there anything I can do?" or "what can I do?" She should know better than to make demands of him by now, but here she was, doing it again. In this matter, she offered him no quarter.
He looked like he had lost the world. And she wanted to ease him of that burden, take some of it on herself, if she could.
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She was just the way he remembered her--unbearably nosy and in the way despite what dangers she put herself into, but the one-eyed brute sighed and just let her be. He hadn't the energy to scold anyone that day or give another attempt to run her out of his lands, but he had no inspiration to, either. Jefferson had grown fond of her and learned to respect her--although what she said and did was ultimately confusing and disagreeable, he'd managed to develop a rather rare sense of respect for her nonetheless that, especially under the circumstances, would not have been gifted in almost any other situation or with any other stranger. He hated knowing that in himself, but now was hardly the time to think about it.
Geneva stepped closer and offered her services, despite their still lack of knowledge of one another and the like. The Patriarch still didn't understand her compassion and sympathy--especially with strangers--and grimaced knowing it would one day get her in trouble. "A friend's died," he said grimly, shaking his head. After a pause, he turned his eye back to her, as morose and solemn as it was.
"There's nothing you can do. Why are you here?"
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[html] http://i76.photobucket.com/albums/j40/k ... ump/12.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> Oh. Geneva's ears flicked back against her head, those words entering her brain to snake with recognition. She felt her own loss coil tightly around them. And she realized why he seemed so low, almost not like himself at all. It wasn't defeat, not exactly. There was no foe to fight. There was no way to right the wrong. Instead, there was merely a sense of helplessness so vast, it could suffocate, drown anyone within its hold.
That was the part that she hated the most. If there had been something, anything she had been able to do after Jordan died to make things right, she would have. She didn't even have that option. She would have rather failed at the task, than not have the chance to act at all. Although death had stolen someone else from each of them, she felt as though she and Jefferson had been cheated the most. She only hoped that perhaps there was some peace in death, because living in the aftermath was anything but peaceful.
She wished there was a way to change the look in his green eye. Even if it meant inciting him into action, tearing after her screaming. Anything was better than this. She sighed instead, not saying that she was sorry for his loss. It would be redundant. She was sure he didn't want to hear it, even if she did want to say it. Her face was transparent with it. "I find that I'm a misfit and a dreamer," she said softly, not very sure how to feel, "I heard they congregate around here."
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Jefferson straightened and looked at her questionably, for a moment taking the time to summon up reasons for her words. Out of any stranger he'd ever met outside his pack, the only one he would probably never have expected to request acceptance into Phoenix Valley while Jefferson led it... was Geneva. Her delicate eyes spoke wonders; she was honest and determined, as subtle as her methods were, and the Patriarch didn't understand a bit of it. He'd been awful to her, screaming at her and showing all his different colors for three different reasons. She knew what a hassle he was and how easily he could have been avoided. She could have waited till he was gone, or sought refuge in Dahlia de Mai or even AniWaya. But no, here she was facing him determinedly, uncaring that the leader was a tasteless brute and monstrosity and seeking his approval anyway. He did not understand.
"You want to stay?" the hybrid muttered, eye wide as he shook his head in disbelief. Sure, she was definitely the dreamer type, but why here? Why Phoenix Valley? Why would someone willingly put themselves under his power, knowing who he was and how he acted? Wasn't she... afraid? He released a sudden sigh of a puzzled frustration, unable to piece together suitable reasons in his mind. "I don't understand. What happened?"
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[html] http://i76.photobucket.com/albums/j40/k ... ump/12.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> She never imagined she would see him so puzzled. In fact, she had imagined so many expressions on his face. But the one of intense puzzlement hadn't been in the mix when she had tried to picture his face, features formed in anything but the snarl he had first worn when they had met. She was surprised to feel a slight bit of pleasure curl through her at this new discovery.It served to further pique her curiosity about this strange male. She never really knew what to expect from him, but always found herself coming back to see what he'd do or say.
He seemed shocked at her admission. And truth be told, she was a bit shocked herself. She had known that she had wanted to talk to him. She had sought him out once before, and had met a white wolf named Pendzez in his place already. But she had never intended to ask to stay. Geneva was lost, thrown out to sea with the events of the last few days. She didn't know why she would think of him as an anchor. It didn't make the slightest bit of sense, when his mind could change as swiftly as the direction of the wind.
"I don't know why," she said. And she was the first to admit it. "I was just...troubled. And I thought of you." She realized that those words could be taken in several ways, but she decided not to elaborate. The next part was hard to formulate, hard to even think about. There was self deprecation in her voice. "Someone very dear to me would have fallen if I stayed....that wasn't an option for me." She shrugged, finding it hard to put to words. There was a question written in his features, in the way he looked at her. She looked at him for a moment, before she voiced the answer. "I'm not afraid of you, Jefferson. Not exactly. I'm afraid of what you might do, but I'm not afraid of you."
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...And I thought of you. It was good that she did not continue immediately after such words, for anything else admitted so quickly would not have reached his ears. The look she received from him was the strangest, most uncharacteristic one yet: his single, green eye stared at her widely, devoid of any sort of real emotion other than stunned surprise. At first, that was all it was, but the running thoughts breezed through his mind shortly thereafter, again searching all routes and reasons for why a statement could have been said. Why did she find him so important--so appealing that not only was she unafraid of him, but she just kept coming back?
His ears flicked back when she admitted to having no other option than to leave, and honestly, he'd hoped for better reasons than that. Jefferson might have preferred she'd come to Phoenix Valley just because, perhaps it was safer there. If nothing else, he decided, she'd turned to his pack because she'd thought of him somehow. She hadn't turned to Dahlia de Mai and subject herself to his crazy younger half-brother or one of the other packs. Geneva wasn't afraid of him--his expression tightened in response, but this was no surprise to him. He was already aware that he could shake her up quite a bit, but she'd seen his lighter, unseen side. She knew he was all cotton and stuffing on the inside. He hated that she knew, but he had no way of changing that. "I know," he said stiffly, eye returning to its usual level of frustration and distance as it looked off elsewhere. His scowl returned, his demeanor shifted altogether. "I don't care if you stay," he lied. "There's room. Do what you want."
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[html] http://i76.photobucket.com/albums/j40/k ... ump/12.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> Again, he surprised her with the way his face could change in an instant. It was so strange to imagine shock, surprise on his face, because of something she had said. She would have expected cynicism from him, a way to distance himself from her. But the surprise on his face was so foreign. And for some reason, also exciting. She didn't know why, but she realized that she enjoyed being responsible for that expression on his face.
A small smile found its way on to her face. She did her best to hide it, keeping her lips folded over her teeth. The last thing she needed was for Jefferson to think that she might be mocking him, or laughing at him. But she couldn't help the small bit of happiness she felt. He could change like the face of water touched by gentle breeze or whipped into deadly force by stormy winds. He constantly kept her guessing, and she found that appealing.
He seemed to have regained equilibrium, a familiar expression settling over his features. Still, Geneva had seen just a bit of what lay beneath the exterior. She knew that something more existed under the gruff tone, the careless words. She nodded, "Thank you, Jefferson," she said, sincerity in her voice. She looked at him closely for a moment, before turning over the last thing he had said. "What I want to do...is spend some time with you." Lord knew what reaction she'd get from that.
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He hid his reaction. She'd thanked him, then added something more. He pretended he didn't care, didn't even hear it at first--Jefferson wanted to believe he didn't care--but just as she was so secretly intrigued in the Patriarch, so was Jefferson in she. More to the point, he'd never really been so completely thrown off his own guard and equilibrium before. Then again, he'd never been so... bothered with before. Nobody dealt with him. His strategies to be left alone usually worked, one way or another. He'd lectured Pendzez; it'd worked. He'd pushed away DaVinci and Iskata; they'd both worked, most of the time. With Allegro, he'd nearly ripped her throat apart... that had worked pretty well, actually. Why couldn't he bring himself to do the same to Geneva? Why didn't he ensure that she knew he was the one in charge?
When his stern green eye glanced back at her, he knew he wasn't. Neither of them were--and that feeling was completely foreign. For a moment, he was almost afraid. Jefferson remained still, his only movement the beating of his heart and the slow rising of his chest as he breathed. There was nobody in the world other than Geneva that would ever want to deal with him.
There was a long, sudden silence between them. He found no immediate words; his expression went unchanged. After a long while, his eye and head turned away to stare at the distance gruffly. "What do you want from me?" He found himself saying again. The brute had already asked her that once... Once was enough, but he still didn't have the answers she was looking for. Surely she knew that. "I don't know what the hell you see in me that's keeping you here, but... it's all wrong."
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[html] http://i76.photobucket.com/albums/j40/k ... ump/12.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> Silence stretched between them, but she didn't find it uncomfortable. It wasn't the stifling sort of silence, filled with tension or waiting. It was a silence without demand for words. It was filled with some expectancy, as she waited to see what the one-eyed male would do or say. His words weren't immediate, but she knew that they would come eventually. Jefferson didn't seem the type to run away completely. And if Geneva was anything, she was patient.
The words he offered now were familiar. He'd uttered them before, and Geneva found that she still didn't have an answer for them. Not yet, anyway. She was getting a slightly better idea, less muddled with him than before. The first time she had met him, it had been like a shock of electricity to her system. She got that same thrill now, but she was more in control of her actions. Her head was clear. He was still a mystery, this dynamic between them, a mystery. But she was willing to delve headfirst into that mystery.
"Well, you can start by looking at me when you talk to me," she said. "Although, I don't mind moving if looking that way is more comfortable for you." Her words were light, teasing to detract from the harshness he'd adopted once more. It didn't phase her. She matched her actions to her words, moving slightly to his side to stay in his field of vision. She looked him in the face, her eyes tracing over the eye, the scars, the curve of his brow. She looked him in the face, not because of shock at seeing his scarred visage, but because of the gravity of the words she spoke next. "How can you know that I'm wrong, if you don't know what I see in the first place?"
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At the end of her reply, it being quick-witted and lighthearted as always, a sheepish, almost unwanted and small smile slid onto the one-eyed brute's face. It might have been a bad decision for him to do so, but he followed her advice and looked straight at her then, just as the smile widened somewhat. It was genuine, rare; a diamond in the rough. Jefferson didn't know what effect a smile would have on his scarred and monstrous face that was already broken beyond repair, but perhaps it was the last of his deep-set emotions she had yet to see. Would she react as she always did, taken aback in being faced by yet another one of his unexpected responses, this one being the most uncharacteristic and horrible of them all? Would she leave him alone for his wandering eyes, always on the alert? Would she let him be when he wouldn't smile, because his mind was too troubled by far more important things?
He decided then that he didn't mind this girl; she was exotic, different. Her company intrigued him somehow, in ways he could not explain nor bothered to think further into. The cyclops hated the questions she sent him, hated how he had to think about himself when she was around. He hated what she did to him... but he couldn't bring himself to hate her. Not at all.
Eye pointed congenially straight at her and an unfamiliar, gentle smile on his face, he began to shake his head. "Because there's too much to see here," he replied quietly. "Not everything has answers." Their eyes were connected, and he did not break his gaze away. The green eye of his was unbelievably dynamic in color and emotion; so much laid there beneath the surface that everything within his eye seemed to leap out at her. What he lacked from the loss of his other eye was summed up in the one remaining. "I save direct looks for people in trouble, you know," he said, voice somewhat softer than usual. A man of many faces, he was, and yet that scarred eye remained in each one.
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[html] http://i76.photobucket.com/albums/j40/k ... ump/12.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> He smiled, and that might have been the strangest thing of all. The expression flitted across his face, settling over his scarred features. When he turned his one-eyed gaze upon her, just as she asked him to, she found that she was slightly taken aback. She found herself swallowing convulsively, not from fear, but simple surprise. She had never imagined that she would see a look like that on his face - at least not so soon. He seemed so much like a weathered, abandoned fortress - walls built high, wind and battle scarred, to keep out enemies long dead or forgotten.
The surprised look melted from her widened lime green eyes, as she felt a small, answering smile spread her own mouth. The smile was weak, a watered down version, but there was definitely warmth there. She was too tired to keep guessing. And she had come to accept that this man, so like a scattered puzzle, was more like a dark jewel. Looking into the depths, he seemed an endless abyss, but when the light hit, facets would spring out and sparkle, casting prisms from the shadows.
"I think," she said lightly. "That we should agree to disagree." A concession, instead of another tireless stream of questions she'd usually try to force on him. They both needed a break. She turned her head a bit to the side. "There's always an answer. I think the challenge here is asking the right question."
The vibrance of the color of his eye was dizzying. It seemed emerald and jade all at once, deep and dizzying. The effect was slightly dazzling, dazing, perhaps because he had never really looked directly at her before. When they had first met, his eye had met her face, but it had been veiled with anger, a potent rage. But now she felt as though there was a bit of truth in his gaze, a part of him looking out she had never seen before. "I guess I should take care to stay out of your line of sight," she said, teasing. "Or invest in some good camouflage for those times you might have reason to look."
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She asked him a question, and he took some time in preparation for answering. How could he describe Phoenix Valley in a nutshell? That, she already knew. A land of dreamers and misfits, a place for creatures who typically had nowhere else to go or just weren't staying long. Their members were all whimsical, freethinkers to a point, and controlling them was a bit out of Jefferson hands. He wasn't the restrictive type; his rules were generally loose, and as long as there were no inter-pack wars waging without his knowledge, he generally let his members do what they wanted. They knew that as long as no unnecessary bloodshed was happening nor sporadic disrespect for he or DaVinci, they were typically free to roam the lands and do as they please. From what he'd heard and seen in the eyes of a few different members, there was quite a bit of love in the air.
As for everything else? Well, that came with general exploration, he supposed. "Most of the members are good people. They tend to either keep to themselves or group up with one another." He shrugged. "We attract a lot of opinionated ones. I guess that's goes without saying." After all, look at the leader. Jefferson rolled his green eye and turned, looking out over the land in its snowy, white bliss. "I stick around the ranchhouse, more in the central part of the lands. It's easy to find. The coast has a lighthouse and there's a limestone quarry around here somewhere, but I've never managed to get over there. It's a bit of a walk for me."
There was a pause as he gazed over the land before his eye meandered back to her. "As for you, well..." he shrugged shallowly. He was never really good for assigning people to things, unless he had to do it in some sort of emergency. Somehow, that was the only time he ever truly thought straight. "...I'm sure you'll find something. Everyone's still upset over Iskata's death... You're a happy person. Cheer them up."
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[html] http://i76.photobucket.com/albums/j40/k ... ump/12.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> There was something about him that engaged her. There was something about the sound of his voice that made her listen just a little harder when he spoke, to capture every nuance and word he'd share. It was frustrating, to a point. Although she had only seen him once before, she knew with such certainty that it would be so easy for him to clam up, bite his tongue, and walk away. It seemed like the natural thing for the one-eyed man to do.
And it nearly drove her to the point of madness that she couldn't seem to leave well enough alone. It shouldn't matter to her whether or not he spoke. Geneva loved to listen, sometimes going so still that she even left the sound of her own heartbeat behind. But this went deeper than that, so much deeper. She couldn't seem to melt into the background, as she usually instinctively would. There was a part of him that called to her, that spoke in tones of silence. An enigma, a magnetism, an... indefinite something that she couldn't describe. He pulled at her curiosity like little else ever had before.
She found it easier to smile now, despite how wrung out she had felt before. "With such high expectations, I'll have to work not to disappoint you." His words should have sounded weary, would have normally made her self conscious. But she found that she felt anything but insecure, a quiet confidence infusing her words and body. This situation was so tenuous - she was painfully aware of that.
Each encounter she had with Jefferson had showed her, without failure, that his face could change in the space of heartbeats. He had startled her, terrified her. But the worst thing was that he had ensnared her, captured her attention in such a way that she had to fight to look away. What made him tick? What lay beneath the exterior? Was there a man somewhere within, sides of him hidden away, untouched by the sun? Looking at him now, she believed there were depths that had never been plumbed, heights never reached. She wanted to know. She wanted him to know what it was like, to have that knowledge.
She shook her head a little, casting her own eyes to the soil beneath their feet. "Jefferson," she said, after a moment. "Will you tell me a little about Phoenix Valley? Those here, how you live, where you live...how I could be useful."
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I replied to this... but the reply isn't here... SIGH.
He looked at her a long moment at her first reply, but answered nothing. When she continued, though, he nodded and stepped back, looking over the landscape behind him. "The land's pretty big. I'm sure you'll find your way around it all at some point or another." Drawing it all down, most likely. Knowing her, the girl would be hard to find for weeks, too busy running amok all over the packlands. He supposed that he couldn't complain.
"I usually stick around the ranchhouse... it's somewhere central in the territory, kind of hard to miss. Go there if you need me, ...or something." He shrugged again, eye overlooking the land shallowly.
"There's an old mill out there somewhere, but I've never really bothered to look around it. You might like the lighthouse off the coast or the limestone quarry." She seemed sentimental enough, anyway. He could have cared less for nature or whatnot. "You should look around for yourself. Even I haven't seen it all, but... that's understandable." The Patriarch's eyes returned to her, frowning. He was too busy for exploring nowadays, anyway.
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[html] http://i76.photobucket.com/albums/j40/k ... ump/12.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> She couldn't help smiling as he turned away to consider the land around him. The tone he used sounded dismissive almost, but Geneva knew better without really knowing him at all. There was something underneath the careless words. She didn't know if it was pride, or fondness. But he was tied to these lands, something more than a sense of duty kept him here. She wasn't sure that a sense of duty alone could inspire his loyalty. It was obvious that he cared about this place, even as he tried his best not to show it.
It was a way to distance himself from others, to keep them at arms length. He made everything like business, such tiresome business. He probably thought that it would be easier that way. But Geneva was almost positive that was partly that hardest part of all for him. How much energy did it take to continually drive everyone away? It had to be exhausting.
Without being conscious of doing so, her chin rose resolutely. She had felt some sort of connection with this man, however slight. And he could try to drive her away if he chose to, but she was resolved to fight her way through his defenses. Because no matter how offensive he might get, he was really defending something. Hiding something. It couldn't be good to hold something so cold so close to his chest. She'd get through to him, she'd try anyway.
As she had thought before, no man could be an island. And although Jefferson was volatile as hell, she was certain he was worth the effort. She was certain that the slight glimpse she had seen of the man beneath the exterior was worthy of a suicide mission. After all, she thought wryly, she certainly had a death wish, continuing on with him the way she did when they first met. "I'll keep that in mind, thank you," she said, resolute to begin her new life.
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