Forgive the lack of dramatic scenery.
I count the ways I let you down
On my fingers and toes but I'm running out
Clever words can't help me now
I grip you tight but you're slipping outa
Beautiful Goodbyehas the color of Maroon 5
Bunny disappeared immediately after class- Aiden, too. Iridessa muddled the thought of being left out, "Again!" She kicked at a pebble and growled. She sounded like Aiden's stomach when he's hungry, "Stupid boys!" she sulked, irritated, while rummaging her Life-and-Learning-issued purse. Her lips were puckered to a kiss, and her brows met at the top of her cringed nose. She didn't like being excluded by Bunny and Aiden. "We're brothers, aren't we?" She twiddled with the lace that hung her fluffy purse. "We're brothers, aren't we?" she repeated.
Iridessa dwelt on feeling excluded but soon decided to bring her mood to Aiden's rabbit hole. "It's not like it's his rabbit hole," she mumbled, as she busily fanned the guilt in her gut away. Soon, she found herself pushing one foot into the hole. And then the whole leg. And another, until she found herself comfortably cuddled by the roots.
They were brown. And black.
They were the color of her hair, who sat patiently across a wisteria plagued-room. But the lack of light would make you wonder if her hair was indeed brown. It might as well be black. Whatever the case, she had been waiting anxiously for the slumbering man to wake. The wings engraved onto her back were aching, threatening to break out of the flesh and skin that seal them. She wondered if this was a sign.
Iridessa was still angry, but she was starving, "I want to go home!" Wherever Bunny went, and whether he was with Aiden, he was simply taking too long. She wanted to go home, but the roots and the earth and the bit of weed was comfortable. Iridessa dug at her fluffy purse for some candied pumpkin and something that her aunt called
pastillas de leche. She got herself two of each and delighted at the soft milk treat, obviously preferring it to the candied pumpkin. Even if her aunt made them sweet with sugar, pumpkin was still a vegetable. Her Aunt Carver made them, who loved to cook next to dissecting things. She giggled. Aunt Carver was interesting, and she adored her aunt. But vegetables were vegetables.
Her aunt heard the sleeping man shift, who was slowly feeling the pain in his gut. The man was sluggish, heavy, he could barely open his eyes. His hand was numb, but he struggled to reach for the back of his aching neck. The pain skulked down his spine. "Palmira?" His last memory was from the wedding. Now he finds himself in a cold, dim room that smelled of old age and earth. "Where-" He slumped back to bed, he felt himself heavy. Heavier.
"Azrael!" The woman rose, and hurried to assist him. "Who are you?" Azrael shot a confused look at her. "You're back! You're awake!" The redundancy consoled her. "You... were at my wedding." Something in his aching gut told him that this woman was more than just a wedding guest, that this woman was family. But his priorities were in a different order. "Yes. Yes! I need to get Garrett." Azrael ignored her. He was still trapped in a memory, "Where's... Palmira? Where are my babies?" She only knotted her brows, and pursed her lips. "Where are they?" He repeated. She didn't answer, but he could see and feel what this woman felt, "You're sorry?" "You- you don't remember?" "What-"
He didn't.
He did.
And I remember your eyes were so bright
When I first met you, so in love that night
And now I'm kissing your tears goodnight
And I can't take it, you're even perfect when you cryAzrael collapsed into the bed.
There were no tears to kiss, no more bright eyes to look into.
"She's-" he couldn't bring himself to say it. "Where are they?" She didn't answer. "Where are they!" "Azrael, calm down! Please." "What happened to them? Where am I?" "You've been.. gone long." "What are you saying?" She refused to answer him. The silence angered Azrael, but he was weak, "Where are my children! Where are they!" It became a chant. "Azrael, please. Listen." "Where are they! I need to see them!" "You might not recognize them anymore." He was puzzled, thinking that there would be no way he wouldn't know his own children. He pushed her away and charged out of the room, but he fell.
He struggled to stand himself up. But he felt excruciating pain in his wrists and ankles. Like pins and needles. He gathered up the sleeves messily, clumsily, and saw marks tattooed on his wrists. "These-" They hurt, his ankles hurt, like a thousand needles piercing through his skin. He scrambled to see what caused the pain. "What- Where are they!" "They'll be here soon, but you need to calm down first." "Calm down? My wife is dead... Where are my children? Where are they! Answer me!" He shook her. It was her turn to push him away, "Stop it, you're hurting me!" "Where did you- By gods, what did you do to them?" His eyes leaked desperation but she could only say, "Azrael, please."
His anger turned into frustration quickly, and to defeat. He was sobbing. "I need to see them. I need to see them..."
Carver wanted to tell him, "I'm your brother. Well, your sister. And those markings are seals. Or more like talismans. Or so I was told, because your daughter's still eating you alive. Your life force anyway." Carver practiced it countless times, awkwardly, over the years and regretted it every time. Palmira died thinking she had the solution. Carver couldn't tell him. Not right now. Not when Azrael's sobs grew distorted and broken.
Azrael was on the ground.
Carver could only look at him.
And listen.
Even if all that came out of his mouth was "Please."
He begged.
When did the rain become a storm?
When did the clouds begin to form?Bunny strode, whistling, to the The Great Old. Iridessa, who was sleeping, woke to the growing tune that came gliding off the sides of Bunny's mouth. She woke up lazily and held onto the entrance of the burrow to get herself out, "Where were you?" She asked her twin sleepily. "Hmm," he whistled still, "Let's go home, rainbow." "I don't like that nickname, Bun." "Tell Aunt Carver that, okay?"
Heh, he thought further,
Aunt. "But-! You're late. You know that?" "Yeah. That's why I ran here quickly. Like, ASAP." "You
ran?" She raised her brow, "From what Or where?" "What are you insinuating?" "Insinuating?" "Stop mimicking me, trouble-maker." "What the hell, Bun. I waited for you until dark, and you're telling me ungrateful things." "How old are we?" "Well, where were you?" "Leave me alone, twin."
I was with Aiden,
listening to his mumblings and rants. Like a brother, he wanted to say. But simply because Iridessa thinks Aiden to be. "Psh." She blew the tuft of hair that strayed away from her braid, "Come on, where were you?" "Let's just go home," Bunny held his sister's hand. They walked, 'We're walking home?" "No, stupid. We're not." "Quit calling me stupid." "But stupid suits you." "Wow. I'm in awe." He managed to wriggle himself out of his twin's persistence; combined with Iridessa's absent-mindedness, well, what an amazing feat.
Qullaia finished her spell just in time. She blew her hand soon after casting and began talking to herself. With everyone going in and out of the house for years, and without so much a greeting, she grew a habit of talking to herself. Yet she couldn't blame them, Carver and Garrett couldn't possibly stay cooed in the same house with Azrael. Hawkes drew each other's power out, "Which is especially why I painstakingly set up this barrier! Everyday! What a stubborn pair of uncles!" But even if the barrier was high-tiered even for their Mayfair hunters, it wasn't perfect.
Azrael alone could draw out his surroundings essence: sometimes to himself, sometimes back to wherever he got them. Whichever the case, these essences, spirits, forces, or however one wishes to call them, seep out of the barrier. His first years of slumber were the most turbulent times.
But that was then.
Now, Carver felt the metal door from above them open, and then close. "They're home." "Who's home?" Azrael asked as he felt the same vibration reverberate, and dissipate slowly. His memories were creeping back to him, sweetly, gently. They were poison, and they clung to his veins. But they gave him a repulsive sense of calm.
Clung. And a lighter
cling!
Bolts were being unlocked, and Azrael could see that the woman was now worried. She flew.
The woman
flew.
Lost, Azrael dragged himself to a stern-looking seat. Just like that, "She left."
Azrael sat there unmoved for what seemed to be a long time, until the indistinct chatter that came from across the room. He shifted. Curiosity challenged him to open the door, or at least pry behind it. Reason bombarded him with consequences. And anyway, he still couldn't move properly. He sat there, seemingly waiting for his doom.
Until the thought of his children.
"You're home," Quillaia beamed, but she looked sad. "Why are you forcing yourself?" Bunny was the first to point it out. "Oh, you know. Life," she replied. "Stop it Qui, you sound like Bunny," Iridessa smirked. "Rainbow," Quillaia smiled at her cousin. "Okay, I'm shutting up." They shuffled, a busy pair they were, before deciding to sit. "We should sit, Bun." "It's not a good idea to sit?" "Why not?" Iridessa was curious. "Quillaia's dazed. We don't like it when Quillaia's dazed." "Sigh, my nine-year old darlings." "No, we're probably older than you," Iridessa joked. "Oh, yes you are!" Quillaia's eyes sparkled, making Iridessa blurt out, "You look like a sticker, Qui," "You mean, an emoji, right?" Bunny had his share in this rather stimulating conversation. "I don't know what those are, honey."
"He's awake, isn't he?" Bunny answered before Iridessa could ask. "Yes, yes! I just finished casting the barrier." "You do that everyday. Sorry, that dad is-" "It's okay, little rainbow." "Why is it that when you say it, it doesn't sound so bad?" "Hahaha!" It was a short laughter, Quillaia was the only one who could blurt out a gasp of laughter and act like she didn't.
But in Azrael, panicked stirred. He scrambled to the door. He almost crawled, when he successfully walked in two legs, he stooped. He was heavy. Every step was heavier. His memories wouldn't elude him. They crept as he did with every joint, and muscle, as well as with every pain that seared through them.
A different woman opened the door, but she seemed more like a girl.
"Uncle!" "Uncle?" Azrael thought. "Oh, my- Here let me help you." She immediately helped him up, and brought him back to bed. "You..." His memories and dreams flooded him as soon as he gasped his remembrance. Most of them weren't even his memories. He simply uttered, "Quillaia?" "Yes! Here... Ah, careful!" "A klutz," Azrael had time for wasteful thoughts, it made him chuckle a low, sincere sound. He quickly sealed his mouth when he realized the inappropriateness of a joke at a time like this. At the same time, he couldn't help it. Even if this place was cold and dark, it felt like home.
His thoughts were interrupted by the girl, "I'm glad you've finally woken up!" "How- how long have I been asleep?" "Nine years. Almost ten. But I'm glad you're back!" "Ten?" This girl talked as if ten years of slumber was nothing, even answering this rhetorical question with "Yes!" As well as adding, "The twins have grown up now! They always visit you. Everyday. Do you hear them talk to you? They always talk to you, Uncle. Ah, silly me. Of course you hear them!" "You talk-, I didn't think Aveline's daughter would be-" he trailed off, realizing how rude he would have sounded, and how calm he was now, "I'm sorry, Quillaia. I'm still lost. I don't know what's happening. Well, vaguely. I, ah. Can't settle for vague." "I just got excited, we've been waiting for you to wake up for so long!"
A quick stab: the heartache was real. "Haahh!" He put one hand over his face, and then another. He didn't say anything for that while.
For so long. "I didn't even have time to mourn." He laughed as he cried. His tears stained him, while his empty laughter echoed through the room. "I'm pathetic, aren't I?." "No, Uncle. You're sad. Very sad," she looked at him wallow in confusion. "Leave," he told her but she didn't want to, "Get out." Now, she did, but she looked back at the man she called uncle.
She closed the door gently and whispered, "I'm sorry."
"Wait!" But Quillaia had already closed the door.
"Can we go see dad?" "Oh, rainbow," Quillaia smiled sadly.
"Where's Aunt Carver?" Bunny asked her before she could continue. "She went to get him.'
Is Garrett so hard to say? 'Your father's awake, after all," Quillaia continued. "Where did she get him?" "Hmmm. Somewhere, hon. Somewhere."
What a difficult woman, Bunny twitched, but he wasn't discouraged, "So, we can't go see him?" "No, not yet, I'm afraid."
Iridessa butt in, "Why not? We always got to see him when he was asleep!"
That's right, tell her. "Your dad needs some time to... think. And..." "This isn't fair, Qui. We've waited for Dad to wake up since forever!" "It's been forever, huh? I know how you feel. I've been waiting for him to wake up, too. Since forever," her eyes softened as she looked at Iridessa. It was a different forever for her. "Then what are we gonna do now?" Iridessa asked Quillaia with plea. "We wait for them."
We're just going to see him. What's so different with seeing him now and seeing him later? Quillaia's gaze slowly shifted to Bunny. He panicked, but it didn't show on his face. He was good at that, very. "Is something wrong, Bun?" Quillaia asked him. "Nothing. I- We just want to see Dad." She touched his cheek, "Oh, you two. I know how you feel. I really do."
"But! But-!" Iridessa pleaded.
"Yes. We want to see him," Bunny simply uttered.
They had already gotten off the ill-colored trophy bench, as Carver had called it. For the sole reason it looked hideous.
"You can't. Not yet."
And let them go, let them fly
Holding back won't turn back time
Believe me, I've tried---
"I told you not to risk coming here." "But he's awake, and he's confused." "Naive. I told you I'd come, didn't I?" "What does it matter now? I'm already here." "Were you careful?" "Yes." "Then, go back." "I came to get you. Aren't you coming with me?" "Rash. You're no child, Carver." "So cold." "How humorous." "You mock me, brother." "Oh, do I?" he smirked. "Gale's nastiness has gone into you. But really, no chance of tagging along?" "Tagging along. I doubt it," he admitted with a quick playful smile in his lips, "I'll be there sooner than you expect me, Carver."
But Carver had already flown off. "It's been nine years, huh?" Garrett sucked in, and waited for Gale, "Still surprised by your sister's reawakened power?" "Still not used to having another sister." He gave a quick, light laugh and continued, "Many things have changed." "What hasn't?" "The torment of losing my little girl." "Do you ever wonder what Celestia might think of this?" "Of what of this madness?" "All of it." "Hah, what might she think of this I wonder. But why must we trouble ourselves with what has passed? She's gone into her own little world now." "You're stalling, Hawke. Your brother's waiting and he's con--- fuzzled," Gale smiled. "Confuzzled. How odd." "Oh, I just happened to hear it somewhere."
I suppose this isn't what you'd call an inspired chapter.
