Author Topic: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 32- Hail Rain or Sunshine  (Read 19154 times)

Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 25- Inaudible Melodies
« Reply #75 on: April 26, 2014, 11:37:10 PM »
Woah! So now Palmira and Azrael are married?!
This story is getting so intense! WHAT in the world happens upon the birth of the next child - because if Palmira falls ill or dies we may have to warn people that Palmira does NOT make a good spouse as this is double proof that she's too frail to bring on the next generation.  ::)
Heh, I kid.

Meh, the the other Palmira I know is one capable mother and spouse. Haha. And they aren't married, yet.  :-X You'll see a ceremony soon, though. I hope I don't change my mind when I see my other screenshots. Oftentimes, the story doesn't come out the way I had initially wanted it. Sims have their own way of ruining and making the story.

I'm really excited, I just want to keep reading! :)

Keep at it! I'll be gone for another week (from) last week's immersion. I'm just home for the weekend.

I love your screenshots ... they are so dramatic! Now I'm extremely curious to see what happens with the next Hawke.

Thank you, dearly! You'll hate or love me with what actually happens after the next Hawke is born.  ;D



Expect a relatively light encounter when worlds meet. This story has only been depressing for so long.
At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline honeylamb

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 25- Inaudible Melodies
« Reply #76 on: May 12, 2014, 08:42:26 AM »
I just found this story, you're an amazing storyteller :) I can't wait to see what happens next.



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Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 25- Inaudible Melodies
« Reply #77 on: May 17, 2014, 07:05:08 AM »
I just found this story, you're an amazing storyteller :) I can't wait to see what happens next.

Welcome to the covenant, honey(lamb).  :P

And to everyone, I'm sorry! I've become unexpectedly busy (I still am), and I don't think I'll be able to update soon. I'm working on it, though, with the writing I mean, I just haven't had the time to go simming, yet.

At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline LivvieLove

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 25- Inaudible Melodies
« Reply #78 on: May 17, 2014, 03:16:10 PM »
No worries, real life always comes first. We'll be here when you're ready to update! :)

Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 26- Somebody that I Used to KNow
« Reply #79 on: June 03, 2014, 07:13:17 AM »
No worries, real life always comes first. We'll be here when you're ready to update! :)

Is now a good day? *Wink wink, double wink




You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness
Like resignation to the end, always the end


Somebody that I Used to Know
Gotye's a point



Snow will fall.

Snow will come.

Soon.




So far, so good, Garrett mumbled to himself as he walked past the poppies and the rose blooms that intoxicated the air with their faint fragrance. He cursed and thanked his adept smell, he cursed and loved that he'll be remembering Celestia for the littlest things. So far, he's managed to accept the customs and whims of the locals. The people in Sunlit Tides live to his distaste: carefree, never-somber, or outwardly so, and almost indolent. Indolence, he breathed, A judgment subject to debate. Sunlit Tides spelled gaiety all over; the people, the architecture, the landscape, the people, the people. His old look would have never fit in. Save the hair, since it especially suits me, aired the gentleman in his conceit.



Indolence, he thought and pondered on, lost in his thoughts, and to be left undisturbed. He marveled at how and why the locals would bask in the heat, out of their homes, and on with their lives. So they're not indolent. And when you think about it, they don't have a choice. Life gets to you, and you work to eat. Laughable, but not funny. And when they do, they resolve not to go out their work places, except the ones bound outside, and those who are already, left to suffer the scorching heat, greet even the strangest strangers like Garrett, among their sun-kissed streets emanating with radiant heat. Indolence can never be used to describe a town, Shouldn't, the indolent thrive among the hardworking, in pretense, feigning hard work, by what means, only they, know, And will ever master such maneuvers. Indolence isn't a trade you can teach. Heh, Garrett clicked his tongue, It may be so. He smirked, content, then frowned in frustration, past the picturesque background that makes Sunlit Tides.



He pulled out a lock of Aveline's ashen hair, he traced what's left of the silky snow-white crown that it used to be, the last he remembered her- retrieved from where found it stashed safely, in the burned house. Why Aveline cut her hair and stashed it, before her escape to Paradiso, and kept it even, was a puzzle to him. Celestia said something about their snow-frosted hair, and power. Symbolism and politics altogether, inseparable, haunting the Hawke bloodline- the Mayfair bloodline.
But what really, is this hair for, if not just a celebrated and astonishing anomaly to the normal? He cut his hair, yet nothing seems to have happened. Aveline cut hers and she died, but years later, and to her will.

He frowned, remembering the little shipwreck he discovered awhile back, and because it was desolate, he wondered if anyone had seen it. He wanted to know- it was such a beautiful wreck, it needed someone less burdened to appreciate it.



Things were making less sense the more he knows and discovers, because whatever came up to him, it was without explanation.
Always, except the mystery of their burned and already in ruins-house. Their home, wretched and beautiful, standing ragged and untouched through the years. It was Celestia who shed him light, and spared him a little from the confusion. A little, He asked and asked to the point of nagging, but Celestia only looked at him lovingly, never faltering.

It was Celestia who unraveled the history of the Hawkes', how a Mayfair Witch, and the only Mayfair Witch became part of all these, and how an organization is after her- its very own namesake. How the organization managed to, and learned whatever they did to point them to Hysteria, Celestia didn't explain. He hadn't asked, he didn't think it was important. A missing keystone. My dear Celestia, dead. My immortal Celestia, happy. The world hadn't stopped as he walked buried in the past, past the balusters, the totems, and the dancing sand along the shores- sounds and scenes he neither saw nor heard in his wanderings- but from some passer-by's mouth, and his memory. After all, he's lived watching through a looking glass, living other people's lives. Vicarious, such a shrill word. He walked on, and let the breeze touch his newly cut hair, Refreshing, the second, third, fifth, and the countless-th time he cut his hair. But the first time was a terror. Looking in the mirror had been dreadful, Ah, the sentiment of a Hawke with his hair, the gentleman commented. Waking up to see his hair grow back was a relief to him, and slightly, a horror, but mostly only to those ignorant of their family and everything occult.

Lycantrophy, apparently, messed up a Hawke's physiology,  As if this body isn't already a wirework of twisted mysteries and potential. He chuckled, calling the attention of foreign and local loiterers at the bistro's veranda. He didn't care, although, his life-long isolation should have dictated otherwise.



The gentleman liked going out sometimes, to breathe the zephyr Sunlit Tides spilled and diffused throughout this new paradise. Again, he mused. Usually, if not almost always, he'd just stay behind, inside, cloaked within Garrett and feed him hateful thoughts, which Garrett effortlessly dismisses. He doesn't mind, he shrugged, he enjoys solitude and attention equally, and this is one of those days when he prefers the oogling stares of allured women in silence, to the other silence he's grown accustomed to.



The conceited gentleman, it happens, got the better of him, he who found an uncomfortable and ugly chair to settle in, and start a series of remorse, rather, a feast on the innate stupidity of man. His nose cringed at the sight of a woman wearing ridiculously-short-of-cloth-clothing. What he should know is that this and that are equally expensive. The gentleman mused- he'll return Garrett's body in a little while, or longer, depending on whether he has something interesting going on or not.



The woman in little cloth walked slowly towards him, he hadn't realized that he's been staring, longer than his usual examinations take. He licked his lips, chapped, and swallowed, being thirsty and excessively sensitized to the heat,
Well, there's always 'usually,' He lit a cigar, a habit Garrett detested greatly, and one which he openly protested against.



This is ridiculous. She's wearing that in this weather, and in this kind of town. Ayo, look at her, Garrett. But Garrett kept his silence.



The woman inched closer, with her blonde hair falling to one side, soft, beautiful, and fake. Her eyes were hardened by whatever intention.



The woman made a smile.



She gleamed, suppressed,
Hello to you, Hers was a sweet voice. Interested?
Hello, pumpkin. You're mistaken. He smiled.
Don't think I can change your mind? She gestured to sit on the chair facing him.
Darling, whatever your intention, and for whatever proposition, you can pull it back up with your tongue and swallow it- with all due respect, of course. It wasn't something a gentleman would say.
She was surprised, it was something she didn't expect him to say, Really, Garrett Hawke? She paused, she had more to say. Rather, Gale Henry? Quite an alias if you ask me. How do you manage to, say, flush Garrett away- when he's so strong? The woman asked, curious, with genuine urgency.



Gale sat frozen. So, my little escapade got some big fish's attention. Interesting. He thought and reclined uncomfortably. Power play, he snarled, pleasantly, to the woman. He looked up to her and beamed with sarcasm, For you to go through such a laborious task of tracking me down and confronting me, Miss Easter- Julianne Easter, yes? You who fancy to be some Julienne Mayfair. Charming name, if I must say. She just looked at him, Oh, please, please, sit! He waved his hand.



The woman bit the inside of her lower lip, trying to hide her surprise and contempt at such an outrageous, yet curious remark. This Gale Henry proves to be more than just a sweet-talking devil with a charming cynicism. Oh, but the cynical make the world go round, pumpkin. He yawned, despite his stubborn alertness, but he was hungry- Garrett never got hungry. His worldly needs ended up getting dumped on him, too. Thank the skies! He uttered, and left the woman puzzled. Potato truffle? She didn't respond. Spaghetti, perhaps? Still, nothing. Your lack of response, and refusal, disappoint me. I thought you came here with interesting, and possibly unbelievable ideas! His idea of fun composed of people retaliating and getting rebuked. She started to bore him, but should it have been Garrett instead of him at this moment, things would turn out disastrous- he was prone to these attacks, especially with the recent losses and yearnings. That's why he came out- that's how and why Gale Henry was born. So, what was it that you thought would interest me?



She put personal feelings out of the whole affair, when she decided to accept the task. You thought you did. She glanced at the man in Garrett's body, who shot a glass after his comment. Where's the fun in this, oh little Juliet? He mocked her, Oh, Juliet. You liked that insidious nickname, didn't you? Don't you?
I didn't come to you to be antagonized. Gale made things complicated in different levels.
To me- did you really? Gale retorted. I'm pretty sure you came for him, not expecting me.
But she wasn't finished, I'm glad we have that clear. I didn't come to meet you. I'm here to talk to Garrett, the real Garrett, and not some defect that sprang out of him. She was going beyond what was asked of her, and in a diminishing way.



Gale placed two fingers on his lips, couldn't help himself from making a smirk, Oh, I get it. He paused to see if she would react, but when she didn't, he continued. You don't like me hanging around. He wanted to attack her explicitly and bluntly, but that would be going against Garrett's character, and a bit of his. Are you sure you don't want to eat, darling?



Why don't you ask, if he likes having you around? She rebuffed him. Those split-second blackouts, whenever you want them. Convenient and cruel, don't you agree?

What's a Mayfair witch, an old one at that, doing, running amok and provoking poor creatures? He clicked his tongue, repeatedly and annoyingly, If I hadn't known better, I'd say you're the one who's interested. He scoffed, No, my mistake. You are interested. He leered, leaning towards her.  You're what this hysterical lot of lassies call in love- harpies they can be when they squeal at and over every pathetic thing. Dear Watcher, my head aches just thinking about it! And- oh- I mean it in good taste should you think otherwise.



Julianne looked at this foul-mouthed man posing to be Garrett, and conveniently treading the world in his shoes.  Nothing that comes out of your mouth is in good taste. She said bitterly.

Oh, you're a minimum-two-scoop-ice-cream-who-doesn't-share kind-of-girl! Feisty!

I don't need the sass, Henry. Garrett could hear the contempt, and felt her remaining benevolence vanquish, like a metaphor one deems appropriate. She was being rudely dismissed and mocked, but she understood every reason for it- Gale Henry protecting his master, some feat, apparently, Celestia "forgot" to tell him. She understood, but it didn't change that an actual encounter with the man felt the way it did. Gale and Garrett heard her slightly grit her teeth.

Maybe she has something to say, allow her, Garrett suggested. Ridiculous! This woman is trouble, the way that greedy organization is. You, of all, should know. Gale whispered in frustration, inaudible to Julianne and everyone else- a private line, one which exists only between them.

You can hear me, despite the shroud I've trained so long to master. It was subdued this time, hateful still, but subdued.

There's always someone who's better, pumpkin. Gale retorted, and sweetly so.

This man, she murmured, knowing he heard. She started tracing memory lane to Paradiso, to the day Azrael and that rebel puppet disappeared. She only slightly harbored feelings for Azrael now- he proved to be weak and ignorant, and it was more than enough reason to lose interest in him.

She likened herself to Hysteria, the mother of this beautiful man, and the very mother of the order, or so they fancied.
Beautiful Aveline's mother. She brought a finger to her lips. She admits hating Aveline, for being better at everything, without trying so hard, being loved by so many people, without needing to feign her kindness. She hated her for being the sun, she hated the vibrant soul Aveline possessed, because hers was old and worn.



Listen, I'm pressed for time, and privacy. She came to Garrett to get to Azrael, even if it wasn't what she was tasked to do- her assignment was something far cruel and malevolent. Julianne started etching through the air, and on to the surface of the hideous table. She wrote something, a code, a message which she hoped the twin entities would understand. She sealed the message with her insignia, and whispered, Blood.

She hopes The Order hadn't gotten wind of how she was straying from her duties and mandate as a candidate to being an elder- a decision kept secret to everyone. Who am I fooling, they're not fetuses, but then again, occult fetuses aren't even normal. Not the least normal. She thought to herself, and for a second she paused, and said, I'm a friend. She said desperately.

I'm Garrett's only friend, but he didn't say that. He was still practically a malfunctioned personality splitting away from the host to most people, And to those wacko medical doctors most especially. He laughed and zoned out. Julianne knew what's to happen next. If you are, he paused, why come only now? When a lot has happened, and you've seen everything? It was Garrett, she knew it was Garrett, the kind and melancholic, but gentle Garrett with a gentleman's humor. He was the real gentleman between them. Gale can't even compare.

Hah, she was relieved, because for the first time, she met him. She longed to meet him, after years of being assigned to him for surveillance, this lonely, estranged man who had come to the order's networks shortly after Celestina's death. The little girl was a barrier that contained his growing power, and as it grew, she grew weaker and started to fade away. Garrett didn't know that, nobody did. He just knew that she was dying. I'm glad, she heaved. This was how she likened herself to Hysteria, and Garrett to Zarall- the great Hawke who fell prey to The Order's manipulated fate. She adored that love story, being a romantic, and one who refuses to claim so.

This woman is old, but foolish. She's half your mother's age, and she refuses to grow up. Gale attacked Garrett with thoughts about her, and Garrett let him, ignoring him.

Garrett couldn't hear her thoughts, to Gale's frustration. Apparently, Gale isn't just egoistic and aggressive- he was a better Garrett, in handling his power, anyway.

He smiled at her, with sad eyes. Garrett didn't know how much he can tell her, or if he should at all. While he can't hear her thoughts, he can hear the sound of her heart, it's irregular heartbeat, heavy breathing. He felt what she felt. He sensed the tension, and a bit of her love. Gale kept quiet. He didn't want to risk making Garrett realize how he sympathized with this illusion-driven woman.
Delusional fool. Gale would have grunted loud enough to scare her. But Garrett knew better. He was set to protect Azrael, and if time and Fate permit, see Carver and talk to him. Or her, the thought always made him smile, no matter the circumstance. Don't get sidetracked, I beg you. Gale said irritably.

This, Julianne pointed to the sealed message, carved and invisible. She looked like she could say no more, I'm sorry. She breathed, slowly, and sucked in the air, along with her pride. For anything, and everything that has been done. Gale had already skillfully released the seal, the moment she uttered the word "blood."

Lost lives are lost lives. He looked at her, young and beautiful, but old and worn. The gray was starting to show, invisible to the naked and normal eye; the lines were deepening, the eyes, bright and dreamy they may have been, grew tired and passive. Do you not tire of hounding us? It was soft, nurturing, even. Suddenly, he grew tired of everything- the hunt, the mourning, the responsibility, and the endless chase. All of Garrett's hate was contained by Gale. He wished he'd had the dreams that Azrael had, to see his mother wearing the dreaded cloak, to fetch and give their grandfather Raziel another chance.



I'm sorry for what's to happen. She looked at him in the eye, and he caught her gaze, until she chose to break away.

It's what she prays everyday. He murmured, remembering Palmira. His suspicions of her remained.

He needs you. You know what that vow is going to unleash, and what it's going to seal forever. You know very well their fates. She almost begged him. He knew what she meant, what she desperately tries to tell him now- he went to see the place where history will take place, he went to see the wedding before it happened.



But Fate only knows. He looked up, imagined Celestia alive and watching him from the skies. Only Fate truly knows.

Garrett. She wanted to reach out her hand and touch his cold face, thaw his cold heart, whose warmth and love is reserved for Azrael. Carver. Aveline. For Celestia and Celestina.

So far, so good. He gestured to stand up, I thank you for taking the risk searching for me, but I'm afraid this is the last time you will see of me. He got up and replaced the ugly chair, deposited it closer to the table- where it belonged. He walked close to her and reached for her hand. He kissed her hand goodbye. I will endanger you no longer. He whispered to her, and vanished. He knew what danger she was in. He knew that one day, he may be the very end of her.



It was a brief love they shared.

And they knew they weren't going to see each other again.




Garrett disappeared past the houses and the little cottages that made Sunlit Tides. He ran his thumb over his fingers. Left hand, so it's closer to the heart. Ring finger, because we build relationships with it. But Gale chose the index finger, cut, but healing, when he swiftly wounded this finger to break the seal. Blood. He released her seal with Garrett's blood. This little guy, he looked at his pointer, to point you to where fate wishes. You never cease to adore the classic, Gale. He kept his chuckle low. Soon, he found himself opening the door of his little foothold like a normal person routinely does.

The next day, Garrett set out early. And that day, days from the awaited wedding in Sunlit Tides- that of Azrael and Palmira's, a present came, sitting idly on the porch of the Hawke household, wrapped beautifully in what seems to be pineapple cloth, so intricate with its ornate story of a wedding and a happy family.

Azrael went to his soon-to-be-wife.
Look, hon. One of your rich fans must have sent this. He teased her, It's a too fancy for my taste, but I see kids and a happy couple. That's us. He raised his brows repeatedly at his beloved symphony. Palmira never realized her dream of becoming a fashion cult, but she was greatly loved here.

Are you certain that's not from a paramour, waiting to get rid of the clutches of a future bride?

Well, I'm sure other men would want that. But why would I? I have the best girl in the world! He grabbed her by the waist and kissed her. Had he remembered his past, he would have added, "Second to Nan, that is." The kiss gave him a jolt, and a tug. He was remembering something, but couldn't place it. He shrugged. No use trying to remember the never and hadn't.

Later that night, because everyone forgot about the fancy present, while Palmira got down to get herself water to quench the midnight thirst, saw it sitting patiently in the counter, she turned on the light and appreciated the wrappings, until she touched the card. She giggled, thinking what kind of witty remark Azrael would have said about its sender.

But it faded the moment she saw the unsigned congratulations, which read,
Cheers to the newlyweds!

There was no mistake about it. She recognized that handwriting. She sat slowly, shivering, in solid fear and agony. They're coming for us. They're coming. She trembled, and failed to get back to their room, where Azrael slept snug in their bed, not knowing what his future bride was facing.

But the box, the box the size of a head sat quietly on the kitchen counter. On their wedding day, after the vows are exchanged, the Hawke bride will be wearing it- the lurking audience can't wait for the beautiful wife to a Mayfair to wear the ruby circlet. The trinket shall wait patiently until that day, and that moment comes.

In all that, Garrett watched from afar, he heard them. He felt them, and he knew that Azrael knew nothing.



Snow really fell, that, another day, despite the forecast.



Somewhere, in this somber weather, someone's waiting in cold.


At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 26- Somebody that I Used to Know
« Reply #80 on: June 03, 2014, 08:05:01 AM »
PS. Nobody told me Julianne's name was spelled with an a and not an e, I only found out when I played again. *Stares blankly off the horizon, somewhere

No worries, though. I am not with hate. Mehehehehe.  ::)
At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline LivvieLove

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 26- Somebody that I Used to Know
« Reply #81 on: June 03, 2014, 01:30:31 PM »
Ah, I love Garrett's eyes!
He's kind of got a pretty awesome personality too, just laid back and cynical.

I'm still skeptical about Palmira though... I'll have to do some thinking on this.



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Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 26- Somebody that I Used to Know
« Reply #82 on: June 03, 2014, 11:14:24 PM »
Ah, I love Garrett's eyes!
He's kind of got a pretty awesome personality too, just laid back and cynical.

I'm still skeptical about Palmira though... I'll have to do some thinking on this.


Well, it's actually Gale. Garrett's eyes with Gale shoved at the back of his ego is golden- being a werewolf. I dare not alter that, but thank you! It was randomly and conveniently chosen as his eye color. *Smug. I loved making the conversations he (Gale) made. It was almost natural. LOL.

I sort of freaked out when I compared photos with Azrael and Garrett, they look strikingly similar. I even considered making the mistake of using Azrael off the bin. (Yes, I know, the three Hawkes are triplets, but still, with the way the game works at mass-producing pudding-face Sims), hopefully Carver is relatively different (who's basically all female now, but still).

Palmira cries. Such a hurtful comment. *Devious laughter.

At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 26- Somebody that I Used to Know
« Reply #83 on: June 06, 2014, 01:58:34 AM »
Someone came over to see how things are going.

At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 27- Little Hands
« Reply #84 on: June 06, 2014, 11:39:13 AM »
Ahh! Thank you everyone, for 3000 hits!

Because I'm a copycat (and as it goes on, should I wish to read from the start to, erm, review (yes, I forget sometimes) my eyes hurt from all the italicized words, and in all honesty, the shifting to italics is becoming tedious) I'm going to try conventional writing, with the quotation marks, and less the italics. I hope the change doesn't make me look bad. *Wink

Also, I suggest you listen to the song first. It's Little Hands by Inland Sky.  :)



Little hands
the world is yours
hold it close with open arms
little feet, with miles ahead
take it slow, see it all, take it in
I see me in you
you in me
i see me in you
you in me
I see it in your eyes
Little heart dance it out
so the ins and outs won't bring you down
little dream, grow up tall
with a little rain, a little sun you'll feel love
I see it in your eyes
I see it in your eyes
Little hands, the world is yours
hold it close, with open arms
little hands


Little Hands
Inland Sky

The moon sighed at the stars, fading behind the clouds that came to conceal its splendor. The moon knew that in a few moments, the sun will wake from its nap, and come to fill Sunlit Tides with romantic red, the shade of diffused blood pouring out a bleeding heart-vine. The mechanical clock that hanged from the wall, stuck in its pace, monotonous, raced to a few breaths to three. The stars spread at the ocean that spread overhead, Azrael looked up, breathed, and smiled. He savored the chill of the coming dawn and dug his hand in his coat-pocket for the house key. And then a click, a turn, another click.

It was three in the morning, and his shift was over. He was home to see his pink-toed angels.

The water crawled to the shores as he walked into their house, peacefully, and withdrew only to roll back again, because it was how nature works unprovoked. But his was a different peace.



As he stepped in, he saw he and Palmira in the living room, before the twins were born, when they giggled and laughed like first-time parents, getting excited with every kick and bump the baby makes. Because then, they hadn't known that their bundle of joy would come out as twins; they regularly went to the hospital for advice and monitoring, but there had been no mention about twins. It astounded the doctors, everyone expected a girl, but the surprise only offered joy to the their expecting-father colleague.



Inside, the delicious smell of torte captured him, a familiar smell it was- a delightful treat, but one, he knows, which Palmira never learned to cook. He grinned, nonetheless- he is getting hungry. "Maybe, just maybe, by some leap of faith and logic, she actually did it!" His nose was filled with the heavenly smell. "Ayo, how boastful, to leave it lying on the table like this!" It looked freshly made, he wondered if Palmira was awake waiting for him. He clapped and clasped his hands together. And as if it served as cue, his stomach started rumbling. "I am hungry." He took a slice and took his seat in front of the feast, thinking that he may have seconds, or thirds. He grinned, should Palmira be asleep, he was going to wake her up, it didn't matter that hell will be unleashed if he did, or that he's exhausted. They rarely have time for each other these days, especially with their wedding coming along. "How ironic," he thought.



In his happiness, his heart felt a pinch. He looked at his hand, his fingers, slowly joining the palm of the hand to an embrace. He looked at his closed hand, and felt the tiny hand that he loved to hold and feel. He closed his eyes, he was tired, but never busy enough to forget a lovely memory, beautiful that it hurt him. Too beautiful, the memory he and Palmira shared. "Hands," he whispered. He had always loved hands, because of what they could do. Slowly, he released his fingers to a rest, feeling Palmira's calloused fingertips, and the little hand so soft, but no longer. "Love." He thought about Palmira and their brown-eyed wonder. They were both his brown-eyed wonder.



Azrael uttered his name, and then set down the fork. He wondered if their little angel was happy, because they were happy now. In their dark years, he thought he and Palmira would go on hating each other, never forgiving the other for the words that have been said and for the actions that sprang from anger. The euphoria the torte gave him didn't last.



He looked at the treat that lay waiting for him, but he couldn't bring himself to touch it again. He thanked that Palmira never gave up, and never tired forgiving him for blaming her. But he knew. He knew when a fragile thing stopped breathing in his sleep, when there was no cause to blame, and he can't forgive himself until now for pointing his finger at Palmira, who loved their son as much. He found it hard to accept. He finds it difficult now that for some three or four years, hate and anxiety filled the house, and for years, he would wake up to the fear of finding their dresser half-empty, with Palmira's clothes gone, and ultimately, her. Azrael got up and put away the feast, along with his slice.



He took his flight to the stairs and as he walked to the nursery, the memories only came flooding back. He saw his memories with little Gabriel, stubborn, always insistent on the words he thought right, leaving his parents laughing. And because Gabriel didn't want to lose to his parents, he would laugh, and laugh, and laugh. "Ah," Azrael could hear the crisp laughter. "Priceless." He would give anything to hear that laughter again, but he knows he can't be more selfish than he had already been through the years.

Azrael glanced at the balusters. "Another memory." Palmira insisted on placing the potty chair outside the nursery, but not in the toilet. He never really understood why, so he just let her. Wherever was fine for him. And it was him who took the pains of soldier training. "Dada!" Gabriel would sometimes call out, and place his hand in the potty, "Poop!" And then he would show it to Azrael, like some trophy, and laugh and laugh, and Azrael would only look at how much of an abomination his little angel can become. Gabriel would look at his eyes and ask with pouting lips, "Dada angggwwyy?" To which Azrael responds, "Maybe?" The two would then commence their staring contest to see who cries first- Gabriel because he thinks his daddy is being mean, and Azrael because he'll have to clean up the mess Gabriel made out of himself. The staring contest only happened when Gabriel didn't threaten to put his pooped-coated hand in his mouth, because then, Azrael would rush to bathe him in lightning speed, garnering his name, "Speedo." "Dada, Speedo! Speedo!" Another laughter. Azrael loved the sound of his laughter. He was certain Palmira did, too.



He stood by the door, and looked at the floor. "This floor," he sighed, "has so many memories embedded in them." He sees their man-to-man-talk about clowns and apples. Clowns, because they surprised him greatly that he cried, and apples, "Apples. Hmmm. I never really found out why." He let out a sad hum. "Dada, apul," Sometimes it was "apowl" but Azrael didn't dare point out, "App- appppeeel! Shoo! Shoo!" Azrael used to tease him, thinking it was some harmless distaste, until Gabriel bawled his eyes out and just wouldn't stop. He kept beating Azrael's chest until he grew tired and fell asleep. "Such a meanie," Palmira commented.



But the one memory he had always thought about, because it puzzled him, was his memory of reading to him. Azrael just couldn't place whether the book was something about sashimi and pastry, or Finger Painting 101. "Daah-" Gabriel let out a long sigh afterwards, not typical of a boy his age. "What's wrong, love?" "Nana. Nana, watching." He pointed his finger to the top of the staircase. Azrael looked, and seeing no one there, asked his boy, "Nana? Who's Nana, baby?" "Nana, sad," Gabriel answered. "Where's Nana now?" "Nana away. Sad. Cry." Azrael half-believed ghosts, he had his own experience at the hospital, but who was this Nana? "An imaginary friend?" Azrael thought, and still thinks now. "Nana." Gabriel stared at the empty space for a minute or two, and then raised his tiny hand, his fingers opened and closed, and said, "Bye-bye."



The memories were starting to become painful. He hurried and opened the door to the nursery, finding one angel awake. Awake, but quiet. Sometimes Azrael wondered if infants and toddlers had this shared language composed of babbling and meowing. He went to say hello to his baby girl, "Anathema, honey," he snuggled and kissed her tiny belly-button. "Missed daddy?" She giggled. "Well, well. I'm pretty sure you did." Azrael bumped his nose to his little girl- this little girl who had been the only one that the doctors saw. "Taken care of your little brother, eh?" He kissed her finally, and tucked her in the crib. "Why don't you sleep, awhile, little angel? You've waited for daddy, didn't you? You can sleep now."

Azrael then turned to the crib that faced Anathema's. "Hello, hello, little miracle." He rubbed the babe's stomach, and contented himself with looking, because this angel was sound asleep. His momentary peace was broken by another memory, he started remembering again. It was little Gabriel haunting his father's memories.

"Daa! Daa! Hungwwyyrrr." "Is that a roar, Gabby?" "Rawr. Rawr, dada, rawr!" Gabriel would put in a lot of effort to roar, but he only amused his father in his cuteness. "That's adorable, hon," Azrael would brush his hair back and kiss his forehead. "Cereal?" "Uuurryaal?" "Oh, I forgot it's rotten bananas." "-Anana. -Ana!" He was struggling to say banana, it was a long word, after all. "Alright, alright, Anana it is."



It was Gabriel he saw when he looked at Abaddon- a name he protested against, "How are you going to tell him that his name is after a Fallen?" "We are not strict followers of anything, Azrael. Your name, just your name is an example." "And if he takes interest in such matters and suddenly asks why we named him such and such, and asks why destruction? Why a name that translated to destruction?" His wife had a penchant to these kind of names, even naming their girl Anathema. "We're not followers of anything, but what about the others?" "Spare me, Azrael. Spare me." It was an argument he let pass. Should they decide to change their names, he would understand. But the names meant a lot to Palmira, and Palmira almost never asked for anything. Azrael looked at his sleeping child, and all he sees is Gabriel.



And as if he had not enough, he looked out the window, only to see Gabriel, with his newly cut hair, playing with the doll a friend gave him, "Bobo," Gabriel calls him.



But Bobo wasn't the only one. Azrael saw him talking to this other doll he has no memory of but assumed to have come from Palmira. He called it Pat. He forgot about the doll, and now it was gone, as Bobo had. "Palmira may have put them away." He stepped to see the photos on the cork board, yet to hear himself say, "Gabriel, look, did mommy buy that?" Azrael pointed to the green doll which found its comfort among the pillows. "Ohhh," a spark of interest in his eyes.



He crawled close to the green doll, dragging poor Bobo behind. "Bobo, Pat," Gabriel said, introducing Bobo to this curious green friend. "Pat, Bobo. Friend, good. Good!" He held both toy's hands and made them exchange a handshake.



"Dada," he then turned to his father who saw the whole thing. "They," he pointed. "No like." The last thing he remembered about it was Gabriel growing more fond of Pat, and less of Bobo. And that worried him a bit. But he soon forgot about it. He didn't think he would remember them, and now.



This had become a ritual for Azrael, in a certain day of the year. The memories flood back, and each time, these memories opened the wound he thought had healed. He never told Palmira- it was his way of repenting for the wrong he's done her. And as it had been since, Azrael felt the gravity of his memories, and felt the bed calling him- he lost his appetite for sleep, but he needed the comfort the soft sheets offered. He needed the peace Palmira's gaze offered, who may be sleeping soundly as their Anathema and Abaddon. "Good night, little ones." He kissed each of them one more time and headed for the door, closing it behind him.

And that moment, the twins woke up. A serene voice started whispering secrets to their ears.



But he can't turn his back on his beloved Gabriel. He took out a photo that he always kept, "Gabby, look. Smile for Daddy," but Gabriel didn't smile.



But there was one more memory. They won't stop attacking him. Only this time, like the memory that welcomed him the moment he entered his home, it was him and her, him comforting Palmira. She worried that the same may happen to the child. She cried, and worried. Anxiety robbed her of sleep, that it was Azrael that started worrying. But he didn't know- he doesn't know- that it was not just about the child, the only child they thought it would be, that she was carrying. It was about Teodor, the Uncle Teodor that Azrael has long forgotten, and the father of the woman he so loves. "Palmira, sweet." "No, no. This- I'm alright."

Palmira worried that her misunderstood father was after them, and that he, in some way, managed to creep into their house and take away Gabriel's soul, or his life, and that he may come back again to do the same to their child. "But she's a girl," she would tell herself, "And girls went to The Order." She would cry thinking about it at night. And a female Hawke was prized, although not as much as a male Hawke. "The price I pay for the lies. I'm no different from my father," she mocks herself as often as she prays for forgiveness.



But, dear. How Palmira is wrong about everything.

Azrael breathed the last memory in, and breathed anew. He took light steps, and slowly pushed open the bedroom door, where the light crept into, because Palmira left it open for him, and so she could hear the twins in their wake. She was already asleep, and he no longer had the enthusiasm nor the will to wake her. "The bath," he remembered, "Later," he decided. He got out of his coat, and then decided for a quick shower, thinking how she can go ballistic once she finds out. Soon, he got rid of the cold the water left him, crept into the bed, slowly, quietly, gently, so that she wouldn't wake up.

He lost his appetite for sleep, but his battered body yearned to rest.



As he fell to sleep, he saw a girl, young in age, cradling his deceased child. He heard a lullaby that sounded familiar- as familiar as the smell of torte and the feeling of warmth. The girl hummed, and then sang. She sang to Gabriel.



She continued to sing, and when she was done, she opened her eyes to reveal her blue eyes.



Azrael, who for the longest time was eluded by his dreams, fell to a spell his mother sent, because she can no longer see her son fall deeper into oblivion, and she hoped, like that one time in his childhood, that he wakes up remembering every blur and tear, and hear every word and fear, even if the dream would mean nothing now. She hoped, but she also prepared herself for what she expected.

She cast her shadow dark as her cloak, in the slowly rising sun, waking from its nap.





I know, I'm no tear-jerker.
At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline Trip

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 27- Little Hands
« Reply #85 on: June 07, 2014, 03:27:59 PM »
I took a few days to read through this and I was not disappointed! I'm absolutely in love with the narrative style and screenshots, though I think I need another read-through just to let the finer points of the story sink in. :P

Keep up the good work.
No respect, no chance, cease and desist when I chant-

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Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 27- Little Hands
« Reply #86 on: June 07, 2014, 10:24:38 PM »
I took a few days to read through this and I was not disappointed! I'm absolutely in love with the narrative style and screenshots, though I think I need another read-through just to let the finer points of the story sink in. :P

Keep up the good work.

Thank you, Trip, for tolerating my narratives! *Sneers and cheers

A treat to my dear readers, some photos I, apparently, still have. These are from Sunset Valley, seeing these made me miss the town.

The three spending the season together,  because they don't have that chance in the story. Meet Carver, Garrett, and Azrael as toddlers growing up together:



And the next season, there's a missing Hawke. Who is it? Carver! Coincidentally, Carver is missing. The one in blue tux with his back to the camera is Azrael. And the other one is Garrett. The parents, Abaddon and Hysteria are on the sofa. Aveline is, well, being an adult and photobombing the whole thing.




And the next ones are from the teen party Garrett hosted, promptly calling back their parents immediately. I don't know, does the game really-?



Yes, even before, Garrett had been devious and manipulative. *Cough, I meant Gale. As you may have already figured, that's Azrael dancing with his dorky bangs obstructing his view.

Lastly, *ta-dah! Who is this girlish boy, you ask? It's Carver *in monotone.



He was, well. While his brothers were busy dancing with girls and influencing other teenagers, he was over here, erm, casting spells and thoughts on key lime pie.



PS. Because I don't believe Carver will ever have his chance to appear as his old self.
At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 28- Close to You
« Reply #87 on: June 25, 2014, 09:20:15 AM »
I enjoyed writing this, I'm not sure you'll enjoy reading it? HAHA. I think I may have written too much. Anyway, say hello to Hysteria's world!

PS. This is by-far the least cryptic chapter I've written. I think.

On the day that you were born the angels got together
and decided to create a dream come true
So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair
of gold and starlight in your eyes of blue


Close to You
The Carpenters

The lazy forest that slept started to slowly breathe and be filled with, and stripped of life- the leaves were starting to fall, in the midst of dead trees crawling with moss and decay. The lady of the forest sighed. She watched this realm grow and fall, and now she watches it slowly crumbling. She sighs for her son who refuses to acknowledge his weakness. She cries for the other son that has been reduced to ignorance. Yet, she smiles for the one son that mocked Fate, her own mother, and denied her. "The Mayfairs are cursed," she whispered weakly and sent for rain to pass to the other realm, to the world where mortals walked and hated each other, for their greed and lust for power and worldly desires, "And I am doubtlessly to blame." She sent for the rain, because a new soul will be joining her. And she was just being Hysteria. She was just fulfilling her duties. Being a mother was not, supposedly. She gathered herself and got the dreaded hood of the infamous cloak over her head. Schedules needed to be kept. And she was behind schedule. "Teodor," she muttered, and vanished. "Teodor." Her voiced echoed slightly throughout the forest. Soon, the trees and the rain will come together for a celebration.

In the midst of the dying and grief-stricken trees stood trees, striving, and springing to life- these trees that used to be mortal souls. "The rain drop told me," one swayed its arms of branches, as if to feel the wind, and continued, "A new one will be joining us today." "Ah, yes. News like that come and go," the other chuckled. "Were you a man, or a woman?" The first one gambled, initiating a courtship of curiosity. "Ah, I- I-" the other struggled, trailed off, and finally answered, "I'm not sure I remember." "Do you know how long you've been here?" "Do you? There is no concept of time here," the stammering tree replied, sure of itself. "You must be very bored," the first tree said and added, "I bet you were some philosopher in your mortal life." "I'm too old to remember." And the conversation reached its end. The stammerer thought to itself, "Nor is there a day or night. Only darkness." It looked up and wondered when the stars started to fill the sky and adorn it with beautiful specks. "When, indeed." The two trees looked at the sleeping Emmanuelle and joined her in her slumber.  But there were other trees, and they had their own curiosities to sate.



"Why do you think she keeps that thing with her?" One tree whispered to another. A different, nameless, but old tree replied, "She fancies them. I've watched her looking at it all day. She likes it, its sound, and the thrill of its supposed-irreversible feature." "That's true. She's lived longer than us." "What makes you think that?" "Well, she was already here when I came." "That's true. But have you considered that she's just as old as us?" "Why, now, would you think that?" "Oh, now you're asking the questions." "Oh, just answer me, friend." "I don't know. She looks so curious, like a child. And she's very arrogant. I think. I sometimes hear her talking to herself, complaining about a young girl." "You're talking about her new assignment." "Assignment?" "You are new here, indeed," the old tree replied, "That explains why you still remember so much from your mortal life. And why you can be rash in judging her." "Oh, but I don't judge, friend." "Well, I'm talking about a girl, a mortal girl. She talks to her everyday." "What? I never had anyone talking to me when I was alive." "Well, this girl is special. She's a Hawke." "Hawk? A bird?" "Oh no, that's Hawke, with an 'e,' I tell you. Sometimes, when she forgets, she talks to her in open channels." "What are you talking about, friend? I am greatly confused." "Emmanuelle, she-" "Wait, she has a name?" "Oh, of course!" The old tree would have clapped its hands together, had it hands to use. "How come we don't?" "Ah, it's just for formality and all those things. The Lady of the Forest named her. Hysteria." "Hysteria? Is that even a name?" "I suggest you don't continue with that attitude, my friend. Hysteria is the keeper. She's the reason we're here." "I blame her, then! For robbing me of my life!" "Oh, but to do that is never an option. She has her own worries. She's one who's truly lived the longest, I think." "Why can't we all, then?" "Do you wish to destroy the balance of the world? Do you know how lonely the keeper is? How she longs to live and die like mortals do?" Silence haunted them for a brief moment.



Embarrassed but not defeated, the young tree asked the old tree, "You said something about open channels." "I am not entirely sure about this, but because I've lived longer, very long, I came up with theories-" "Oh, great," the young one cried in disbelief. "Do you wish to listen or not?" "My ears are yours." "But we don't have ears." The two trees laughed, "As I was saying, I think Emmanuelle is a guardian. And that Hysteria is her mistress. Hysteria is, well, she's what us mortals, or so we used to be, call death. I don't think she likes it, being called that. I wouldn't. In a way I think she's life, too. But that's subject to debate. And I think that, Emmanuelle isn't the only one. We can't be sure, can we? We're rooted here since we woke up to this place. But Emmanuelle, she's never left this place." "You were the first tree?" "Oh, no. Do you see those two trees over there? Where the wind moves and sways them. Heavens, how come we never get shuffled by the wind?" The young tree ignored his comment, and asked, "So, they were the first trees?" "Yes, I don't know which one came first, though."

"Lovers." Emmanuelle muttered in her sleep.



"Did you hear that!" The young tree exclaimed. "She's always like that," the old one replied. "I think she was telling us they were lovers! Tragic. They could have died together! Was it an accident?" "So, even if you've passed and became a tree, you have not lost your angst and, most definitely your careless mouth." "Can't blame me, I died young." "How?" "That's what I think is weird. I don't know. I just get the feeling. I don't remember my name either." "Names are not important here, young one." "It's important to them," the young tree commented. "We don't know about that." "Let's not forget we're still talking about Emmanuelle and her channels," the young one reminded the old tree. "Of course. To put it simply, when you see her like that- sleeping- it means her channels are closed. She, well, she's somewhere else. Somewhere not here." "And when the channels are open?" "She's awake chatting away the whole afternoon, if you get what I mean." "Yes, the joke is very, say, encouraging."

The two trees stayed still, not because they were simply sedentary, but because the waited for the wind to cross to their side. But the young tree broke the silence and asked, "And this Hawke?" The old tree answered, "Now, that, my friend, is a mystery. Except that sometimes Emmanuelle calls her Karela Hale." "Fancy name." "It means bitter gourd." "Really?" "No. I was joking, is that what you wanted me to say?" "Humor me, old man. Humor me." "Except that we're trees, young man." The young tree heard the old one yawn. "Are you sleeping? Why are you sleeping?" The young tree worried. It doesn't know how long it'd been here, rooted, but it never felt sleepy. Yawn never visited it.

The young tree worried. It didn't know that it was its old friend's time to go back as a mortal. This tree will shrivel as the soul passes and crosses over, and shall be filled again when the time comes. The young tree will soon learn about that, but never carry such knowledge to its mortal life. It will die and refill the shriveled tree and give it life. And forget about its mortal life once again, but in that moment, know that it will walk among mortals,  and forget again. "Good night, old man," the young tree said softly, "Good night, old friend."

In the mortal world, it was but a brief moment.



There was silence in Emmanuelle's Grove, and she slept deeply. She will miss those chattering trees. She smiled in her sleep. The old tree was right- Emmanuelle was older than any of the trees in her grove, but she was not as old as Hysteria, nor was she as old as the forest. She slept because her kind needed sleep, the same way mortals needed sleep and food and shelter, and all the luxury they can get their hands on. But Emmanuelle only needed sleep. Sleep fed her every need.

"Emmanuelle," the voice was shrill and cold, almost ghostly. "Wake up, Emmanuelle," the voice filled the forest, waking the soil and upturning rocks and stones with her gentle command. "Emmanuelle, child," the voice of the forest kept calling, but Emmanuelle resisted. She was deep in her sleep, communing with a mortal. Emmanuelle couldn't hear her mistress, Hysteria, calling her. So, Hysteria spread decay in her grove, slowly commanding the apple trees that she loves so much to shed their green to orange. "Mistress, how you can be so cruel," Emmanuelle said, not asked, as she rose and stretched her arms.



She was asleep, but she could hear. She wanted to fancy for a moment that she didn't, that her body dies the moment she sleeps, so she grows deaf and blind to everything around her. "What did you need, Mistress?" It was the same voice, the voice from the mirror that fled in fear in her Mistress' devastation. It was the same voice that whispered ancient secrets to Raziel Hawke. It was the same voice that Azrael heard in his dream. It was a very familiar voice.

Emmanuelle rose, let her bare feet touch the cold soil. "The trees are dead and struggling. But the soil. The soil is so wonderfully alive!" She liked that everything that lived in this realm- plants, animals- spilled over and spread throughout the mortal world. "Even souls." "Yes, child, even souls." Hysteria replied, calling her out from the mirror.

"What did you need, Mistress?" Emmanuelle wanted to eat, not because she was hungry, but because she sought the texture of food in her mouth. "You have become accustomed to mortal ways, child." "I'd call it a hobby." "Ah, is it?" But Emmanuelle knew that her mistress didn't need an answer. "How is Carver?" "Well, Mistress. Your child is well." "I take it you enjoy pestering him?" "I- if I'm not mistaken, the youngest Hawke is now a lady." "Like yourself?" There was no tone of mockery, Hysteria only wanted to know what Emmanuelle would say, knowing that they're similarly longing for a mortal life. "Yes, I suppose." "You're very tame, child. Yet you are tactless to my Carver. And no, I do not wish to scold you. What I'm saying is-" She trailed off, Emmanuelle knew what she was saying. Hysteria wants Emmanuelle to be as warm, and as less pretentious as she is to Carver. Hysteria has long known how Emmanuelle would stiffen in her presence. "The ceremony, it's coming soon. No? It's happening soon." "Do you wish to see your children, Mistress?" "No," she chuckled, but sadly, "You know I can't."



Emmanuelle waited for Hysteria to continue. "Do you think it wrong that I dispatch my loyal stewards to the mortal world?" "You mean-" "Yes, I mean Kiwi. Ah, such a name, that child chose such a name, and to even tell my Carver that his family swore allegiance to me. That child makes me smile." Emmanuelle kept silent, and Hysteria continued, "And Matteo. Matteo!" Emmanuelle waited, but Hysteria only said, "Cai," Emmanuelle shivered. "No worries, child. But if you allow me, I wish to know why you left Azrael." "He no longer wished for my guidance." "Hence, your sarcasm and flimsiness with Carver? Don't be mistaken, I am not angry." "I don't know, Mistress. Forgive me. I turned my back against my identity as this, 'Cai,' because of my feelings." Emmanuelle really didn't know. She was so loving and nurturing to Azrael, but him banishing her broke her heart. "I was-" "You were-?" "Heartbroken, Mistress. Deeply heartbroken." "It's my fault, child. Forgive me." "No, Mistress. The mortals, it's their fault." "And here we are secretly hoping and wishing to be like them." The two smiled weakly. "I do not send my stewards to love my children, but they do, don't they? They do." "Yes, Mistress. But you love them all equally." "As you, child. As you."

Hysteria left, leaving Emmanuelle her orders. "You know what to do, child."

Emmanuelle picked a fruit, a flame fruit, the mortals calls it. "Warm and fuzzy." Fuzzy was a word she learned from Kathilla Hale, Carver's biological sister and daughter by fate. "Yo, Hawke." Emmanuelle crashed into Carver's sleep, waking him. It was funny to her how she kept insisting that Carver call himself 'she', and 'Karela' when to her and to his mother, he was a 'he.' "What do you want, weirdo?" Carver replied, annoyed. "When are you going to wake up? I'm lonely." "Your lack of company is not my concern. You're immaterial. Nobody can see you. And I'm awake. You woke me, in case you forgot." "True." "What? You actually admit it?" "That makes you happy, doesn't it- me losing to you in our arguments." "Not when you're not trying. Where's the fun in that?" "You sound like Gale." "Who's Gale, your lover?" "You mock me, Hawke. No. Hate to break it to you, babe, but Gale is your brother. Well sort of." "What nonsense are you up to now?" "You have indeed, weakened. You can't sense your family. You couldn't even sense your dear Poncho's return."



The two kept quiet, thought about what they should say next.

"I know no Gale." "I know. Because technically, Gale is, uh, not your brother, but your brother's other self." "What?" "Stop talking as if 'what' is the only word you know. Come on, you're some science freak." "Exactly. My vocabulary, in that sense, isn't the best 'round town. And Poncho?" "I know how much you love Poncho, your sassy cat, but he isn't what you should be worried about." "Who, then? My brother 'Gale,' eh?" "Maybe. But I think Azrael could be a more important concern? To address that is?" "You dare butt into my sleep to talk about Azrael? You're kidding me." "Well, he's here." "What, here? Where is this conversation going?" "Don't make me feed you. You're independent. You can read between the lines." "I'd rather that you be straightforward. You can  be a freak sometimes, I don't know which of the things you say isn't a joke, or a joke."

Emmanuelle sighed irritably. "Have you heard about 'The Wedding of the Decade?' you little-" "I heard the pizza guy talking about it, I'm a little too busy with my life, I don't have time for celebrities." "Dong. Dong. Dong. Heavens grant me a firecracker." "Nonsense." "If you'd listen, or even bothered to ask just a little, you'd know and probably gag at who's getting married to whom." "Please. Don't talk like one of those nut cases Hill watches on TV." "Yeah, I think your sister's pregnant. But that's not the issue." "What! What do you mean by pregnant! You dare?" "I dare, 'what?' exactly? You're not listening to me. Leave Hilly alone, she' an adult. We're discussing your lack of competence and prowess." "Excuse me?" "If you weren't so busy living like a mortal and utterly forgetting about getting at least half of your telepathy back, you'll know that Azrael's here." "That's not possible-" "Like I said, you're not listening! Have been for many years. Probably since half of your teen angst and raging hormones." "It's not even April." "I'm better than that. At least grant me a bit of your respect." "Hard to do. But, seriously?" "Seriously. Really. Do you want more superlatives? I have a bunch stashed in my chest." "Gross." "Wow, now I can't help but look down on you."

Emmanuelle got another fruit and watched the grandfather clock, "Hey, the time's stuck. What time is it there now?" Emmanuelle asked Carver casually. "A little past eight. We're talking?" "I can't believe you!" "Me neither," Carver shrugged. "Something's wrong." "Yep, you're officially crazy. There's no way Azrael's here." "He is. And he kept his name. I don't know why this woman Palmira didn't bother change their names. Maybe she's hoping to be found by The Order. Gale must hate her." "Palmira? And Gale, again?" Emmanuelle was busy getting worried over the clock. The time was stuck. The time is stuck. Did Hysteria want to get rid of her mortal attachments, and penchant for worldly things? But this clock had been here for so long. She has no choice but to ask Hysteria later. She really loves this clock.



Emmanuelle sucked in her breath, "Okay, we'll go slow on this. Because apparently, Kiwi said nothing to you." "Kiwi?" "Stop asking like that, it's getting annoying." "Oh, I like where this is going. Pressure point. Mehehe." "Don't be childish." "So now, I'm childish. Hmm. Okay. Okay, I'll let you talk and get this over with." "Listen, chap. You get ready because in a few days, Azrael is getting married. And you do know what happens when the Hawke heir marries, no?" "He grows a beer belly and have kids? Or is that- have kids, then a beer belly?" Carver waited for the invisible weirdo to laugh, and when she didn't, he was forced to ask, "Ah, no?" "No, they already have kids. Palmira, this woman he's to marry, kept postponing it, the wedding I mean. Do you know why?" "Why are you talking to me like I'm in big trouble?" "Because you are." "I'm clueless. A little help?" "I need you to be in your brother's wedding." "Wha- why? And how do you plan to squeeze me into a private wedding?" "How do you know it's private?" "Ah, I guessed? And apparently, I'm good at it?" "It'd be very easy for me to, like, kill you right now." "Oh, you won't." "Not now, anyway. As I was saying-" "Woah, woah! Hold up, weirdo. When did I say I want to be part of this?" "This is your brother we're talking about?" "So what? We've lived apart. I don't see the point of a reunion. He thinks we're all dead." "No, he doesn't remember any of you at the moment." "Even better!" "Really?" "Yes! Really!" Emmanuelle only kept looking at the clock.



Emmanuelle cut off the channels. She had to talk some sense into Carver. And properly. The way they mess up each other's chances of making a proper conversation was upsetting her. She shouldn't have left Azrael. "Shame on you, you call yourself a steward." Emmanuelle bit her lip. "Cai, eh." Emmanuelle was playing with the idea of reconnecting with Azrael. But what would he say? He's a man of science now, wanting an explanation for everything. He might end up thinking he's schizophrenic.

Emmanuelle sat in front of the mirror and pondered. "Why not?" The young tree heard her say out loud. "Hello, there," Emmanuelle turned to it, but absently. She looked beyond, searching. "Ah, hello. Hello, Lady Emmanuelle." The young tree would have bowed. "Ha! Why are you so formal. I'm just a free-loader here." "Do you always talk to the trees, Lady Emmanuelle?" "No, this is the first time." "May I ask why, then?" "Just thought you needed someone to talk to." "How kind of you!" "Kind doesn't fit me, I think you know that." "As a wise ol' tree told me, "We don't know that.'" "Flatterer." "I'm quite pleased."

The wind touched the young tree's branches, it grew delighted and started to dance slightly, swaying. "What do you think, Mr Tree?" "Of what, my lady?" "How I should get rid of my arrogance," she smiled, and the shamed tree bowed, "You heard, even in your sleep." "Yes, I hear things. Even when I don't want to. But rest assured, I don't dislike you for it, what you said, I mean." "I'm truly sorry, Lady Emmanuelle!" "Meh, it's fine. Didn't I say? So, what do you think?" "I think, that, one should be nice even to the most rude person. It makes them feel bad." The young tree felt. It knew that feeling well. "True. I suppose I can try that. I used to be really nice, you know. Well, not so long ago, it was." "Yes. You can be kind without being necessarily nice. Which one do you want to be?" "I wish to be neither. I wish to be- ah, would you mind if I go back to sleep?" "I would feel very lonely, but I suppose I have no say in what the Lady wishes to do." "And when you do?" "I wish to talk to you more." "Ha. Frank. Silence must tire you." "Oh, yes. Lady Emmanuelle, why does your face look like that? I mean no offense. I think you look beautiful. I just-" "No, no. It's fine. These, these are marks of age. Of power. I think my body can no longer contain it." "Then, Hysteria, ah, the Mistress, she can help you?" "She can. But I don't wish to abandon this body. I lived in, and with this body for so long."



The two hummed to the wind. "Morn never shed its glory in the forest, does it?" "No, it doesn't." "Ah, forgive me, Mr Tree. But sleep is calling me. I hope you understand why I do this, and why I have to." "It's alright, Lady Emmanuelle." "Hmm, Emmanuelle is fine. Or Cai, for that matter." She winked at the young tree and went back to bed.

"Weirdo." "Hmm?" "Where have you ran off to? I've been talking to you and you haven't said anything." "Stuff happened." "Stuff?" "Didn't I tell you before? I'm as real as you are." "Uhuh. We're back to arguing?" "No. I'm just saying. And I remember saying that I'm going to sue. I hope you remember that." "With subpoena in hand?" "Got that right." "Well, good luck with that. I dare you to come up my door." "But listen. Azrael really is in Sunlit Tides." "I know that now." "By what means?" "Kiwi." "He told you? I'm quite surprised." "I'm suddenly confused by your familiarity with my husband." "Kiwi's all yours, Hawke. I could care less. I'm just being a nice girl trying to reunite a family." "But didn't you say that Azrael remembers nobody now?" "Yup. You listened. I'm glad." "Then what use are we?" "Well. Just go to the wedding." "Go? Barge into? Walk like a boss?" "Just grab a chair in there. I have my ways." "Really? How real are you, again?" Using the words of this child's mother, Emmanuelle replied, "As you."



"Hey," "What now, Hawke?" "Tell me about my brother's children." "Ah, twins. Anathema and Abaddon." "After Dad?" "Yeah, but it's Palmira's idea. He has no inkling, that his father's name is Abaddon. She messed up his memories." "What!" "To protect him." "Watcher, geez. Why is this happening?" "I can't answer that. I'm here on orders." "You're part of this?" "I'm not sure myself." "Then how can I trust you?" "I can't trust myself. Haha." "Then, is Abaddon like dad?" "Without magic in his blood?" "Yes." "Yes." "That means-?" "It's what it means." "And Anathema?" "She's a lovely girl. Palmira is actually tucking her angels in their sleep. Or something to that effect. She's worried. She's anxious." "Wedding jitters?" "It's not as simple as that." "Do you know more that Kiwi hasn't told me?" "I'm not sure. We should arrange for a meeting, no?" "Oh, please. This, again?" "I'm serious. And I think you should know about little Gabriel."



While Emmanuelle and Carver were at each others' throats, Palmira walked to see Anathema. She didn't want to touch her, but she loved her. Anathema inherited what she shouldn't. Everything she and Aveline worked hard for are now threatened by her own daughter. "Love. Anathema, dear." Palmira realized late, she can't go through with the wedding, but it was too late now. She didn't want to break Azrael's heart again. Anathema was their daughter. And she was a bane.



"Well," Emmanuelle rose. "Let's do this. I have a plan!" Emmanuelle sat smug. Patient.





Do agree that it's not as cryptic. Even if only silently. HAHA.
At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline LivvieLove

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 28- Close to You
« Reply #88 on: June 25, 2014, 02:00:53 PM »
I love how everything is slowly starting to come together, from your misc. story to your Reincarnation project! So she's the invisible weirdo, among other things! It's all starting to make a whole lot of sense! But I wonder what Anathema has to do with it? Why is she a bane? Why does Palmira want to back out on the marriage? Why is it so important that Carver is there for the wedding? What does it mean when the heir gets married? So many questions!

Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 28- Close to You
« Reply #89 on: June 27, 2014, 07:03:02 AM »
I love how everything is slowly starting to come together, from your misc. story to your Reincarnation project! So she's the invisible weirdo, among other things! It's all starting to make a whole lot of sense! But I wonder what Anathema has to do with it? Why is she a bane? Why does Palmira want to back out on the marriage?
Livvie! Anathema is a very good girl, she deserves as much love as her deceased brother Gabby, and her twin Abaddon. But something's wrong with her, and that's the reason why Palmira's having second thoughts about going through with the marriage. Things just went haywire with the twins turning out the way they did, unexpected, and definitely unplanned. I was surprised by the result myself. Recall, that in the first place the baby was supposed to be just a girl (a news that brought relief to Palmira, we'll get into that later).

Here she is. I adore her, gosh. She's really cute! Pardon the Watcher's instinct.



Between Anathema and Abaddon, I (honestly) haphazardly chose those names. But now, I'm playing with their namesakes, with those two names carrying a stigma. *snickers.
I'm not sure everyone knows it, but I'll say it anyway. Abaddon is a fallen angel, of destruction while Anathema is, well, something evil/associated with vehement dislike. You guys are free to think about what can happen from this (hopefully interesting) discovery.

Quote
Why is it so important that Carver is there for the wedding?
But of course, Carver is a Hawke! Family's invited. Mehehe.

Quote
What does it mean when the heir gets married? So many questions!
Keep them coming, I'll make sure to address them as the story progresses. I hope.  ::)

The next one will be "Linger" by The Cranberries- the story behind the meeting.
At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]