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 Posted: Tue Mar 30, 2010 2:01 pm
 Lost and Found
Technically, it wasn’t true – they had all done a few final curtain calls, gone in for final bows -- but in a way she felt that she had truly been the last. It had been her performing, spinning slowly and dramatically amongst a multitude of small hanging wooden birds, dangling precariously on a long curtain of violent red silk, when the body of Clive Kensington had been found. In the circus, she had been the last to know, and thus the last to truly perform without preoccupation, her broad smile hiding nothing and showing only pleasure. And thus, she’d always felt that it had been her, the final true ambassador of the magic that was Cirque Augustine.
She stood now, the ex-acrobat Vivi LaCelle, in the unfinished staircase of a three-story building in Isle de Gambino, surrounded by nothing but cardboard boxes and blank, white walls and unremarkable countertops. Her black hair stood out in stark contrast to the bright white of the walls, her patterned red dress looking like a deep gash amongst the nothing. But she wasn’t alone; she could hear Granny Maplethorpe unpacking things in the kitchen space, and in front of her was the lean form of one Shepard Ryan, who stood stock-still and took in the space around him, a shellshocked expression firmly on his handsome face.
“This…” was all he’d managed to say in the hours they’d carted boxes and furniture through the space, his wide grey-green eyes registering nothing but the numbness that for months now had made its home there. For months now, they’d all hobbled along, struggling through the veils of grief and horrible suspicion.
In the cruelest sleight of hand, Clive Kensington had been taken from them, and he in his final reveal had taken with him the circus, dropping out the bottom from all of them. And they were left, Vivi and all the rest, falling breathlessly into the unknown, without hope, with no handholds or walls to slow their fall. Murder had tainted everything from the taste of food to the strength of friendships, and finally and with finality, the performers had all spiraled away from each other to all ends of the globe.
For some months, Vivi had waited for something to happen, for the curtain to rise and the players to all bow together; for the circus to return, laughing at the elaborate joke it had played. But other than stalled police reports, nothing happened, and finally Vivi had lifted herself from the funk and decided, emphatically, to find herself a new life.
And so, the unfinished bakery on Isle de Gambino. She considered it a more than fair trade, uncertainty for sunshine and white sand, darkness for dawn. But she knew that Shepard did not yet agree with her, his stiff movements and sullen attitude more than testament to his feelings. She had been happy that her friend had even gone along when she and Granny Maplethorpe had decided on Isle de Gambino together, but even then, she knew that Shepard was merely doing what he always did – following in the fluid sureness of her desires.
They worked, unpacking in silence, for hours before Shepard finally spoke, his voice hoarse and unhappy:
“Doesn’t really feel right.”
“No,” the Frenchwoman agreed, nodding as she pulled out a few random decorative items from the box she currently had open. “It doesn’t yet, but it will.”
“No,” Shepard snorted, angrily breaking down an empty box and sending it flying to an empty corner. “It won’t. ‘s not where we bleedin’ belong, making rooted cakes. This isn’t anything like –” He paused, frustrated, searching for words. “Like what it’s – like home.”
“Ah, cheri,” Vivi said with a faint laugh, her voice warm but not quite happy. “How sentimental you are! What was home but what we brought with us? This place – it is—“
“Blank,” supplied Shepard quickly, tearing into another box with relish, his brow heavy over his eyes.
“Yes, blank!” Vivi repeated with a firm nod. She looked down into the open cardboard box at her feet and smiled suddenly, stooping down to scoop up one of the objects she found there. She made her way to Shepard, slowly unwrapping the object from the tissue that had been protecting it. “You see, cheri – it has no spirit, no other lives it has sheltered. It is waiting, like the canvas, to be painted upon. To be imbued.”
As Shepard turned to face her, his mouth open to give an annoyed rejoinder, she pressed the object into his hand with a wistful smile.
“So, we will imbue,” she asserted earnestly, her smaller hands wrapped beneath his calloused knuckles, as if supporting as he looked down into his open palm. Laying there was one of the wooden birds he had crafted, one of the last things he had made for the circus – and the last thing that she had ever performed with, flying there above the audience, surrounded by them…
“We will revive, cheri,” Vivi said, very softly. “We are no longer lost.”
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Posted: Tue Mar 30, 2010 2:15 pm
 ✖ Dawn Til Dusk ✖
[Wherein Zeke comes to Vermillion with some extremely good news.]*
She checked her pockets again and again to see the vial, and to remind herself that it was not a dream.
It was so hard to believe. Such jubilation almost always was.
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Posted: Sun Apr 04, 2010 4:44 pm
Expectations When Shepard Ryan arrived home that night, tired from a long day of running errands and delivering cakes, he wasn't quite sure what he was expecting. He knew what he was hoping, what visions danced gleefully in his mind as he unlocked the french doors of Vermillion Bakery and stepped inside. He was hoping for the scent of dinner to hit him in the face: something rich and meaty and delicious, maybe with a side of potatoes. He was hoping for Vivi feeding Grumpaws scraps from the table, and for a quiet night of food and wine and laughter and normalcy. No, he wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he knew damn well what he'd been hoping.
When he stepped inside Vermillion, no scents welcomed him, and he knew that his hopes were about to be disappointed. This feeling only cemented when he realized he could hear the voice of Granny Trudy Maplethorpe flitting in from upstairs, and from the unintelligible speed of Vivi's chatter, he knew that something had to be up. He weighed his options: brave his hunger and wait until the girls -- ladies he corrected internally -- were finished, or go interrupt and see what was going on with tonight's dinner. He walked toward the stairs, straining to hear the content of their animated discussion.
"What excellent news," he heard the prim voice of Granny Maplethorpe exclaim breathlessly.
"Oui," came Vivi's tone. "... and the lab, they said..."
"... yes, indeed, such a little bundle of joy..."
"... such delight when I heard it was true..."
"I cannot believe the luck ..."
And on and on. Shepard rolled his eyes at the conversation fragments he was getting and lowered himself into an empty chair, resigning himself to hunger. There was no way he was breaking this conversation up, lest he be dragged into the endless jubilations. A little bundle of joy indeed. Geez, what was it with women who'd heard that a friend was expecting?
The thought gave Shepard pause. Who could be expecting? His mind rifled through a list of plausible candidates. Surely it had to be someone from the circus; otherwise, Granny Maplethorpe wouldn't be here. Shepard wondered blankly for a moment. There had been those newlyweds, the trapeze artist and the back-up magician... wow, so soon? Huh. Maybe that's why she'd looked a little ... bigger... at the wedding...
The voices upstairs were beginning to get louder as the women began to descend the staircase.
"Oh, yes," Vivi was saying. "I cannot wait to decorate the spare room on the second floor. If only I knew for whom I was decorating!"
A tiny furrow dug into Shepard's brow. What the hell did their rooms have to do with anything?
"Yes, my dear," Granny Maplethorpe was replying, her voice now crystal-clear as they stepped onto the first floor landing. They hadn't seen him yet, so absorbed as they were in the conversation. "But... have you told Shepard the news yet? You never can know how a man will take such things..."
Shepard's blood ran cold in his veins.
"No," Vivi began. "I ha--"
"YOU'RE PREGNANT!?" The Australian all but exploded from behind the women, his voice pinched and his face ashen. He jammed an accusing finger at Vivi, his other hand clutching the side of his head desperately as though trying to keep it from exploding.
"What!?" Vivi cried, startled, nearly staggering under the weight of the accusation.
"Don't -- don't you treat me like an idiot!" Shepard went from Vivi to Granny Maplethorpe like a caged leopard, his eyes wild and his hands flailing. His voice sounded strange even to him, the little that he could hear of it over his rushing thoughts and pounding blood. "Ohmygod. ******** CHRIST, how did this happen?! How could you keep this from--"
The shocked white in Vivi's face was quickly replaced by a flush of color.
"Kept what from you!? I only heard today! And not -- wait! Not --" she stammered, trying madly to collect herself.
"I see. I bloody see! It was an accident, was it?! You -- who ---"
"What!? No. No!" Vivi gaped. "Shepard, you are completely mis--"
"So you've been planning it!" Shepard gasped, both hands now grasping his aching head.
"Gentlemen," interjected Granny Maplethorpe crisply, pronouncing the word as if trying not to harm it. "Should not jump to conclusions before being presented with all the facts, Mr. Ryan."
Her collected British intonations breathed the hush of calm into Vivi's limbs, the appalled expression on her face dissipating like steam. She took in a long breath through her nose, and it was with this fresh calm that she began to speak again.
"Shepard, it would take an intervention from le bon Dieu for me to be currently with child," she began, setting her hands on her hips as she fixed the still-agog Aussie with a firm stare.
"Or," suggested Shepard, "An intervention from a turkey baster."
"Shepard!" Vivi's expression hovered between amusement and exasperation. "You will be silent and listen. We are going to have someone come live with us, yes. But it is no child. And I am not pregnant, you pig-headed idiot!"
A moment or two passed as Shepard's face underwent a series of color changes, from the stunned white to an indignant red, a relieved peach and then finally an embarrassed, confused pink.
"We..." he began slowly, clearing his throat over the remnants of his outburst. Slowly, very slowly, he lowered himself into one of the waiting bakery chairs.
"The poor Shepard," Vivi said in a long-suffering tone, walking over to the Australian and putting her hands on his shoulders. "You require dinner, and a long explanation. Allow me to give you both."
* * * *
"So let me see if I've got this straight," Shepard said a great deal more placidly exactly one dinner, two slices of cake, four cups of tea, and one long explanation later. "We -- you, technically, but really we -- are going to get one of those floating blokes to come in and live with us. You kill something, stick its soul in that bottle, mix 'em together, and wait, and then bam! Floating bloke. And for some reason, this is makin' you grin like a shot fox."
"Does the shot fox grin?" Vivi blinked. This time it was she who had to ask herself exactly what she'd expected. Certainly, she hadn't expected for Shepard to completely join in her joy, but she had at least hoped for some excitement -- at least, a single smile would have been nice.
Across the table, Granny Maplethorpe was silent, calmly exploring the remnants of Shepard's tea cup.
"You are unhappy." Vivi stated, slowly rolling the vial of broken dawn toward her. "I see."
"Listen, Vivi, I'm a little shocked that you're so happy." Shepard said with something that could have been a laugh, ghosting and mirthless, his voice still rough from shock.
"Why?" pressed the acrobat, her pale clear face showing nothing but her frustrated bewilderment. She held up the vial, the faint glow casting a myriad of colors across her face, the light pinks like a lovely blush over her delicate features. Shepard forced himself to look away.
"Vivi, I've got some damn bonza reasons. Number one, I don't think you thought this through. You want to adopt somethin'! Someone, really, that you know nothin' about! I know you -- you like to pick up strays and whatnot, but this is gonna be a -- a person!"
"This I know, cheri. Do you not think I agonized over the decision? Is that what worries you? I did not decide on this at a spur of the moment." The Frenchwoman's voice was plaintive, her eyes still searching Shepard's face for any signs of relenting.
Granny Maplethorpe cleared her throat diplomatically from her side of the table.
"Shepard, you will remember that this was discussed before in the past," she reminded lightly. "When Vivi applied for a Raevan, we all agreed to keep an open mind."
"Geezus, I don't think I knew what the hell we were getting into!" Shepard leaned back in his chair with a huff, scrubbing both of his hands through his short auburn hair. "Listen, Vivi -- I'm not opposed to it. If it's our responsibility, then hell, it's ours. But damn, did you consider? Vivi -- she's got to kill something to make this thing!" He looked from one woman to the other furtively, his grey-green eyes muddled with concern.
"Shepard, technically something must simply die in the bottle's vicinity," Vivi began.
"Right, 'cause so many things just cark it naturally all over here, so we'll know just what do with it it." snorted the Aussie with a roll of his eyes. "Vivi, then you'd have to stick with an unknown, like that guy with the black widow. You're foolin' yourself. You're gonna have to kill something. Select it, kill it. Which means, in a damn word, no. We're sending the bloody bottle back."
"I know that sacrifices have to be made for something like this--" Vivi struggled valiantly over the words. "It is not even the true death, this! It is more like... reincarnation."
"Alright, sure." Shepard interjected impatiently, waving off the argument with an annoyed gesture. "If that makes you feel better. But I know you, Vivi, I'm sorry. And if you're still the Vivette LaCelle that I know, you trap spiders and let them outside. You don't kill anything but the occasional mosquito, and if you're even an eighth the Vivi I know, you'll be damned if you end up with a mosquito Raevan buzzing around the house. There's no way you're doing this, Vivi. Not in the way you have to."
"Are you finished?" Vivi's voice was distant but collected, her brows dangerously low over her eyes, the mahogany irises glinting with embers of anger from beneath heavy lashes. "You believe I cannot do what must be done for this Raevan to have life."
"Yeah," returned Shepard bluntly. "I believe you love life too much to take it from anything. Period. And I believe that if you can't do it, you're gonna take that bottle and vial back to someone who can. Because it IS your responsibility."
And he rose from the table, tearing his gaze away from the quiet hurt that slowly settled across his friend's features. His heart sunk low into his stomach as he collected the dishes from the table in silence.
"I'm sorry," he said earnestly, quietly, his gaze dropping to the vial being cradled between Vivi's hands. "It's just..." He paused, losing the words. Silently, he made his way toward the kitchen, dishes in hand, the taste of uneasy disappointment lingering in his mouth.
Vivi did not answer as Shepard exited the room, but thought for a long while in silence, her eyes studying the shards of dim breaking sunlight that rested easy in her palm. She looked at it without understanding, searching her soul for some resolve after the blow that Shepard's words had dealt her. Wordlessly, Granny Maplethorpe plucked Vivi's teacup from its saucer and studied it, carefully and thoroughly. The only noise was the clink of dishes and the hiss of running water echoing from the kitchen.
"I confess," Granny Maplethorpe said at length, sighing as she lowered Vivi's teacup from her gaze. "I cannot quite see what your future holds in these leaves, my dear. I see... tumult, yes, but it seems as though we knew that already."
"I can do it." Vivi said, her dark eyes lifting to the other's fragile blue.
"That is not to say that it shall be pleasant, Vivette." replied the old woman, peering back into the teacup without much hope.
"Things must not always be so pleasant, grandmere." said Vivi, a little stronger this time. "We must not be so dramatic. This is a necessary thing."
"The truth is," said the British woman in her soothing voice, "That this is rather simple. If Fate means you to have this thing, than you shall. If it does not, then you are meant to learn from it. But either way, you have the strength to deal with what comes. You must be ready for it."
"Yes," breathed Vivi, conviction building slowly within her chest. She lifted the soul bottle from its place on the table, rolling the deceptively heavy glass between her palms. "Yes, I will be."
Shepard and his ideas be damned. She would.
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Posted: Sun Apr 04, 2010 4:45 pm
Of Salt Licks and Other Treats
[Wherein Leah comes by Vermillion looking for some delicious treats -- both for horses and their riders. ]One hundred cookies. She lined the box with colored tissue and then with the cookies, one by one, all in their places. Vivi hummed quietly to herself and thought of the equestrienne. How nice it must be, she said to herself, to ride a horse. Perhaps, perhaps, she should go and learn?
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Posted: Sun Apr 04, 2010 4:47 pm
✖ Sweet Meetings ✖
[Wherein Vivi meets the lovely Doucette. ] *
"My, Shepard," Vivi laughed, the low sweet chime more annoyance than pleasure to her companion's ears. "The quietest sort of spitfire there is, was she not?"
Shepard said nothing, and although he tried to hide it through the vigorous chewing of his trade-won sandwich, Vivi could see the barest edges of his smile.
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Posted: Mon Apr 12, 2010 9:28 am
✖ Glorious Failures ✖
[Wherein Vivi meets the snake and her charmer, but - alas! - doesn't meet with her vial's intended soul.]
*
Vivi looked briefly over her shoulder as she made her way back into the woods; they were still there, guardian and ward, together. She sighed a wistful sigh and went on, unaware of the soft, measured tread that moved close by.
Golden eyes blinked slowly as they watched until Vivi disappeared hours later, the soul bottle still empty.
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Posted: Tue Apr 13, 2010 6:12 pm
✖ Freshest Fare ✖
[wherein Vivi is rather impressed with Aphismet and Rivener]*
She hummed to herself, carrying her canvas shopping bags over both shoulders, pleased with the day's spoils. The sun bore down, getting warmer as morning began to hike toward noon's summit, the heat pressing onto her back. There was a strangeness to the warmth, something that made her hair stand on end, as if there was a faint whisper of warning that couldn't quite filter through the low chords of her humming.
It had been such a good morning. Nothing would change the happiness floating in her heart.
Somewhere, in the periphery of her vision, she saw something white turn and disappear.
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Posted: Tue Apr 13, 2010 7:48 pm
✖ Fate ✖
Fate.
Vivi believed that Fate would provide. Given only time, and a correct reading of signs sent her direction, she believed that things would eventually right themselves in her life. She had always believed that, to varying degrees, and hitherto she had always felt that Fate had come through. Always.
... almost always.
Clive Kensington's untimely end, the collapse of the circus... Fate had provided some comfort for the latter, but had remained silent on the former. Perhaps Fate had no statute of limitations on murder, so the proverbial jury of her faith was still out on this one. Time would pass: the sun would rise, and circle, and set, and begin again. Days would fade, and eventually an answer would come. Eventually, eventually, eventually... but Clive would get his justice. She believed. She always had. It was simply the way.
If she closed her eyes, she could remember flying. She could remember the muffled gasps of an audience below her as she dove to what would always look like a certain doom, all her faith in the power of her limbs and the benevolence of Fate. She had never injured herself during an act, not once. And, oh! The feeling of performing! Such security she had felt then, putting her life in her own faith, her own strength, her own infallible Fate.
Such security.
Vivette shook herself from her reverie with annoyance; nostalgia was seldom helpful and always sobering, and it certainly wasn't helping her with the task at hand. The heaviness of the soul bottle in her hand anchored her to the moment, and she forced herself to focus on it. She was here, and now. Vivette LaCelle, baker and co-owner of Vermillion bakery, fresh guardian of Lab 305, the girl with unending optimism and a limitless collection of smiles. And today, she would search for a soul for her unborn Raevan. That was what was important.
Not Clive. Not Augustine. Today, the present. And this blasted soul that she had to find.
She took in a long breath. The day was chilly for April, with cool rain spitting unevenly from the overcast skies. It was hardly a good day for finding animals; particularly animals that might be willing to breathe their last in her general vicinity. But, she would look nonetheless. She tucked her curling bangs behind her ears, buttoned her short black peacoat, and started her way down the strip of stores lining the usually sunny Gambino street, aiming for the park.
Rain and the unusually cool breeze had scared away the usual groups of tourists and lingerers, and Vivi found herself rather alone, her face flushing against the sting of raindrops. Tangled threads of thoughts twisted through her mind as she walked. Perhaps she had been looking for Fate in all the wrong places. The park might be an easy place to find animals, but were they the right animals? There were so many young animals in the springtime, so many free, so many happy to be making their way into this world. Fate, yes, Fate had something else in store for the wild. Conviction slowly rose in Vivi's head; she nodded unconsciously with the thought as she walked. Yes, that was the problem. She had been looking in the wrong place!
She paused on the street, snapping her fingers and smiling as the thought cemented. The rain continued to not-quite-rain around her, clumsily drumming the vinyl awning of a nearby store. Vivi turned slightly to face the store, and as she did, an amazed laugh broke from her throat, and a smile burst over her features.
A pet store! Furry Friends was the rather uncreative title that was scripted over the windows, the caption headlining a sleeping litter of tiny puppies, their heads buried in the flank of a nearby sibling, their big paws tucked beneath them, their teeny pink ears flopped over ungracefully.
No, Vivi warned herself dourly. Not a puppy.
They were the wrong color, anyhow, she soothed herself as she took note of their glossy dark coats, tucking away her soul bottle into her purse as she made her way for the door. What luck! A pet store might have some older specimens, something white-furred with age, waiting for a pleasant, warm home. Something that she could take care of, and provide for, and when it eventually died, could usher into rebirth. What a plan! It was glorious. She could wait a while for the creature to reach its natural end! The problem, it seemed, was solved. Solved so perfectly. Vivi smiled inwardly: Ask, and ye shall receive!
"Hi, welcome to Furry Friends," intoned a somewhat mousy-looking girl behind the counter, much more interested in the red stitching on Vivi's attractive peacoat than on welcoming her. "Can I, uhm. Are you interested in taking home a furry forever friend to their forever, uhm, home?"
"Yes, please, I am very much interested," Vivi replied quickly, walking swiftly past the window's enclosure of puppies and up to the counter to meet the teenager. She could see in her peripherals several bird cages, some hamsters, rats, ferrets... none in the correct coloring, however.
"In... what? Do you have any animals you like?" the teenager asked Vivi's jacket, now admiring the front buttons.
"Do you have anything in white?" Vivi said before she could quite stop herself, and then swiftly raised her hand as if to stop the words in their tracks. "No. Forgive me. I meant -- well, yes, I do prefer the white, or perhaps the light brown?"
Merde. There was no easy way to explain.
"You want... an animal... in white?" This time the teenager looked up at Vivi, her eyebrows shooting up into her hair. Her gaze turned from indifference to obvious suspicion at that, and she shifted slightly away from the counter, eyeing Vivi in a completely different light now. "This isn't for, like... animal testing or coats or something, right?"
"Pardon? Non!" Vivi took a step back herself, her hands flying up to make multiple 'no' gestures to punctuate her point. But, auch, she felt so disingenuous -- she couldn't quite claim any completely benevolent reason for wanting an animal, but she didn't want to hurt anything, either. "Non, non, non! I simply want an animal who is..."
Is what? Suicidal? She couldn't quite say 'at death's door', now, could she? Vivi cleared her throat, now attempting to sound as completely, bizarrely foreign as she possibly could.
"It is not that I test on the animals, non, mademoiselle. I simply -- it is that I have lost the animal which I hold dear to myself. I desire..."
"A replacement pet is never a good idea," the girl told Vivi, not yet won over.
"Oh, non. Floofy, she could never be replaced. But she -- she passed away as the puppy. I desire -- perhaps -- something older? An elderly creature who will be quite faithful to her mistress. I have missed the older years with my Floofy." Vivi gushed, her accent slurring most of the larger words. She put both of her hands in a praying motion as she spoke, and pointed to her aching heart with them. "An elder animal -- do you have such a thing?"
The girl behind the counter was clearly placated now, and although she regarded Vivi with a judging sort of look (crazy frenchwoman), she made her way from behind the counter to the store proper, and began to indicate cages.
"We don't really, uhm... we're not a shelter, so it's not like we have what you're looking for, exactly. We've got some mature animals -- parents now mostly. We've mostly got fresh litters -- it is spring you know. Spring?" She paused at the rat cages, looking up at Vivi to make sure the foreigner was understanding.
Vivi's heart sank. Of course they had fresh litters. Not very many people specifically asking for a pet they wouldn't be keeping long.
"What about a puppy, though?" The cashier suggested quickly, watching the expression on Vivi's face. "I know I said that thing about replacements, but you might be ready for a forever friend. This one probably won't, uhm, die on you or anything."
Yes, that is what I am afraid of. Vivi thought to herself with an inward sigh, but her face made all the correct motions of an interested client, nodding brightly at the suggestion.
"They're mostly asleep now, but this little guy seems ready to play!" The teenager said with a grin, leaning into the window enclosure that Vivi had walked by and picking up a playful little pup by the scruff of the neck.
"Non, I--" Vivi began, and then her voice tripped in her throat as she caught sight of the puppy in question. It wagged its tail on sight of her, its bright pleasant eyes regarding her with the obvious affection of youth.
White.
No -- no. She had looked into the enclosure on her way in! They were all brown, and black, dark things! Her hands reached out numbly for the creature, her dark eyes adoring the thing as it wriggled into her grasp comfortably. The store's employee gave Vivi a pleased look, watching as the Frenchwoman hugged the puppy close, tickling its little belly.
"Bonjour!" Vivi cooed at the puppy, scratching the little fuzzy chin with gentle fingers. It was the softest white, barely gold on the edges, and its massive, clumsy paws beckoned her to play. An adorable thing. An adorable, trusting thing.
"This one's got all its life ahead of it, you know? Just weaned off a couple of days ago. They're so cute at that age, aren't they? My favorite. He's not housebroken or anything, but it's pretty easy to get them to learn..." the teenager was saying, and Vivi gave several distracted nods, her attention completely focused on the puppy.
Was this it? Was this an invitation? The solution, provided by Fate? Outside, the rain grew thicker, pummelling the awning, streaking the windows.
Its full life ahead.
"I'm sorry," Vivi said with a quiet sort of smile, her heart breaking in her chest. "I am afraid I cannot -- not today, I must think on it."
She held the puppy back out to the store employee.
"Aw, but are you sure? He's perfect!" the teenager said with a petulant bent in her tone, cradling the still-happy puppy in her arms.
"I'll think on it," Vivi promised, now quite sure.
*
The walk back to Vermillion was beyond miserable, the rain spilling on and off as if someone was fiddling with a faucet: two blocks of downpour, two blocks of sprinkles. Vivi's hair was curled and matted all around her face; her feet were soaking inside her heels, and her jeans felt ten pounds heavier and ten degrees colder with the onslaught of water. And what's more, she felt cheated, teased, laughed at by what she had always considered to be her ally. Fate had not provided an answer.
A soft clicking sound began behind her, easy and measured, barely audible over the sound of of the rain's rough tread.
Or had Fate given her an answer? Had she simply seen that she did not have what it took to take a soul? Even if she managed to find a shelter with a white animal close to death, could she cheat in such a way? Could she take an animal home, to give it a pleasant reprieve while waiting for it to die?
Merde. Merde, merde, merde.
Vermillion came into view in front of her, and she slowed her walk as the sun just barely blinked out from around the cloud cover. She took a few slow breaths in, a few slow breaths out. This was unlike her, this drama, this upset. She would calm. Brighter days were coming. A solution was coming.
The sound continued behind her, confident and sure.
She opened her purse and took out the soul bottle, squinting at it as though to put it in sharper focus. What would it take to fill the damn thing? And why, why, why was it so difficult?
Click, click, click. The sound continued, now quite close to her, and finally filtered through the fury of her thoughts to be processed by her brain.
"Who--?!" Vivi began, whirling around to face the owner of the sound, her hands now on the soul bottle as if meaning to brandish it as a weapon.
A quiet snorting sound answered her, and she found herself looking up into the large, unfathomable eyes of a -- a massive creature.
A stag.
Vivi froze, every fiber in her body calling out for her to run, her eyes locked on the many branches of the creature's golden horns. There was such chaos in their wandering movement, like a crown bent apart and affixed to the creature's head. And yet, in its eyes, a noble gentleness, something akin to compassion in its wide stare.
A stag.
"Where..." she found herself saying as she stared, amazed, at the masculine beauty of the creature's flank, the proud muscles in its postured back. Her voice seemed so flimsy in comparison, like a piece of paper being blown about by wind. "... where did you come from?"
Her shoulders relaxed as the stag took another step toward her, and although her mind was screaming now in several languages to run, to get away from the wild animal with spikes attached to its head, Vivi remained still, her hands falling by her sides. Its gaze was warm, reassuring. Like an earnest promise. Like Fate.
The soul bottle clattered onto the ground from her fingers, the sound of thick glass against pavement echoing into the air. Stunned, Vivi bent automatically for it, anxiety flooding her mind. Had she broken it? Was that -- was that the answer?
The bottle appeared fine as she lifted it from the asphalt; nothing but a faint layer of debris marking the spot where it had fallen. She looked back up for the stag as if to apologize for the interruption, opening her mouth as though to speak to the creature that would not understand her.
What she saw, though, was nothing.
The stag was gone.
Vivi stood slowly. She looked all around her in a slow circle, took a few steps, and searched the scenery for any sign of the thing's flight. Nothing. Had she imagined it?
She walked to Vermillion in slow circles, still searching, as though the massive stag might have hidden behind a door post, or a trash can. She huffed at herself in quiet French as she opened the door to her bakery dejectedly, brushing the dirt off of her poor soul bottle. It didn't seem like the bottle had so much as a scratch on it, now that she looked closely at it...
There. Vivi's thumbs wiped over the soul cloth as she stared down at the bottle, realization dawning in her heart as she looked at the pattern. Gold. Gold branches, split. Split and attached, like a crown. Like the rack of a stag.
And then, suddenly, brilliantly, joyously, she knew that Fate had given her the answer.
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Posted: Mon Apr 19, 2010 7:57 pm
✖ Soul Sisters ✖
[Wherein Vivi and Doucette find out they have more in common than the love of teasing Shepard and eating good food.]
*
"I think this lab is ******** crazy," Shepard proclaimed late that evening with great certainty, leaning back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling. "That girl is way too sweet to have do deal with this level of crazy."
"Such a pessimist." Vivi replied with a smile.
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Posted: Mon Apr 19, 2010 8:14 pm
✖ Nightmares ✖ She looks for the stag every day since she's seen it, looks for flashes of white out of the corner of her eyes. She hopes that it comes back again, but she hasn't seen a single hair from its hide, a single glint of gold from its horns.
But there are hoofbeats in her dreams. When she wakes, they echo, like the pumping of blood in her veins or the beating of her heart. She hears them, fast as in gallop, firm in conviction. She hears them, and she knows that something is fleeing.
It has been a few days now of this waking, her still-sleep-numb fingers fumbling for the hold of something real as she wakes. Some mornings, her eyes unadjusted to the light, she believes she is at the circus again: in her uneven bed, her back to a wall that is more like a curtain. Drowsy, she reaches out her hand, and it is only when she touches the certain glass of her vial that the hoofbeats cease, fade to a trot.
The stag hunt is not going well, and Shepard knows it, the way she keeps the bottle tightly closed and at arm's length as she works, her eyes managing to skip over it unless she's going out, leaving the store, and then she takes it with her. So for two days now, she hasn't gone out, instead listening to the sounds of her dreams aching in her head.
She feels like there's something more to learn here, something that the stag desires but cannot say, something that she might ruin if she is not wary. It takes up her mind and it slows her down, her dancing steps around the bakery turning to tiptoes. What is she missing? She looks for meaning in the running in her skull.
It's not until she nearly burns herself taking out a rack of cookies from the oven that Shepard grabs her wrist and slants a frown at her, his eyes darkening with anger.
"Don't do this," he says simply, his voice thick with worry and care. "If it's this hard, please. Just take it back."
"I can't." she says in a voice that is too tired to be her own, so worn-down and weary. She feels like she has been running for days, and everything aches and nothing is in focus. Just the sound of thudding hearts and mournful, definite galloping.
When she goes to sleep that night, her eyes staring at the soul bottle, so clear, so empty, in front of her, she thinks of Shepard and of the lines in his face, the gentle strength of his hand on her wrist. She thinks of his worry, and wonders if perhaps, she should ask for help. Should, perhaps, give it to him. Perhaps he could outrun hoofbeats, decipher a meaning in the rhythm of their sound. Because she can't do it, not the way it's meant to be done. Because she's certain of that sound, but she's not certain of what it means for her to do. She's only certain of the feeling that washes over her when she wakes, sure as the dawn that she wakes up in and reaches her hand out for.
It's the feeling of being hunted.
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Posted: Tue Apr 27, 2010 9:34 am
✖ The Unfindable Stag ✖ "A stag?" Granny Maplethorpe sounded incredulous, her manicured eyebrows lifting into a delicate expression of surprise. She lifted her teacup and sipped thoughtfully.
"Yes," Vivi lifted her head from where it had been resting on her arms, her tired eyes studying Granny Maplethorpe distantly. It was the second time today that she had seen the elderly Brit looked surprised, a singularly rare event. The first was when Vivi had staggered down the stairs just half an hour earlier, her hair wild and uncombed, clothed in a large, wrinkled t-shirt and yoga pants. For a woman like Vivi, who did not own a stitch of clothing that was not perfectly tailored to her form, to arrive in such state... the well-mannered grandmother had nearly lost face, paling visibly and swaying in quiet horror. But she had rallied, and had even managed not to say a word about it.
It was nearly 7 a.m. and Saturday, which, while practically noon for Granny, was still quite early for the other owners of Vermillion. But, as the Frenchwoman had found it quite impossible to sleep over the thrumming rhythm of hoofbeats in her head, she had given up on sleep and staggered downstairs for a cup of tea, her bare feet inelegantly tripping over Grumpaws before she'd deposited herself in the seat beside Granny Maplethorpe.
"I was so happy when I thought I'd seen the answer," said Vivi miserably, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. "... but it still does not solve the problem of having to capture it."
"Now, this is quite important, Vivette. You are certain that a white stag approached you? Not a doe, or a random lost buck. A white stag." Granny Maplethorpe's voice was sharp, and Vivi felt rather like a hungover teen being lectured too loud, too early in the morning.
"Yes, a white stag. With many... horns." The Frenchwoman put her hands to her forehead, fingers extended, in pantomime of antlers.
"A white stag with royal antlers." Granny Maplethorpe hummed, setting her teacup down gently into its saucer with a faint clink. She managed to look both very old and very proper, a Victorian relic in the flesh, as she straightened various objects on the table, her eyes far-away with thought. "You know, Vivi, if it weren't for the pattern on the soul bottle, I would have told you that you had misread the signs..."
"What is it that you mean?"
"Well, a stag of this variety rarely signifies the end or resolution of a quest. I'm hardly an expert, my dear, but generally the spotting of a stag marks the beginning of a quest. The white stag is a guide," the elderly woman explained slowly, her face unmoved by expression. She was silent for a long moment, but as Vivi did not reply, she continued with a soft sigh. "... the mystical white stag appears across cultures and mythologies, dearest. In Camelot, the stag would appear to Arthur's knights when the time had come for them to embark on their quests. In Persia, there is record of them guiding princes. The white stags find the lost and guide the searching."
The acrobat's eyes sharpened through her fatigue and she bobbed her head in a slow nod. "... so, perhaps, I have been wrong?" She let out a breath, relieved and frustrated at once. "Perhaps it is simply meant to guide me to something that I do not have to..." she trailed off there, unable to even say the words.
"Well, normally I would suggest that you can't find the stag because you believe you are meant to capture it, Vivette," Granny Maplethorpe murmured, her soft voice soothing the fierceness of Vivi's headache. "However, the soul bottle does seem to show antlers, which... well, perhaps this is not so much good news for you, my dove."
"None of this bloody mess has been good news yet." Shepard's low voice, rough with grogginess, rumbled through the air. His tread on the stairs had been quiet as a panther's, and both Vivi and Granny Maplethorpe straightened with surprise as they heard him speak. He, too, was dressed in rumpled sleep-clothes, his white undershirt clinging fast to his shoulders, his cotton drawstring pants low on his hips. His hair was spiked from sleep, extending in odd angles from his scalp.
"Excuse the deportment, Grams," the Aussie said, patting his hair to make it lay flatter and traveling to the coffee maker for his cup. "Say, should we wake Vivi up and tell her she's got a doppleganger that looks like hell? Or should we let her see for herself?"
"My goodness, what's become to the both of you?" the elderly woman said with grave disapproval, eyeing Vivi and Shepard solemnly. Her own attire -- a sensible dress with a practical cardigan, flats, stockings, and a lovely hat tipped slightly to one side -- stuck out in stark contrast to the wrinkled t-shirts of her companions. "Especially you, Vivette. I had no idea you owned such an outfit, even for sleep. Where are your nightgowns? I shall be quite glad when all of this is over, so that you may return to yourself."
"Hear, hear," Shepard tapped a silver spoon against the coffee carafe in agreement, the smile on his face twisted and rueful. "As soon as this damn -- 'xcuse the language, grams -- soul business is done and you can get back to dancing and the whatnot. Just set out a salt lick and get the stag." He paused. "... are you wearing my shirt, Vivi?"
"If it were so easy!" Vivi threw up her hands in despair, pointedly ignoring Shepard.
"Yes," interjected Granny Maplethorpe, eyeing Shepard with displeasure as the Aussie dunked a sip of Bailey's into his morning coffee. "As I was meaning to say when dear Shepard arrived-- I wish you wouldn't partake in the morning, my dear -- you have quite a serious problem ahead of you, Vivette."
"Besides not being able to find the creature I am supposed to capture?" Vivi raised an eyebrow, combing through her wild hair with her slender fingers and tying it back with a quick motion.
"Kill, not capture," Shepard corrected, ignoring Granny Maplethorpe's protests and taking a few cookies out of the day-old tin. He drew a chair up to the booth and sank down. "You are wearing my shirt."
"I could not manage to feel enough like crap wearing mine," Vivi returned with a snort.
"Yes, it is quite difficult to adequately portray feeling under the weather in your wardrobe, Vivette," said Granny Maplethorpe in a comforting tone, patting one of Vivi's hands. "But the sooner you leave Shepard's work clothing to Shepard the better."
"That's not work clothes." Shepard noted, biting into a cookie.
"I promise that next time I feel in this way, I shall restrict myself to my own clothing," promised the Frenchwoman, holding up both of her hands. "And I further promise a shower and a change if we can perhaps return to the subject of my unfindable stag, yes?"
"Yes, Vivi, you have stated the problem admirably by yourself!" Granny Maplethorpe sighed. She leaned forward just barely across the table, her wrinkled hands linked around her teacup. The fragile, watered-down blue of her eyes shone as she spoke. "The stag is unfindable. Viviette, that is the hallmark of a white stag. It guides, yes, and finds. But only when it desires. It, itself? It is unfindable. And, what's more, it cannot be captured. That is the tragedy of the royal stags, my dear -- they help, with all their might. But those who help royalty often feel the brunt of their envy and anger, and so the white stag has been protected throughout the ages because of its capability to evade capture. Neither you, nor me, nor Shepard, nor anyone else. You haven't been able to find the stag because it does not want you to find it.
A hush of silence descended over the bakery. Shepard stopped chewing, eyeing Granny Maplethorpe with shining green eyes, his coffee cup frozen on its way to his mouth. Vivi's full lips were parted, and she looked at Granny Maplethorpe with an expression of wild despair. Her gaze ticked to Shepard imploringly, as if asking him to change or challenge the truth, but when she was met with silence, she let out a long groan.
"... if... if this is so..." she stammered, sitting back in the booth, deflated. "... then... then why would it...?"
"It is distressing, Vivette." Granny Maplethorpe professed with a nod, her quiet eyes dropping to her teacup. The leaves floated, unsettled, but gave her no answer. She drew in a slow breath. "The soul bottle seems to desire the stag. And the broken dawn ... a white stag does have its place in mythology as a light-bringer. Such a beautiful creature. It would be perfect, if only..."
"If only it were not impossible!" finished Vivi, disappointment ringing in her tone. "Mon Dieu, what a disaster!"
"Now, wait, hold it," Shepard cut in, holding up a hand, his eyes on Vivi's pale visage. "You know -- you know I'm against all of this, but I ... Look. The stag showed itself to you. It's sending you crazy dream-messages and all that, right? It didn't abandon you, it's probably scoping you out. You felt like you were being watched, before you saw it. And you said it makes you feel like you're being hunted, right?"
"Yes," Vivi said, her brows furrowing. "Perhaps that is the message? That it does not wish for me to hunt it. Then it must know -- it must know that I will not be a part of such a -- "
"Or." Shepard held up a finger. "OR, it's showing you its life. Maybe it's telling you how long it's been hunted. Maybe it's showing you how tiring it is to be hunted." He paused, struggling with the words, his eyes ticking to the ceiling and alighting on his carved birds. "... maybe it wants to tell you that it's tired of being hunted. Wants you to know, before ..."
"You believe..." the Frenchwoman's accented voice dropped even lower than its normal tones, and she bent forward, closing her eyes, now concentrating on the memory of hoofbeats. "... you believe it wants this?"
"You called it reincarnation before. Rebirth." Shepard pressed. "If it is rebirth, and this particular white stag is tired of the hunt..."
"... then why not put yourself in the hands of someone who you know would never hurt you?" finished Granny Maplethorpe, her voice hushed.
Vivi blinked, slowly turning her head from Granny Maplethorpe to Shepard and back again.
"So maybe all those failures..." the Aussie said, quiet. "... 're not really failures. It watched you, and it knew you couldn't find it in yourself to harm anything, no matter how much you wanted. If you wanted another life, wouldn't you want to put yourself in the hands of something you knew would never betray you, no matter what you were reincarnated as? So, maybe... it'll come to you, when it's ready. Like the old Zen thing. If you want something, you've got to stop looking for it."
It felt right. Vivi didn't know why, but somehow Shepard's explanation clicked solidly in her head, as certain as if the stag himself had appeared. She wasn't sure how it made her feel: happy for the chance she could give the stag, mournful for the life it had lead. The only thing she felt sure of was that Shepard's words made sense to her, and that, more than anything, she wished she could speak to the creature. To apologize. To offer.
"Either way," she said musingly, a faint, sad smile ghosting over her lips. "It seems the next move is his. An unfindable stag -- will he show himself to me, or no?"
She stood up slowly from the table, smoothing out Shepard's wrinkled shirt with both of her hands. "Thank you, cheri," she said with more of her old, confident manner, leaning forward and planting a kiss on the man's stubbed cheek. She straightened, offering Granny Maplethorpe a sweet smile. "And thank you, grandmere. You both have quite saved me today."
"You are quite welcome, I am sure," said Granny primly, returning Vivi's smile with her own thin brand. "Are you heading up?"
"It seems I must go and change!" Vivi said with a laugh, looking down at herself with some displeasure. "After all, what on earth would our stag think of this? If he may show up at any moment, I must endeavor to look nice for him!"
She padded quickly up the stairs, leaving Shepard and Granny alone with their breakfasts and the faint humming of the refrigerators in lieu of conversation. Shepard chewed his cookies thoughtfully, his eyes on the mute birds tied to the bakery ceiling. Granny Maplethorpe watched him openly, and it was not until she was certain of his silence that she made up her mind to speak.
"It is a nice theory," she said, refilling her cup of tea with a graceful flick of her wrist. "It would free Vivette of guilt, and the soul would match quite well to the essence. And the creature itself could even be helped! But, alas, Shepard, you know as well as I do that reality is not often so kind."
"Sure isn't." Shepard murmured, his sunless eyes trailing down from the ceiling to the elderly woman. "But I'm right."
He said it with such easy confidence that Granny Maplethorpe had to break her gaze from him. "Yes, you may think so, my dear..."
"No, I know I'm right." Shepard replied, flatly but earnestly.
"Did you speak to the stag?" the woman said, her manner approaching that of a strict governess. "Because if so, I'd very much desire to know how one arranges a discourse with an unfindable mythical beast."
"I know I'm right because it's what I did." Shepard looked at Granny Maplethorpe placidly, his face free of all his trademark expressions of grumpiness and unease. He looked to her suddenly both very young and very alive, the ghost of who he might have been. "So it sounds stupid to you that someone might want to give up a life. But when you're tired and miserable, you look for someone who might help you. If you want to be taken away, you find someone who will take you away and make you better."
"And Vivette..."
"It's practically her job," snorted Shepard, his gaze ticking over to the staircase. He shook his head and curled both his hands over his mug. "... I just hope I get to see this bloody stag. Let him know he's making the right decision."
Granny Maplethorpe nodded silently. She lifted up her teacup and peered in to the floating leaves inside.
"I see," she read the patterns softly to herself. "Yes... I see."
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Posted: Thu Apr 29, 2010 9:18 am
✖ The Midnight Carnival ✖
[wherein Vivi and Shepard meet the hauntingly lovely Lucia]*
"And what," asked Vivi when they had returned to the bakery, "does the Shepard think, now that he has met a Raevan at last?"
He was quiet a long time before he answered.
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Posted: Thu Apr 29, 2010 9:21 am
✖ Soul Capture: Quietus ✖
[Wherein the stag himself might his quietus make]*
They stood side by side on the ferry and looked out onto the onyx face of the water. Their faces were quiet and calm as their eyes traced the grey figures of the retreating storm. There would be an argument when they returned to the bakery, a fierce one, and they both knew it.
But for now, just for now, they would ignore the tempest of feelings that stirred just beneath the surface, and would allow themselves to be grateful.
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Posted: Wed May 19, 2010 9:46 pm
✖ The Certain Future ✖
"Well, young one," the old woman said placidly to the bottle and vial laying motionless before her, addressing them both as one. "It would seem that you have caused some trouble, now, haven't you?"
In their defense, the objects said nothing. The pale pink of the dawn's glow had the decency to appear as something of a blush, and the constant whirl of the soul in its bottle slowed perhaps a fraction in reply. Granny Trudy Maplethorpe fixed them both with a rather serious and unrelenting gaze, and for a great long few minutes, there was only silence hanging in the air.
The bakery was empty and dark; Shepard and Vivi had turned in early that night, exhausted from the previous night's emotional upheaval. The effects had lasted -- all day long, Shepard had looked alternately concerned and fiercely annoyed while Vivi tiptoed about on bandaged feet, herself fluctuating between a modest, self-depreciating chagrin and a joyous relief. Thus fatigued, Vivi had made her excuses early, and while the Aussie had managed to stay on for a few more tired and humorless minutes, he too soon gave up and went to bed. And thus was Trudy Maplethorpe alone in the bakery with the offending objects, looking very much like a school mistress reigning over some very unhappy students.
"I cannot pretend that I am not displeased," the woman went on in her brisk, proper tone, slowly and carefully shuffling a pack of violet cards between her hands. "You saw her, you know. You might have stopped anywhere and taken that soul bottle and she might have made you comfortable. Dashing away in a storm, quite honestly... the silliest thing I have ever heard. I certainly hope you shan't be so silly when you are born." She paused in her motions to glare quite sternly at the bottle and vial. "Let me not hear of such silliness. Drive that right out of your head. Are we clear?"
The glass containers and their occupants seemed to Granny Maplethorpe frightened in their stiffness. Good. Lesson learned.
"Now, I suppose it is not quite sporting of me to have a glance into your future just yet..." the Brit continued, slowly fanning out her cards face-down onto the table. "... but it wasn't sporting of you to take Vivette out into the storm the way you did. But, as she is mostly unharmed, I shall say that one little reading will put you and I to rights. Not a full reading, of course. Just four cards. Hardly a peak into the future. Don't you agree?"
The objects remained still, but Granny Maplethorpe fancied that she felt a general atmosphere of agreement.
"I shall roll you both onto this little ... stack here that I have of cards," Trudy explained. "When you stop rolling, I will assume that you have chosen your cards. And then I'll choose which cards to include in my reading. Is everyone clear?" She felt the answer was yes. "Then, we shall begin."
And so the woman gathered up the objects and gently sent them rolling over her cards, clearly watching to see where their momentum took them. She plucked out card after card from beneath their bellies, and quite soon she had her tarot set and organized before her. Her soft old fingers collected the remaining cards into a pile, and she set the bottle and vial back to their places opposite her on the table. Thus arranged, she felt prepared to face the answers her tarot had gained.
"... now," she breathed, her voice just barely trembling with excitement, "Let us see what answers you've given us, young one."
She flipped over the first card.
"Your core is... The King of Cups. My, how very interesting. Great maturity, patience... perception... a relaxing atmosphere... a great calm. Yes, I see this. I can see this very clearly. " She nodded, her eyes traveling to the small vial of dawn. "Very clearly, indeed."
She studied the cards, the vial, the bottle, the cards again. What did she wish to know? What answers did she want? Would it be more interesting to peek forward or backward? The future would eventually reveal itself... Granny Maplethorpe nodded. She was a patient woman. But the past, she knew, would not be available to her for long. She selected her next card and flipped it slowly.
"Your past..." Her mouth slowly set into a thin line. "... the Hanged Man, I see. Surrender, sacrifice."
She paused, her gaze turning now to the white mist of the soul bottle. "It must have been very difficult for you," she said in a gentle, earnest voice. "Perhaps that is why you did not trust her to sit with you. But it is not all bad, you know. With this card there is serenity... I hope that you have found it." Her blue eyes sank to the little web of cards below her.
Granny Maplethorpe shook her head slowly, reaching for the next card. "Your beliefs... the Five of Swords, reversed. Integrity. Infamy avoided..." She gazed at the soul bottle for a few long moments. "How long, I wonder, did you live? Integrity is a wearying thing for a creature such as yourself, I should wager. I wonder, how long ago did you decide that your hunt would be over? And how long did your integrity force you to wait before you found someone who might benefit from your end?"
Granny Maplethorpe allowed herself to sigh. If only she'd had a chance to converse with the stag still alive.
"No matter," she murmured wistfully. "I suppose that soon I shall have the honor of meeting you both, after all."
She paused, her hands hovering over the remaining cards. Which one, which one? Perhaps -- perhaps just a slight peek forward?
"Now -- to my last card," she announced quietly. "What will your properties be? Who shall you two become, on that day in the horizon?"
And quietly, she turned her last card. As she saw it, a short laugh bubbled in her throat.
"I see," she said fondly. "I might have known. You are The Sun."
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Posted: Wed May 19, 2010 10:31 pm
✖ The Uncertain Future ✖ Vivi slept.
Vivi slept, and for the first time since she'd acquired the bottle and vial, slept well. There were neither hoofbeats, nor daunting dreams, nor dancing expectations lingering in her head. That persistent dread of the soul bottle empty -- gone, dissipated, like a scent on the wind. She slept like peaceful dead, there in her bed of patchwork quilts and colored pillows. She slept, the faint ghost of a smile playing on her lips.
A clock ticked somewhere in the depths of her room.
Everywhere, there was stillness.
Shepard Ryan was not asleep. He stood in the doorway of that stillness, his silhouette blocking out the rectangle of light he'd let in when he'd cracked open the door to Vivi's bedroom. He barely breathed in the face of the quietness, and when he moved toward his slumbering friend, he did so stiffly and silently, afraid with each moment to wreck the peaceful motionlessness of the scene.
With slow, cumbersome movements, he opened the drawer of Vivi's nightstand and took out the vial and soul bottle. The curious calm of dawn washed over him, and that faint glow of light pressed itself like a kiss onto Vivi's smooth forehead. Shepard watched her with held breath, wondering if that alone would be enough to wake her -- but as a moment passed without her lashes stirring, Shepard exhaled and exited the room, making sure to shut the door behind him.
He didn't think about the theft until he was back in the safety of his room, laying back on his bed, turning the objects in his hands. Why had he taken them? What was he hoping to garner from them? The dawn was attractive, yes. Beautiful, even. The little shards of light clinked together with a far-away sort of noise as he turned the vial in his hands. This thing -- it'd be the essence, or whatever Vivi had called it, of the Raevan? And that -- thing in the bottle, that white haze, that was the soul? It was all vague and distant to Shepard; theories that he intellectually understood but practically had nothing for.
Beautiful and exotic as these things were, incomprehensible as they may be, they were going to create something. Someone. But they were mute, and they could give him neither promises nor assurances about the future. So he turned them over in his hands, one first, then another, and tried to make up scenarios in his head instead.
"What're yeh going to be?" he murmured to the vial, setting it at long last next to its companion. This dawn, he could hold and see and study. The feeling it gave him was rejuvenating and light and held no fear in it. With the dawn alone, he felt confident. But then he thought of the stag, of its pale face and hollow eyes, and wished that he had seen it alive. Had read its face, even if just for a moment.
Shepard scrubbed both hands through his hair and took in a long, deep breath.
"Just don't be an a*****e," he instructed the pair with a snort, sweeping the containers off his bed and onto his night stand. Somehow, he hoped his words had meaning for the pair, but inside he knew the die had already been cast. He was in this, and nothing was going to change that. He was going to help Vivi with this. He'd study up, try to get active, try to get ready. That was his decision, and he meant to stick by it. All the unknowables, they would come. Not tonight, from the pilfered bottle and vial, no, but they'd reveal themselves eventually. Shepard stared long at the bottle and vial in the dark, wishing, wishing, wishing for ready answers. He didn't even feel it when he began to drift off to sleep.
"Wish you could help me," he murmured to them from within his half-conscious daze, his eyelids shutting heavily over the anxiety in his eyes.
And somewhere deep in his dreams, thrumming from the soul bottle, he heard hoofbeats.
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