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Did you notice that it's in bold now?

Is that different? 0.5 50.0% [ 2 ]
Yes. I have ninja-like powers of observation. 0.5 50.0% [ 2 ]
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User ImageWhen the smoke cleared Genevieve found herself staring at a humanoid being roughly the size of a small cat or a doll. The creature had dark skin of a blue-green color like that she had seen swirling around inside the orb. The little thing had a definitely grey cast to its flesh though, vaguely reminiscent of something dwelling in a swamp. The finned ears and webbing from the shoulders clinched it. The thing was definitely a swamp creature.
"What do I call you?" she wondered aloud.
To herself, she thought, What do I know about taking care of...goblins? I have no idea what to do with this thing. I don't even know how to tell if it's male or female.
"Well, Dragul is a nice, androgynous name, since I have no idea what gender you are. And it seems well-suited to you."
The newly-named Dragul looked up at Genevieve through through muddy green eyes and made a sound deep in its throat which reminded Genevieve of the sound people make when they swallow too much liquid at once, sort of a "glug"-ing sound.
"Of course, I could call you Gollum," she remarked drily, cupping the young goblin (?) in her hands and cradling it as she might a very young child. "But that's fairly thoroughly copyrighted."
Dragul blew a raspberry and shook its almost flourescent-green hair - the same color as the webbing which appeared periodically on its small body.
"And you don't seem to like it. Oh boy."
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User ImageOver the course of the next few days, Genevieve became more accustomed to Dragul. The Undera would follow her pretty much everywhere, disregarding all her attempts to prevent it. Locks had no effect on the thing. Likewise, any other form of confinement.
And yet, somehow, it seemed that no one ever seemed to notice the creature which had become her constant companion. Perhaps because everyone was too preoccupied with the other creature which seemed to have become her constant companion.
Andrew had started to turn up everywhere. At first it was incredibly awkward for her to be around him after her outburst at his home that first day she had seen him - the day Dragul had emerged from her orb - but Andrew had been so determinedly cheerful that Genevieve was soon as comfortable around him as she had been when they were best friends all those years ago.
The other waitresses at the truck stop, ranging in age from sixteen to fifty eight, delighted in ribbing her about his constant presence, asking prying questions with a sort of good-natured curiousity that Andrew either answered or deflected with ease.
Somehow, Andrew's charisma was wearing off on her. Well. Not exactly. More like, everyone liked him, and remembered it now that he was actually present, and everyone came to like Genevieve because Andrew spent most of his time with her. Oddly, no one asked what Andrew was doing home, or why he had so much free time.
Naturally, Dragul was not forgotten. Once she had discovered that the Undera had a penchant for objects humans considered generally inedible (buttons, bottle caps, corks, and pony beads being preferred), Genevieve had done her best to keep these things in constant supply. Some were easier than others to procure. Bottle caps, for example, she merely took home from work, saying that she was starting a collection. The rest she was forced to buy from the craft store, which gouged her already tight wallet, but she wanted to be sure Dragul remained healthy and happy. For the most part, it seemed to work.
The only people who really took much notice of the Undera were her mother, who noticed her right away, and Andrew, who really couldn't help it.
Her mother was charmed by the small creature and asked no uncomfortable questions. She didn't ask from whence Dragul had come, nor what, exactly, an Undera was, though Genevieve did say that she was a goblin Undera. Andrew, on the other hand, was full of such questions, which Genevieve did her best to answer or evade, depending on what he asked.
The most difficult was, of course, "Who is the Goblin King, and why would he give you a goblin orb?"
She couldn't answer because she had no idea.
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User ImageOn one of the rare days when Genevieve was home without Andrew hanging around, for he had made her home a frequently frequented place on his daily itinerary, Genevieve had found herself out of every imaginable food, save a box of lime Jello. Much as she despised the stuff, she mixed it anyway, rather than endure the cold and the cashier's derision by going to the grocery.
She had just set the Jello in the refriderator to set when she noticed through the window a young man in a fur-rimmed jacket standing uncomfortably by a motorcycle. Before she could stop herself, she went to the door and invited him inside. It was, after all, weather so foul that she herself wouldn't even brave it for food.
Jay was the young man's name. He had received a note from the Goblin King indicating that he ought to come here to meet him. This struck Genevieve as completely ridiculous, as she had never seen the Goblin King, and doubted that he would be at all interested in coming to the armpit of the universe in which she lived, not even to meet with a boy who had one of his orbs, as Jay did.
Jay's orb was called Merethist, and displayed far more personality than Dragul had displayed as an orb. Contrary to the orb's decidedly feminine coloration, Jay referred to Merethist as a male entity. Genevieve envied him, for he lived in a household which was full of people and excitement, from what she could tell, and his lover (or so she got the impression that was what Asher was) also had an orb, which had reached an Undera form. That point fascinated her, and Jay had offered to try to arrange a meeting between some of the other orb and Undera owners he knew, which was very generous of him.
During his visit, Genevieve also discovered how very withdrawn Dragul had been as an orb. Dragul had been more like a paperweight with smoke swirling inside. Merethist had personality, and clearly didn't care for Dragul who was, Genevieve had to admit, a little hellion.
She served Jay hot Jello. It was the only thing in the house, hot or otherwise, and she felt that she ought to at least be hospitable to the blond with the orb. She assumed, incorrectly, that she would not see him again, but she did not see him for nearly two weeks, during which other events occurred to distract her.
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User ImageThe next time Genevieve saw Jay and Merethist it was at a diner. She didn't particularly care for diners as a rule because she worked in one, but at the same time it was nice not to have to cook for herself and clean up after her meal and so on. Of course, one had to pay for the privilege, and money was always tight, but she figured she had enough spare change from tips that she could afford to splurge.
So she and Dragul had gone out and run into what seemed to be a convention of orb owners, which was something just short of shocking. Genevieve had not imagined that there were so many, and that they all lived near enough to eat in the same diners was amazing to her.
They invited her to join them in their meal, and though she had only a cup of coffee - all she could afford - she was more than happy to do so. It was nice to feel like she belonged to something other than Kids of Cancer Patients groups, even if it was Strange People With Orbs Anonymous.
The only mishap was a loss of her purse which resulted in upsetting poor Merethist badly. She felt guilty about that, since there was absolutely nothing of value in her purse. As a sort of peace offering she had offered Mere the rabbit's foot she carried around with her.
That was the day before things got much worse.
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User ImageAndrew had been applying for jobs around the area and spent less time with her, and she felt his absence acutely. His aimiability and casually charming nature had been like a bolster to her flagging strength and hope, and with him no longer around constantly to keep her in a good mood, she felt the full strength of her fatigue.
Dragul tried to be helpful, in her way. She would smile her buck-toothed, mischievious grin and then do some new trick she had learned. So far she had added to her repetoire unlocking locked doors, standing on her hands, and eating dirty coins to be vomited up all shiny and new-looking. None of these were particularly useful traits to Genevieve unless she decided to go into a life of crime and bank robbery, but she could see that Dragul was trying to cheer her and she played along, but the little undera's personality was not effervescent enough, really.
But as for Andrew's absence, that actually turned out to be the worst problem. Usually he would accompany her everywhere, like a squire or a chaffeur or some such thing, but for his job hunt he had been doing less of that so that he could fill out applications and attend interviews.
Genevieve hadn't realized how dependent she had become on his more or less constant company until, after a late shift at the diner which had her getting off work at one thirty in the morning, she was asked to make the diner's deposit for the week at the bank. On one hand, it meant that they trusted her with their money. On the other hand, it meant that she was carrying a huge amount of money and she was totally alone but for Dragul and unarmed.
She walked through the poorly lit streets and tried not to look like the victim she knew she resembled. As she walked, she fumed inwardly at Bill for sending her, a relatively young female, to the bank alone and so late at night. He had said that the deposit needed to be made by two in the morning, so she had to hurry. Hurrying, however, tends to make a person look like a victim, she learned.
Two men stepped out of the shadows by the ATM and Genevieve felt a chill run down her spine. They smelled of strong whiskey, which meant, presumably, that they were drunk. If they were drunk, their judgment was bound to be impaired and they might try things they wouldn't in a sober state. Her heart rate accelerated and her hands began to tremble. On her shoulder, Dragul burbled softly, like the last of the shower water going down the drain. Genevieve had never heard her make that sound before.
"Vey ba'," Dragul mutter. "Vey, vey ba'."
Genevieve wasn't about to disagree with the goblin. She, too, felt the situation was very, very bad. And it went from very, very bad to worse once one of the men started talking. He told her to give him the money, and then maybe what was coming wouldn't hurt so much. She could think of two options for what might be coming, and neither of them appealed to her at all. Everything she'd ever been told urged her to just give him the money and run, but she couldn't do that because it wasn't her money to lose.
When she didn't immediately acquiesce, the silent man stepped forward. It was only then that she noticed that he carried a piece of wood about two feet long. At that point, she knew that the money wasn't worth it, but it was already too late. She knew it was too late, too. These men wanted the money, true, but they were going to hurt her whether she gave it to them or not, and what difference did it make if they hurt her a little or a lot. It would feel like a lot no matter what. She had a low threshold for pain.
While she reasoned with herself, whether it was better just to hand over the money and hope for clemency or to fight back, her fight or flight gland took over and she heard her feet pounding the pavement. Unfortunately, she heard four more feet doing the same with heavier, faster footfalls. Dragul clung to her collar and gurgled incomprehensible declarations of her unhappiness.
Roger that, Genevieve agreed privately, taking note of the goblin's gurglings.
The inevitable caught up with her when she made a wrong turn and proceeded to make the evening the worst of her life. She was beaten, robbed, and left to whimper in a rubbish-strewn alley. Dragul had been magnificent. She had fought ferociously, and being largely unseen quite effectively, but it meant that Genevieve's attackers blamed Genevieve for their unseen assailant and took it out on her.
It was hours and hours until sunrise.
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User ImageGenevieve did not lie in the alley for hours and hours though. She lay still for a period of time between ten and twenty minutes, and then she climbed stiffly to her feet, brushed herself off, and headed for home and a shower. Dragul clung to her hair and growled angry gibberish which Silence assumed were threats toward their assailants, who were long gone.
She was not doing this because she was strong or brave. She was doing it because she was practical. She had to go to work in the morning, and she and her clothes smelled of refuse. She had to wash them and herself before she went in to work. Really, she wanted nothing more than to simply lie there and whimper some more, but she simply couldn't. She had to be practical.
At home Genevieve stripped and tossed her soiled work clothes into the washing machine and then stepped into the shower. Dragul joined her shortly to engage in her favorite bathtime activity: bubble burping. To do this, she used her long fingernails to scrape soap off of the bar of lavender soap stuck to the tub wall and then she ate the soap. In a manner of minutes she would begin to belch bubbles.
Genevieve scrubbed furiously at herself to eradicate all traces of the alley from her body. The hot water stung her open abrasions and the scrubbing made her bruises ache, but she kept at it. Had she been less intent, she might have noticed that her scalp was still bleeding into the water swirling over her feet, but she didn't. Dragul might have noticed it, too, but she was too engaged in belching bigger and bigger soap bubbles. So Genevieve finished showering and dried off, none the wiser as to the cut on the back of her head.
There was still some time for her to sleep before she had to go back to work, and Genevieve took advantage of it. When she woke in the morning to her hateful alarm clock she went downstairs and realized that she hadn't moved her uniform from the washer to the dryer. She would just have to wear it damp. There was no time to dry it now.
Dragul jumped into her apron pocket as usual and they went to the diner. Jim was waiting for her. He greeted her with a less-than-friendly "You look a mess."
"And, by the way, where's the money I gave you last night?"
Genevieve took a deep breath and told him about the robbery. His arms remained crossed over his chest the entire time and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearly bored with her narrative.
"You expect me to believe you? Everyone knows you and your mom are strapped for cash. I shouldn't be surprised that the money vanished when I entrusted it to you."
Incensed, Genevieve snapped, "You think I'm lying? You think I did this to myself?"
She gestured to the bruises which mottled her arms and face.
"How am I to know? You might have. All you teenagers cut yourselves and whatnot. Why wouldn't you be willing to beat yourself up a bit to keep some free cash?"
"I...I would never -"
"Don't worry about it. The owner won't press charges if you'll leave quietly, eh? So, how about it? Will you quit, or do we have to fire you and press charges?"
Genevieve's vision began to blur and everything around her seemed to spin. She vaguely remembered crying out, though not what she said, before she hit the floor. Dragul hovered protectively around her head, spitting and snarling at anyone who tried to come near her, visible to all for the first time since she emerged from her orb.
An ambulance was called and Genevieve was taken to the hospital, where she woke and found that her situation had not improved.
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User ImageThe problem was, as Genevieve kept explaining to the medical personnel, most of whom recognized her anyway, she simply couldn't afford to be in the hospital. As they ought to know by now, it was all her family could to pay even a small portion of her mother's bills. She, Genevieve, certainly couldn't afford to be in the hospital for something as minor as being in a disagreement.
"You were attacked in an alley, beaten, and you blacked out at work," said her mother's oncologist, who happened to be passing by her room and had bullied an orderly into telling him what had happened. "That's not a disagreement. That's a problem. You need to tell the police."
Genevieve kept shaking her head. She couldn't tell the police, there was no point. They wouldn't find the guys, and even if they did, the money was long-gone by now, and it was the money which she really needed to produce. Her job, and her mother's life by association, depended on that. It was far more important than a few scrapes and bruises. The doctors just wouldn't be reasonable.
"V, we're not the ones being unreasonable. At the very least, let us do a CAT scan or an MRI. You fainted. That's usually a bad sign."
"Maybe I have a tumor in my brain," she muttered.
"That's not funny, V."
"No, I suppose it isn't. Look, I'm over eighteen. Aren't I legally entitled to leave if I want to?"
The oncologist sighed. Technically, he said, yes, she was legally entitled to leave if she wanted to, but he didn't recommend it at all. Genevieve shook her head again.
"I'm out of here, then. I'm sure I can't afford even the time I've already spent here and in the ambulance. You understand." She was pleading just a little with the oncologist. She was accustomed to obeying medical staff without question, and to defy one was difficult. She wanted to be told that it was okay to leave.
"I do understand. How are you going to get home?"
"The same as always. I'll walk."
The oncologist, Husayn Marubai, looked horrified in that polite way wealthy professionals must be taught to when pursuing advanced degrees. Certainly, the only other person Genevieve had ever seen look like Doctor Marubai was Andrew's mother, and she was one of those scary ex-CEO turned housewife types.
"Surely there is someone you can call? The young man who was in with your mother the other day?"
"I can't call Andrew," she said flatly.
There was no question about it. She simply couldn't get Andrew involved He would ask too many questions and be too concerned and too chivalrous. She didn't need chivalry. She just needed to get home and see how much damage had been done financially by this unexpected hospital visit.
Doctor Marubai fixed her with a stern look. "You are not leaving this hospital until I know you have a way to get home which involves you riding in a motorized vehicle. And if you persist in being difficult, I'll tell your mother."
Genevieve looked at him, panic clear on her face.
"You can't do that. It'll be so bad for her health."
"Then you must look after yourself and do what's good for your health. Now that I finally have you in the position of being a patient, I can do something about that."
Exasperated, Genevieve replied, "Whatever are you talking about? Aside from the obvious - I was beat up - I'm perfectly healthy."
"You are not. You obviously don't sleep or eat nearly enough and you work too hard."
Genevieve couldn't keep a surly expression off her face. "You know, it's none of your business. I do what I have to do to help my mum. I'm young and I'm stronger than her, and so I take care of her. Asking me to do anything other than what I'm already doing is like asking me to abandon her. Unless you think it likely everyone involved with her treatment will agree to work pro bono?"
Doctor Marubai looked away.
"I didn't think so. Just tell me where my clothing is and let me go home, okay? I don't need this."
"Very well."
Doctor Marubai stood and made it halfway to the door before Genevieve called after him, "Please don't tell Mum. She doesn't need to know about this. It'll only make things worse for her."
He nodded sadly and left her to change. He hated the situation that she and her mother were in, and he hated knowing that thousands of other people were in similar situations, but he could only do so much to help. He wished he could do more though.
Genevieve changed back into her work uniform and scowled. She was probably still fired. She'd have to return the uniform, and to do that she'd have to get it dry-cleaned - company policy - which would probably cost more than she usually allotted for petty expenses. She wasn't sure, though, as she hadn't had to have anything dry-cleaned since she went to her interview for Yale.
"Good God, V. Why didn't you call me?"
Oh, good. Andrew. Now her day was complete.
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User ImageGenevieve sat back down on the hospital bed and passed a hand over her eyes and forehead. Her head didn't even hurt. How could they think she might need a CAT scan or an MRI? And how had Andrew known to come? Or had he been here for another reason and just happened down this hallway? Unlikely. He had, undoubtedly, been summoned.
"Why should I have called you, Andrew?"
"Because you look like someone used you for a punching bag? Because you're in the hospital? Because I'm supposed to be your friend, damn it. Or is this another thing like your house? Is it too demeaning, too embarrassing for you to call a friend for help? For all that you pride yourself on being practical, what I mostly see is too much pride and no practicality at all."
"Are you done?"
He was breathing hard and his cheeks were flushed. So were his ears, now that she noticed it. His ears only changed color when he was running particularly high on emotion. He swallowed and exhaled a sharp, obviously dissatisfied sigh.
"Yes. I'm done. Let's get you home. I have my car parked near the main entrance."
Genevieve followed him, taking care that she remain behind him, rather than beside him. He couldn't easily talk to her that way. She didn't want to talk to him at the moment. He was right. It was embarrassing to need help. She had been self-sufficient for a long time. Now everything seemed to be coming apart at the seams, and there was nothing she could do about it. She hated it.
As they passed the maternity unit an overbearing nurse stopped them.
"Is that a patient being discharged?"
Andrew nodded.
"She needs to leave in a wheelchair. Hospital policy. Stay right there."
At this Genevieve couldn't help exchanging a look of disbelief with Andrew as soon as the nurse's back was turned. He smiled and her eyes darted toward the end of the hallway. She raised her eyebrows. Race you.
Andrew shook his head. "Some other time," he said aloud. "You're hardly in any condition to race. It would be no competition. Not that you ever were."
Genevieve smiled. She couldn't help smiling when he teased her. He was charming and charismatic and good-looking, and she had absolutely no idea why he spent time with her, except that she was an excellent foil to him. Where he was out-going and gregarious she was withdrawn and even a little unfriendly. Where he was easy-going and casual, she was uptight and worrywart-ish. He enjoyed being irresponsible and lazy, and she was studious and hard-working and hated it, but couldn't conceive of being any other way.
"We could still escape," she offered, glancing back after the nurse.
"Nah. I think I'll enjoy pushing you around in a wheelchair. I can take you wherever I want, and you won't be able to do a thing to stop me. I like that a lot."
"I'm not an invalid. I could stand up or grab the wheel and stop the chair, or -"
"But you won't. Because if you do, I won't tell you how I knew to come here, and you'll want to know that."
He was right. Again. She did want to know that, now that he mentioned it. He wasn't clairvoyant, as far as she knew, and no one would have called him. His number wasn't in any of her family's files. She couldn't imagine what he was doing here, though, if she was being honest with herself, which she rarely was if she could help it, she was glad he was with her. She had missed him the last week or so.
"Very well."
The nurse returned with a wheelchair. It was one of those convenient types which can be folded to being very flat indeed, or wide enough for someone going in for gastric bypass surgery or stomach stapling. Opened up, it was wide enough for three Genevieves, though it might be a bit snug.
Andrew took one look at it and caught the inside of his cheek with his teeth, trying desperately not to laugh. He wasn't doing to well. Genevieve was succeeding marginally better: her lips were pressed firmly together and she looked as though she had swallowed something she had not meant to. As opposed to Andrew's ill-concealed mirth.
"Have a sit," he said to Genevieve while the nurse was still watching them suspiciously.
Genevieve obeyed and the wheelchair folded up around her. Her weight was not sufficient to keep it open unless otherwise distributed, and to distribute it otherwise she would have to tuck her feet under her behind and lean to one side or the other. It would look ridiculous. Not that she didn't already, with a wheelchair folded up around her. It was only Andrew's firm grip on the handles which kept the chair from collapsing completely.
"Stay. I'll be back." The nurse vanished again.
"I'll be back," Andrew repeated, doing a decent impression of the Governator which had both of them snickering.
"What idiot decided a person was legally an adult at eighteen?" Genevieve wondered aloud.
"Maybe it comes later in the year?" Andrew suggested cheerfully.
They were both a relatively young eighteen.
"Or maybe it was a typo and they meant eighty one?" he added. "You never can tell, with founding fathers and politicians and the like, what they mean, can you?"
"No. Never," Genevieve agreed. "She's coming back."
Andrew followed her gaze and took note of the returning nurse. Immediately his expression sobered. Genevieve struggled to do the same, but now it was she who was having a difficult time mastering her expression.
"Sorry about that. Don't know what I was thinking. There you are, dearies. I hope your mother feels better soon, Jenny."
"Thank you," Genevieve said stiffly. She hated being called Jenny. At least the irrepressible laughter was gone.
She climbed out of the large wheelchair with Andrew's help and relocated to the more normal-sized one. This one was burgundy, rather than blue. The oversized one had been very blue.
Andrew took hold of the grips for her wheelchair and began pushing her away at a sedate pace. This lasted until they rounded the corner, and then he sped up to a jog, and then he was running full-out and Genevieve was clinging to the arms of the wheelchair with her feet lifted well off the floor to avoid becoming a hospital version of a cow-catcher.
Eventually (thankfully) Andrew tired of racing up and down hospital corridors, stopping only to get on elevators. He shot out of elevators as though fired from a twelve-guage. When he slowed to a walk and took her outside to his car Genevieve was relieved to be free of the wheelchair. Though it had been exhilerating, it had also been terrifying to entrust someone else with her safety. She didn't even like roller coasters, or those pony rides at the fair where the horse walks in a circle because she couldn't control anything about it.
"So," she asked in the car, "how did you know to come get me?"
"I'll tell you when we get there."
"Get where?"
"To where we're going. I told you I was going to take you wherever I wanted to. Surely you didn't think I was done when you got out of the wheelchair?"
"I had hoped, but clearly in vain."
Andrew glanced over at her and grinned. He was usually grinning, and he had a way of doing it so anyone who saw it thought he was grinning especially at them. Few people could resist his grin, and Genevieve was not among them. She still remembered when he had worn braces, and so his perfect smile always caught her by surprise and with the full force of his charm.
"Trust me."
"Do I have a choice?"
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the headrest. It was apparent that she did not have a choice, and so she might as well sit back and enjoy the ride. She did not want to open her eyes and watch the deft way Andrew handled his father's classic T-bird. Watching the wheel slide through his fingers and the casual way he shifted gears, knowing exactly what to do with the clutch and when, was, for whatever reason, ridiculously sexy to Genevieve. Yes, she was aware that she was pathetic.
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User Image"We're here. You fell asleep."
She opened her eyes and looked around her and realized she had absolutely no idea where in the hells she was. She panicked briefly but fought it down. It would do her no good, and Andrew wouldn't bring her to a place where anything bad would happen to her. Of course, they had different definitions of bad. To him, surprises were wonderful, splendid fun. To Genevieve, they were, to put it in Dragul's terms, Vey Ba'. She didn't like being surprised. It went back to the control freak issue, she supposed.
"I didn't fall asleep," she protested. She hadn't, actually. Her thoughts had just been miles away.
"Have it your way."
They walked down a path, Andrew leading the way, but keeping Genevieve's hand in his. She wasn't entirely sure how her hand had gotten to be there in the first place, but she couldn't find a decent excuse to remedy the situation. She wasn't sure she wanted to remedy the situation. Andrew had a way of making a person feel cared-for and looked-after and safe. Even when careening down hospital halls pushing a wheelchair. Even to the person in the wheelchair.
At the end of the path, which had turned into boards across swamp land, they came to a dock with two boats tied to it jutting out into a green lake. One of the boats looked almost sea-worthy. The other looked like young children had built it to play pirates. Genevieve privately hoped that they would be getting into neither. That hope proved in vain, but fortunately Andrew untied the safer-looking craft.
"Come on," he said, standing in the boat.
"I don't swim."
"So don't fall in."
He held out his hands and when she came close enough he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her into the boat, which rocked unnervingly beneath their feet. The boat had oars, and once they were both seated Andrew began to use them. He looked like he knew what he was doing with them, too, which was impressive. Genevieve couldn't even begin to guess where he had learned to propel a rowboat.
"Is this your boat?"
"No." Genevieve looked horrified and he grinned. "It's my dad's. He's off on business again, and what he doesn't know won't hurt him."
"How did I not know your dad owned a rowboat?"
"Because I was kind enough not to drag you along on any of his father-son bonding experiences where we drowned worms and tried to have serious conversations which would always turn into fights. You should thank me, by the way, for sparing you that."
"Why? I was never invited."
"In an oblique way you were. My dad always said I could bring a friend if I wanted to. You were the only person I ever considered bringing. For all that my dad and I can't get along worth crap, I do like the place, and I didn't want to bring just anyone out here."
Genevieve, who had been dangling her fingers in the water withdrew her hand and changed the subject, asking, "Are there fish in here? Do they bite?"
"In theory, yes, but neither my dad nor I have ever caught a single one, so I'm given to wonder about that myself. Perhaps sometime you could try your hand at it? Maybe the fish only like pretty girls."
"Maybe you're full of it," she said. fixing him with a hard stare. Whenever he said things like that to her it felt like a vise was being tightened around her chest. She knew that she was average-looking, neither unattractive nor particularly attractive, and she wished fervently that he would not joke about it. She was not to practical not to care about her looks.
"How about you tell me how you knew to come to the hospital? You don't have ESP do you?"
Andrew looked a little disappointed, but he shrugged it off, physically it seemed, for he shrugged his shoulders.
"Nah. Your goblin-thing, Dragul. She came to find me and said you were hurt and that they took you in a 'noisy-bright car-thing.' Or something like that. She doesn't enunciate very well. I did figure out that she meant an ambulance. The security at that hospital sucks, by the way. I asked the receptionist where I could find you, and he didn't even ask how I knew you."
"You worry about the strangest things. Where's Dragul now?"
"She's back at my house, sleeping, I think. I wasn't in town when she found me. It probably wore her out. We can swing by and pick her up later."
Genevieve nodded. Whatever he said. It was difficult to argue when the other person was the only one who knew how to handle the boat. And she was enjoying being out on the lake, even if she did have a few lingering concerns as to how watertight the craft was. Surely, if was going to spring a leak, it would have done so by now.
"V?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you hungry?"
He rowed back to a different dock and took her up the bank to a meadow where a water-proof tablecloth with lobsters on it was spread beneath a tree. Sitting on the tablecloth was a medium-sized cooler and a pair of water guns. Geneveive looked at him in askance and he shrugged and smiled.
Genevieve enjoyed the surprise picnic, though the food itself was definitely college-boy fare. No one else would ever have put pretzel sticks, marshmallow fluff, and strawberries inside a hotdog roll and called it a sandwich, nor would anyone else have considered Boone's apple wine an acceptable soft drink substitute. But the combination worked out well, which surprised both of them.
After lunch they had a water gun fight which left them drenched and winded, but in a good way. Andrew pulled out a pair of towels from the cooler and handed one to Genevieve, who did her best to towel off with her clothes on. It's truly difficult to dry oneself while wearing wet clothes, as Genevieve discovered. They sat down beneath the tree again and chatted, or sat in silence.
Genevieve opened her eyes and noticed right off that two towels were draped over her. One over her upper body and the other over her legs, bent into a fetal position. It was only after Andrew spoke that she noticed she had been lying on her side.
"You fell asleep," Andrew said, his lips curved in one of his omnipresent smiles.
"I did not," she protested, though it seemed that she had this time.
"You did. And you snored."
"Now I know you're lying. I don't snore."
"You're right. You don't. You just look adorable."
"You and your silver tongue. Don't you get tired of giving out compliments like they're candy?"
Andrew appeared to think about this for a moment. "No. Not when I mean what I'm saying."
"Andrew..."
He caught her completely by surprise and kissed her, and then whatever she was going to say completely left her mind.
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User ImageHe kissed her, and then whatever she was going to say completely left her mind.
When their lips parted, Andrew remained close to her, sitting beside her on the tablecloth, his mouth less than two inches from hers. Geneveive could feel his warm, slightly wine-scented breath on her face and wondered if he was going to kiss her again.
She didn't think she'd mind if he did. She'd never been kissed like that before. It was as if Andrew had stepped out of a romance novel, or had been the protege of a romance novel's male lead. His kiss had truly left her breathless and incapable of coherent thought. It took a lot to leave Geneveieve incapable of coherent thought.
He began to draw away from her and Genevieve realized belatedly that he had been waiting for her to take the initiative and kiss him, to show that she was on the same page. How stupid could she be? Perhaps still a little buzzed from the apple wine, Genevieve was willing to make a fool of herself to find out.
She stayed Andrew's movement, holding his cheek awkwardly with one hand, and touched her lips to his. The motion, not executed gracefully at all, sent her off balance and he ended up having to catch her and support her. She liked the feeling of his hands at her waist and holding her. She also liked wine, she decided. It was the great uninhibitor. Rationally, she knew she would never have pursued Andrew sober, but with just over half a bottle of wine in her, even cheap Boone's, she was was just brave enough to do so.
Andrew, for his part, seemed to welcome her second kiss, even if it was awkward, and when it became apparent that Genevieve was too inexperienced to take the lead did so once more. Part of the reason his grades had suffered at Yale, and that he had been forced to resort to plaguarism to finish papers in a timely fashion was that he had been too busy with all the beautiful, rich Yale girls. He had learned a great deal from those girls, whose daddies though them pure little princesses and who were really no better than they had to be.
They separated again and Andrew continued to hold Genevieve. His fingers found the bruises on her face, easily discerning the puffy, sore places from her otherwise smooth skin, and he kissed lightly each one.
"There," he said, breaking the silence, "all better. And no doctors."
Genevieve smiled at him and then, to her chagrin, she yawned. Andrew didn't seem offended, though she feared he might be. He simply re-wrapped the towel around her shoulders and said, "I'd better get you home, V. You've had a bad day."
"Not all of it was bad," she protested, the wine helping her to say what she meant. She really had no tolerance for alcohol at all.
"I'm glad you feel that way. Now, come on. Let's go home."
He packed up the picnic gear and bundled everything into his father's boat. Then he rowed across the lake as the sun set and led her back to the car. Genevieve was content to be led, still floating on a somewhat euphoric cloud made up of cheap apple wine and Andrew's kisses. She wondered if she was drunk.
At her house, Andrew walked her to the door.
"I'll call you tomorrow," he told her.
"You say that to all the girls."
"I do, but I always call, too." He kissed her one last time and walked back to his car, where he sat until he had seen her safely inside before driving off.
It was only later, when she discovered Dragul sleeping in her sneakers as she tripped over them on the way to the bathroom to throw up, that Genevieve thought to wonder how Andrew had known where she lived, as she had not once taken him to her new house.
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User ImageIn the morning, both Genevieve and Dragul were reluctant to wake. That is, Genevieve woke with a start at five, because her next shift would have begun at six, but then she remembered that she had been fired, and so she went back to sleep. When she had tripped over Dragul in her sneaker in her sleepy haste to get ready for work, changing partially into the uniform she had worn all day the day before and neglected to wash in between, Dragul had actually growled before burrowing deeper into the rank-smelling article of clothing.
After another hour's fitful slumber, Genevieve woke for truly and began scrounging around for enough spare change to get her uniform dry-cleaned. She'd turn it in the next day, dry-cleaned, along with her name tag, and hope to all that was holy that the diner did not press charges. She couldn't afford legal fees, and even if she represented herself in court - an activity for which she was utterly unprepared - she would still be unable to recoup the diner's losses for the evening.
She dressed in a pair of shorts - it was summer, after all - and a t-shirt. It was a Yale t-shirt she had bought when she had actually thought she'd be attending the university. She rarely wore it because it was a somewhat painful reminder that she hadn't been good enough to merit a full ride, but she was not in a particularly self-pitying mood that morning. After all, Andrew had kissed her the day before. Twice. It was difficult to be particularly unhappy in light of that fact.
With a smile on her mottled face - ye gods were those bruises unattractive - Genevieve went out to the dry-cleaners and dropped off her uniform. Then she went around the house tidying up, for lack of something better to do. She very rarely had enough free time to clean, and usually she just dumped everything on the ratty sofa in the front room. Fortunately, depending on how one chose to look at it, the reduced circumstances under which she lived prevented her from having accumulated too much junk.
Even so, it took her the better part of the morning to get the entire house cleaned up. Dragul had recovered from yesterday's heroic trip to get Andrew sufficiently to demand praise and food in return for her good deed. Genevieve gave her all of the loose bits she found while moving the sofa's cushions, and Dragul was very pleased indeed.

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User ImageLater in the day, a little after six in the evening, Andrew called, as he had promised he would. Genevieve, who would never admit that she had been kind of, sort of, after a fashion, but not really waiting by the phone, had been anticipating his call all day. It might turn out to be the highlight of her day, since shortly after she gave Dragul her sofa findings she discovered that the washing machine had died halfway through a load. She had unloaded it and vowed to take it to the laundromat she knew was a couple of streets away. As soon as Andrew called.
When he called, Genevieve had to force herself not to jump for the phone and answer it on the first ring. She reminded herself that it didn't have to be him, that it could be anyone. It could be the hospital, for instance. She did not, however, believe that. She truly believed that it was Andrew and was gratified when she answered and heard his voice.
"V? Hi. I was afraid you weren't going to answer."
Genevieve smiled and replied, "No, it just took me a bit to get to the phone. I was making dinner..."
She hoped that he might interpret this as an invitation to come over.
"Oh. I didn't mean to distract you. I hope nothing gets burnt. I actually called because I wanted to apologize."
Warning bells started to go off in Genevieve's head, but she ignored them and blithely asked, "Apologize? Whatever for? I had a great time yesterday. It was the best day I can remember for a long time."
"Really? Yeah. It's just, I didn't mean to kiss you."
The warning bells subsided and Genevieve sat in stunned silence as she let this sink in. He hadn't meant to kiss her. Okay. Okay. Actually, not okay. Not okay at all.
"V? Are you still there?"
"Yeah. I'm here. Tell me, if that's how you kiss girls you don't mean to kiss, how do you kiss the ones you do mean to kiss?"
"You don't understand."
"Don't I? It seems straightforward to me." She could feel a rage building up in her, clouding her judgment.
"V, I don't want to do this."
"You don't? I can't imagine why. Maybe because it's uncomfortable and a little awkward and certainly embarrassing for you?"
"Something like that," Andrew mumbled.
"Then try being me," Genevieve snapped and smashed the phone into the receiver.
It was particularly satisfying because the phone was one of the ancient, corded ones and it actually looked like the telephones they use to teach kids the letter T. Excellent for smashing phones into receivers. It felt so good, she did it again, even though Andrew wouldn't hear it. Not everything in the world was about Andrew, after all, and it wouldn't hurt him to find that out.
Deeply offended, Genevieve stalked out of the room which contained the telephone. Her stalk turned into a stomp partway to the laundry room, but by the time she had gathered all the laundry and detergent and coins she would need it was back to being a rather purposeful walk. She grabbed her purse on the way out the door, barking at Dragul to get in. Surprisingly, Dragul obeyed her instantly. Then she slammed out of the house and walked purposefully to the laundromat, ignoring the deteriorating neighborhood in a haze of righteous indignation.
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User ImageAt the laundromat Genevieve had been scared out of her wits initially. Despite having lived in a cruddy neighborhood for the last five years of her life, Genevieve had seen very little of the seedier sides of life. She had gone to school and work. Once school had ended, she had gone to work. When she wasn't working she was at home, sleeping or, lately, spending time with Dragul and Andrew. It didn't look like she'd be seeing much of Andrew any more.
This being the case, Genevieve was horrified by the two people who had occupied the laundromat at first. One was a woman large enough to have been a small mountain. She was fast asleep in a chair, her gelatinous bulk spilling over the sides. Were it not for occasional, wheezing snores Genevieve would have thought her dead. Flies landed on her and she was none the wiser.
The other was worse. He looked like a serial killer. He slouched against the dryers and read a magazine. When he noticed her looking at him he held up the magazine so she could see the cover, which featured a nude woman with improbable breasts performing fellacio on a man whose top half was cut off by the magazine's title. He had leered lasciviously at her and made her wish she had something more substantial than the razor which came with detergent packages with which to defend herself if it came down to it.
She sat uncomfortably across from the washing machine with her laundry in it and tried not to think of all the ways she could die in the laundromat. Of course, trying not to think of them made even more of them come to mind and made it more difficult to dismiss them. The thoughts ranged from concerns that she might die from the thick layers of dust and grime and mildew to more likely concerns that the creepy man with the magazine really was a serial killer and would rape her and then murder her right in front of the sleeper. Or maybe murder her and then rape her. She wouldn't be surprised.
She had worked herself into a lovely state of near-terror when two people came in. One was a pale young man with dark hair cut into emo bangs and who complained about the sunlight. The other was an eye-smarting shade of pink with antler-like horns. The pink one was clearly not human, but he bore some resemblance, a passing one, to Dragul, though he resembled her not at all.
She found herself engaged in conversation with them about the Underground. The young man had actually been Underground to one of the Goblin King's parties, where he had seen the Goblin King, who had also given him his companion as an orb.
She also learned, in the process, their names, naturally, and introduced herself and Dragul as well. The pale young man, who seemed to be somewhat ill, was called Finch, though his companion called him Birdy. His companion, Raeli, was something similar to Dragul, as she had suspected. He was the next stage in her life, a corsea. Dragul was fascinated by him and obviously enjoyed meeting him.
After they left the laundromat, Dragul told her that the sun made Finch sick, which didn't bother Genevieve in the least. She told Dragul that Finch was probably photosensitive, which meant he was basically allergic to the sun. Dragul asked if she was photosensitive and Genevieve responded that she doubted it.
"I think you're a swamp and forest kind of creature, and that you're not adapted to light, biologically, but I don't think you're allergic to it. I'd have noticed that, I think."
Dragul was reassured, if a little disappointed. Sometimes the little undera was very strange indeed.
The message light on the phone was blinking when she got home. She ignored it.
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User ImageThe next morning Genevieve found herself in a much better temper. She was still in no mood to talk to Andrew, possibly ever again, but other than that she was in a fine mood. Dragul, pleased the Genevieve was no longer scowling and thumping, though it had been very exciting when she was, brought Genevieve a partially dead mouse.
Genevieve did like any pet owner whose pet has brought them something which is mostly dead. She exclaimed over Dragul's find and made a big fuss over the little goblin thing while surreptitiously examining the prey to ascertain whether its death was imminent, or only suspected.
In this case, the mouse's death was imminent, and it was only a matter of time. It was probably in a great deal of pain in the meantime, however, so Genevieve, not accustomed to killing mice - or killing at all, really - took a sharp knife from its container and slit the stunned mouse's throat on the kitchen counter.
Then she threw up in the kitchen sink.
Dragul was oblivious, as many hunters are, to the effect her catch was having on Genevieve, who had reacted properly when presented with her gift, satisfying the undera. Dragul had no desire to eat the mouse, and had actually been rather surprised when she caught it, but once she had caught it, instinct took over.
To be honest, the experience had shaken Dragul, who was as unaccustomed to killing things as Genevieve, and believed that she had killed the mouse. She hadn't anticipated that the mouse would fight back, or that it would seem to be in pain when she tore at it with her fingernails. She hadn't known what it would feel like to have a mouthful of mouse fur and hear the creature screaming and writhing in pain. What scared Dragul the most was how easily, how naturally the act of killing had come to her.
She, too, threw up, but like a good goblin she did so where it wouldn't be stepped in by others: under Genevieve's bed.
When she returned to find Genevieve in the kitchen, the mess Genevieve had made was completely cleaned up and Genevieve looked no worse for the wear but for a slightly green cast to her features. And that could easily have been the bruises from the mugging.
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User ImageThe telephone rang and Genevieve nearly jumped through the ceiling. She had been in the process of filling out a great many job applications, and deeply immersed in the process. It wasn't particularly thrilling, but it was very important. Her mother's life depended on it.
She carefully put aside her application to the local hardware store and moved to answer the phone. A part of her hoped it might be one of the places she had already applied to, calling to tell her that she'd been hired. She ignored the other part, which hoped it was Andrew. She was still disinclined to talk to Andrew.
"Hello?"
"V, thank God you answered. Have you been to the hospital lately?"
Andrew. Naturally. And asking inane questions, too.
"No, I haven't. You see, my face looks like I went a little crazy with magic markers and I don't think my mother really needs to see that. Do you?"
"But, V, this is important."
"What is important? Why do you know before I do?"
"Because I was here, talking to your mom when the news came."
News. "What news?"
"A pharmaceutical company which has been working on a cure for advanced stages of cancer thinks they've got a viable cure, and they asked your mother if she'd like to participate in a study."
Genevieve's heart stopped. Her mother could die that way. Miracle drugs were just as often fatal. She had done her research.
"Which company?" she squeaked.
"GaiaMedCom."
Genevieve swallowed her panic. Perhaps her mother might not come off any worse than unimproved. She couldn't stand to think what might happen, though.
"What did Mum say?"
"What would you say in her position?"
Yes. Genevieve would have said yes. She had told her mother nothing of their financial troubles, and though her mother must have guessed, Genevieve had become adept at lying to her to gloss over the truth. She didn't want any sort of worry to interfere with her mother's health. Lying was the lesser evil.
"Do you want me to give you a ride to the hospital?"
No. She didn't want to be in a car, alone, with Andrew. She didn't want Andrew to be there when she saw her mother. A part of her was furious with him for spending time with her mother without telling her first. She was Genevieve's mother, not his.
"Don't you have a job?"
"Nope. I quit. I have better things to do."
"Like be a taxi service?"
"Among other things. Please, V. Your mom would really like to see you."
Genevieve couldn't refuse. Not with her mother's desires behind Andrew's irresistible pleading.
"Okay. But I don't need a ride."
"Great. I'll be right over."
He didn't listen. That was Andrew's problem. He truly didn't listen at all. Not to anyone.
Dragul, hovering near the phone, asked, "Who dat?"
"Andrew," Genevieve said exhaustedly, replacing the phone in its cradle.
"Goo'! An'roo goo' f'en."
Genevieve would have disagreed, but she knew Dragul was right. What had made her think she could continue to avoid Andrew? He was a sneaky son of a b***h and he didn't play fair. It was cheating to enlist her mother's help and it was cheating not to give her a choice.
Five minutes later she was sitting beside Andrew in his Mustang, once more trying not to watch his confident steering and the casual way he shifted gears. She didn't need that. He tried to engage her in conversation several times on the way, but she had ignored all his efforts. She didn't need that, either.
He parked, slamming the brakes so hard that Genevieve yelped.
"That's it! I've had it with the silent treatment, V. I haven't done anything wrong."
Genevieve glared at him. As far as she was concerned, he was basically correct, but it felt better to be angry at him than to be angry at herself for being an idiot once more. He had just been being himself. She had been the one acting out of character.
"If you're mad at me about kissing you, I'm not going to apologize."
"Somehow that fails to surprise me. Do we have to have this conversation now?"
"So you're the only one allowed to determine when to have awkward conversations? It doesn't work that way, V."
Genevieve reached for the handle and pulled, but it wouldn't open. Andrew's left hand hovered over the Lock All Doors button. She could kill him. She might.
"Let me out. I'd like to see mother. You know, the one dying of cancer with whom my time is limited?"
"Just listen to me. I just want to say this one thing, and then you can slam the door of my car and stalk off if you want."
"Promise." She didn't make it a question. If she had made it a question, he would have found a way to refuse to do so, she was certain.
"I do. If you promise to listen, and not just sit there with your arms crossed, looking like you'd happily strangle me with my seatbelt. It's kind of scary."
Genevieve forced herself to sit in a relaxed position, despite the fact that every muscle in her body was taught, ready to flee when the opportunity presented itself. She nodded.
"What I said before was true, I didn't mean to kiss you. That is, I didn't mean just to kiss you. I meant to tell you that I love you."
Genevieve stared at him through a film of tears. How could one person be so cruel? What had she done to him to make him want to torment her like this? She wanted to hate him, but all she could do was cry, because she had wanted to hear him say just that for so long, but never like this. The time when he should have said it was at the lake.
"Why didn't you?"
"The moment passed. I lost my nerve. It's easier to kiss a girl, you know, than to tell her you love her."
Oh. Oh.
"Will you say something, V?"
"No. I'm in a pleasant state of shock, and speaking would ruin it."
"Would being kissed ruin it?"
She shook her head, and he kissed her until she was breathless.
Eventually they went inside and spoke with Genevieve's mother, but Genevieve's mind kept replaying the scene and she couldn't properly attend. Her mother must have noticed that her daughter was having difficulty attending and told Andrew to take her away in her sweet voice, claiming that Genevieve was clearly in no state to deal with serious matters which needn't concern her anyway.
The only thing Genevieve recalled of the conversation with her mother was that GaiaMedCom was picking up all of her mother's hospital fees from now until the end of the testing period. A huge burden felt lifted from her shoulders and in the hall she had turned to Andrew with one of her rare smiles.
"Thank you," she said. He drew her into a hug by way of answering and she submitted willingly to being thus crushed.
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Gaia Forums » MISC Forums » Forum & Sticky Archive » Breedable/Changing Pets Roleplay

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