pris as the lost light at night ][ a please ask sl

by Guest Wed Feb 11, 2009 2:02 am

][ hewwo! this is a quasi preplanned mess of a mess, so if at any time you feel an itch to join please just give me a tug and ask because the timing in this thread could be a tricky beastie! ][

prissy's gown of lights
pris as the lost light at night ][ a please ask sl Dressoflights

pris as the lost light at night ][ a please ask sl Dressoflights

"cinderella, dressed in yella, went upstairs to kiss her fella. by mistake she kissed a snake, how many doctors did it take? 1...2...3...4..."

distant memories of jump-roping on the grass during recess were floating through pris' head as she sang the jumping rhyme. the tune, she couldn't quite remember how it went, so the perky melody was touched with the eccentric girl's haunting minor key. but even in a minor key a not-yet-dressed pris was hop-hop-hopping across her room to her closet in time with the song. four was as high as she managed to count before the crowded sight of her closet pulled her off track. "tights," she murmured to herself as her head did its slow tilt to the side. "tights. tights that are good with lights. hm hm hm."

it wasn't just tights and lights that she had to worry about. hair and lights, make-up and lights, shoes and lights, lights and lights, it was a whole new world when you decided to make a dress that literally would light up a room! luckily for priscilla valentine's day was on a saturday, or else she and dommy would've had a world war four about her going to school. when there was a cinderella ball to get pretty for, what did a vocabulary quiz and drawing amoeba portraits matter?

they didn't. which is why all day friday pris had done nothing but doodle pictures in her notebooks about what her time at this fancy dancy at claremount castle might be like. she had been in a castle only once before, down in florida. where the cinderella lived. cinderella looked much happier in her castle, the eight-year-old-back-then pris noticed, than she had at the start of her movie cleaning kitchen ashes. to the sixteen-year-old-now pris, she felt that could only mean good things for this ball. she wondered if any princes would be there. she decided she would drop one of her shoes on her way up the stairs, just in case. that was just one of many plans that pris made to prepare herself for this ball. it wasn't until much later that she would realize the plans she forgot to make.

precisely at 5pm, there stood a young girl waiting for the bus who was literally a beacon in the approaching night. not only did the small strips of colored lights that were sewn and wired with an obsessive compulsive care twinkle twinkle like little stars, but she took the time to apply so many diamond-sparkling swarovski crystals in her long black hair, skipping over the chunks and strands that she'd dyed pink or orange just yesterday. she'd even purchased twenty glow bracelets, ten pink, ten orange. the pink ones were all on her left wrist, and the orange ones were all on her right. under her gown she had chosen her pink and white stripped tights, a fact which could be easily spotted when one looked at her feet - because just like the real cinderella who lived in florida, pris chose to wear glass slippers.

when the bus pulled up, the driver didn't even blink. all the bus drivers in her area had become used to her over the past few months, so a dress that lit up was not a surprise. this particular bus driver even spoke the language of pris, as best as he could. "all dressed up with somewhere to go?"

it was through the conversation that followed that pris realized the first of the plans that she forgot to make. she was so used to the buses taking her anywhere that she needed to go, it never occurred to her there were some places that the buses didn't go. like castles, for example. it was the bus driver who burst that bubble open once she showed him the invitation - casting a sympathetic look at her through the overhead mirror, he broke the bad news. "eastbound on the 42, that's the closest you'll get. it crosses the road that'll get you out there, but where it crosses? it's gotta be at least two miles away. at least two miles. maybe you could get a taxi?"

eastbound on the 42, maybe she could get a taxi. when the bus stopped at the next red light, pris quietly asked if he could write down those directions for her. she knew if she didn't have them written down that some of the details might slip out her ears. not only did this bus driver who sort of spoke her language draw her a map, he wrote down his cell phone number and name, and when he questioned her about how much money she had with her, he insisted she take a twenty dollar bill from him, "just in case. it's at least two miles away, miss priscilla, just in case."

maybe she could get a taxi, eastbound on the 42, just in case. those three bits repeated in her mind like a poem as she stepped down the stairs of the bus at the proper stop. the invitation and map remained clutched in her hand as she waited for the eastbound 42, and she was still clutching them when she stepped off that second bus into a brave new world. this was an area she had never been to before. on a normal day when pris hopped on and off buses like a hot potato riding to nowhere in particular, not knowing where she was didn't bother her at all. maybe it was the fact that she was supposed to know where she was, or that she was supposed to get somewhere in particular, that had this girl dressed in lights looking not-so-shining. and it was already almost 8pm.

"eastbound on the 42...at least two miles...maybe i could get a taxi..." pris began speaking the poem in her mind aloud, her emerald eyes darting here there and everywhere as fast as eyes could dart. when she noticed all the stares she was getting on this street, she bit down on her bottom lip with her front teeth very, very hard before she blurted all in one breath, "42-two miles-taxi-twenty dollars-just in case-map-invitation-cinderella ball-drop the shoe on the stairs-twenty-dollars-two miles-TAXI!"

she was listing. poor priscilla grace ganesvoort - her nervousness was making it hard for her to stay in her driver's seat of her own mind.

by B.D. Adams Thu Feb 12, 2009 12:53 am

"Taxi!"

That was the word which resonated through the crisp night air. It was a simple word but, uttered on the right occasion, in the right place, that word had the power to make things happen. And, shouted out at the corner of a Rhy'din street, on a busy night, calling out for a taxi could bring quite the unexpected ride.

Onlookers and those meandering about the street were not the only ones privileged to hear the cry of the sixteen year old girl - Benjamin heard it too. A pair of pastel crayons, a gift from his encounter with the eccentric earth child, those items provided him with the most rudimentary of connection to the owner. Items owned never provided the best connections because they happened to switch hands with many different people. It was hard, for him, to filter out one single person unless there was a stronger connection between him and them.

There was no such connection between he and the girl and yet..."Taxi!" He heard it as clear as if he were standing on that street, looking in wonderment at the girl in the dress of lights.

He moved around his location, running his fingers along the glass bar and flipped open the lid on a small wooden box. "Taxi. Now why would you need a taxi?" That was the question he poised to himself as he graced the tips of his fingers against the pastels. Those colors had seemed important to him, and she was prey. Maybe that is why he heard her.

With the brush he remembered what she had said: The Inn. She frequented an Inn around the area and he had taken the time to figure out which one. What type of hunter would he have been otherwise?

His lips curled into a sinister grin as he picked the pastels from the box and headed to his armoire. "Of course, you're going to that Ball, and you need a ride. How exquisite." Now, to get to the girl before a taxi actually picked her up.

The streets of Rhy'din was home to many different types of vehicles from horse drawn coaches, motor bikes, buses, and the good old fashioned pedestrian. All of them with places to go, yet not all of them were seen in every part of this odd city. Fortunately for Pris, taxis did run in this area of town. At least, this taxi did.

Making its way down the street on this particular evening was a midnight black Volkswagen Beetle, the yellow stripes that ran along the rim, the prominently placed "Taxi" sign on the side door and illuminate sign were sure to draw attention.

This taxi made the necessary adjustments and rolled up to a stop in front of the girl with the light up dress. The front passenger window rolled down and the driver leaned towards it, the black cap on his head shadowed his eyes. The reflective lights of her dress speckled through the darkness of the cars interior to reveal the lower portion of his face. Would that be enough for her to recognize him?

"You called for a taxi?" She may recognize his voice as he was taking no means to mask it. If she looked inside the vehicle, she would see it to be just that - a taxi. Although it was a very clean taxi without any rips and tears or odd smells associated with some public transportation vehicles. And, if she looked close enough inside, she would see something else sitting on the back seat.

Her pastel crayons.

by Guest Thu Feb 12, 2009 1:32 pm

"TAXI!"

pause, pause, pause.......pause. some people find pauses uncomfortable because they believe nothing happens during a pause, but those people are very very wrong. for if they only opened their eyes, they would see that so very much more than nothing happens in silences.

standing at the bus stop after she cried out for a taxi, pris became a very good example of all the things that could happen during a pause. this particular silence started with a rock, back and forth on the heels and toes of her pretty glass slippers. only a minute slipped by before her rocking evolved into a pace, the sound of those heels and toes making soft click-clacks on the concrete breaking up the otherwise quiet of the eccentric girl. but there were other sounds filling the air that didn't belong to her, so many other sounds, and right now pris was finding each of them so very unnerving for that very reason - they weren't hers and they were coming from people-things-places that she didn't know, and those two facts added up to the most nerve-wracking thing of all.......

she couldn't control them. the key to pris living her life in harmony with the imbalance of her muddled mind without medication was maintaining some sense of control, no matter how small it was. and there were just too many things in this pause keeping her from her making that happen. a car honked, a man and woman laughed, a door slammed, the wind rustled leaves, a tire crushed over pebbles as it made a turn nearby. each of these things and more turned pris in their different directions, so by the time benjamin and his mysterious taxi approached he would be able to watch pris being helplessly spun in all these directions. hers was a level of lost that any balanced person could not even begin to comprehend.

as the vehicle eased closer he'd be able to watch pris' rapidly moving lips as well. she was doing the only thing she knew how to do when an episode was threatening to pull all things apart. continuing her lists. for, as she would say, 'listing makes lucid'. "42. 42 eastbound 42 42, got off here here is....here is...here i'm...in a dress...dress with lights...lights up life lights up this - this here twenty dollars just in case. just in case of....just in case in case in case of emergency break glass break dance ball!" her words were a victorious shriek of eureka blurted just as the taxi pulled up next to her. as he rolled the window down benjamin would probably hear her finish with triumph, "for the cinderella ball this is the corner and it's just two miles! yes!"

episode thwarted, pris turned to face the street with renewed verve, only to shriek with awestruck surprise at the sight of the car waiting just for her. "taxi! you've come to save - " it was a sentence that was never finished.

"poof," pris said instead in a whispered tone that suggested she was afraid of speaking that catharsis any louder. her mind silently spoke the refrain that her parted lips didn't speak aloud, like a magic trick and tricks aren't nice. "lovely," was her second whispered word as she felt her insides were behaving like a nervous flower, pulling her petals up at the sight of a bully bee flying her way. in the midst of being a lost light in the night pris didn't know how to feel about this appearance of poof, besides her twisty feeling she didn't know how else to feel at all. if priscilla noticed her precious two pastels, cerulean and canary, sitting there safely on the backseat, they might have helped her know how to feel. but she didn't see them yet, and there was a very important reason for that.

the priorly panicked eyes of pris were suddenly done with their darting. for the first time those deep green emeralds were set stones staring at nothing but what she could see of benjamin's face. and the question this strange little artist asked of him, it was no mistake she asked it while her eyes were so still,

"how did you poof this taxi." the way she spoke it, firmly like a statement, was like she'd just accused him of cheating at cards.

by B.D. Adams Thu Feb 12, 2009 11:38 pm

The look upon her face when she had asked him about the taxi was priceless. It was not only the manner in which she had said it, firm and judgmental, but that she was focused. What would her eyes see when they were focused? When they met at the caves, her eyes would only hit his for a few seconds on and off before darting away and he had to try to capture her attention. Now. Now she gave him her attention.

Too bad that his eyes were hidden in the shadow created by the hats brim and the vehicle. At least they were for the moment.

Benjamin lifted his chin upwards and to his left, the action affording his face to have a little more light. He was clean shaven and his face looked very smooth, even in the reflective light of her bright dress. "It's mine."

Fact stated. It was true, it was his taxi. Even if the vehicle would not always be a taxi. Then his lips parted and she was treated to his pearl white smile of flawless teeth. That smile held a hint of wickedness. This smile would not be hers to witness long for soon he was sitting up, his face disappearing into the taxis darkness.

Looking into the car she would see the black leather front seats empty, all the other standard functioning of a car were there. Did he vanish? Not exactly. The click and turn of the knob signaled the door being opened, as well as the soft close of the door. The back of his hat was the first thing to be seen as he stood out of the car. Turning it was seen that he wore a straight black jacket with a Milan collar. Eight black shinny buttons lined down the middle of said jacket and the cream color of his underlining shirt peeked out from the tips of the sleeves as well as an inch or two over the collar.

"It's mine," he repeated those words again as he moved around the car and towards her, the fluid movements of a predator accenting his every step. This girl would now even be able to see his full face, including his dark brown eyes. "And I have come for you, Lovely." His voice carried that alluring tone, as he spoke. Her true name was yet unknown to him as they were yet to be officially introduced. Therefore, he called her for what she was. Lovely.

He had rounded the hood of the car and now stood on the side of the headlight, one hand resting on the hood, fingers raised. Still, he watched her. "You're on your way to the Ball." Benjamin took a step toward her, that hand still upon the hood. Yes, he knew of the Ball. But how did he know that was where she was going? It could have been the dress, but he knew it was something else. "I have been invited to it myself."

He eased forward once more. Another step. That hand slid forward on the hood but still stayed down. For the moment, he would stay attached to the car and watch her. His eyes were intense in their gaze, even if she had turned her attention away from him.

"I've brought you a gift. Look," the word vibrated in the air and his head gave the slightest of turns to the side towards the back of the car. "Look through the back window at what rest on the seat. It is the gift I have for you." Was he pointing out the pastels for a reason?

by Guest Fri Feb 13, 2009 1:23 am

eyes and eyes, windows to the soul? for normal people, maybe. but for an artist what good would it be to only see into eyes when you had to draw lips and hands and chests and feet? for priscilla, every part of a person was a discovery her singular stare could unlock, and to those warped eyes the human body was a proverbial chest of countless drawers that opened and shut depending on where and when her eyes found them. pris did not need benjamin's eyes to learn. it was just a question of what now she would see.

as soon as he smiled her eyes immediately snapped down to fixate on his teeth. for him it was good that he did not flash that pearly white smile long. because while that smile lasted pris was exploring. he was smiling, she was not. in fact, she pulled her lips in tighter, drew them back, opened them up, and moved them around soundlessly like she was trying to figure something out. even though their positioning was ever evolving, drawn back like they were it seemed like six degrees of searching for the right snarl.

grandmother what big teeth you have. the thought shot into her mind like a thunderbolt, enough that it jerked pris like static electricity and caused a little shriek. because the movement and sound came exactly when benjamin was getting out of the car, maybe he would think she was only reacting to him on the move. but no. it was grandmother what big teeth you have. did pris realize how deeply the connection to the fairytale rang true? no. it was just how her mind worked, conjuring up words she'd read or heard before to firestart her mind's synapses into making connections. this connection was teeth. what big teeth. what big teeth. pris decided she no longer trusted his teeth.

once he 'disappeared', pris was obviously no longer staring. her eyes started their darting again, here there and everywhere. but it was not pris' eyes searching in panic. this was pris' eyes searching to take a different kind of stock of her surroundings. she needed to know what picture she and benjamin were about to paint. and who and what was going to be painting it with them. just in case. she needed to know those things just in case.

"yours." did he hear the doubt in her voice as she echoed his answer, taking a single step back as he rounded around the car to meet her face to face. she didn't doubt he owned it. she doubted something else about his answer, even though she didn't know what. "yours..." there was a moment of hesitation, where her lips parted but made no sound. during her pause pause he kept talking, and they did a dance - when he took another step forward, she took another step back. ".......for me?" the hesitation was finished in a pitch that was nearly a squeak.

when he mentioned the ball, pris shook her head. the grip she had on the invitation, the map and the twenty dollars tightened as her head moved in denial. "no no no the cinderella ball you too? you a...prince...i?" grandmother what big teeth you have. the shaking of her head renewed and she brushed the possibility that he was one of the princes aside with, "no no no no." she was back to that very careful whisper as she glanced at the car. her eyes were appealing to it, asking the car to tell her its secrets.

and the car did tell her a secret. one of them, anyway, for she spotted the pastels a moment before he bid her to find them. "hey..." she whispered that indignantly after he spoke his last words, a hushed realization that her eyes were not deceiving her. the young girl shifted her weight back and forth uncomfortably, both hands now clutching around the fat strap of her big black shoulder bag that she still carried despite otherwise fancy fancy attire. "he-e-e-e-ey!" her reaction grew in volume as she stretched the duration of the word out, evolving her tone into something very close to a whine.

"that's - that's - those - they're - " pris was sputtering now, her focus ping-ponging between the sight of the two precious pastels sitting there on the back seat, and the man who was clearly keeping them captor. but then she turned to face the car completely, appealing to the pastels in a firm demanding tone. "cerulean and canary come home!"

she punctuated her demand by pushing all five of her fingers sternly against the window glass in a single smack. like a bug smashing against a windshield. and there her hand stayed.

by B.D. Adams Sat Feb 14, 2009 1:58 pm

Click.

If there was a sound to describe what happened when Pris' hand made contact with the glass window of the taxi, that would be it.

Click. Like a switch moving from off to on, the moment she touched the glass this Hunter had gained access to her emotions. The gate was opened and the path had been cleared. Pastels. He had no use for them now or the faint link they had provided, no, what he had now was better but still not the best.

The touch came with a spark, quick and sudden. An electric shock caused by friction and erupting once flesh hit metal. Just like those shocks, this one lasted a millisecond before it, and the pain, vanished from her hands to run through her body like a cold shiver. Had his hand not been on the hood of the car she would have felt nothing but the cool glass.

Click. He was connected. Since their first meeting he had a hunger for her, the innocence and naivety of her youth only making her that more desirable, but he waited. He had been patient, didn't push, and now he was reaping a small reward.

It had taken years of practice for him to be able to perfect a targeted hit. Sometimes there was only a second, a moment, to place the tag to make that ‘click’ with a person and take something before the window of opportunity was gone. In that connection everything was open for the taking and you had to know what you wanted and have the focus and discipline to set your sights to only one item. Benjamin wanted her fear. Not just any fear, but one that was prominent.

Every living being had a main fear that influenced them in some way, and what he found inside of Pris was most delightful. In the moment, he blinked and in blinking he saw a barrage of images. It was a movie playing rapidly through his mind pertaining to members of her family and the condition that she had. Suddenly the girl made a lot more sense to him and the longer they stayed connected to the car the more information he would gain and the more connected he would become.

This transfer was not a one-way street, Benjamin did not take access to this area of her psyche without giving a gift. He had pulled the fear to the very surface of her mind and it was sure to play out, in some form, for her as well. However, in her remembering it would come an eerie calm. Some described the feeling as remembering a lost forgotten memory that’s lost its feeling, a strange detachment. Peace. Oh the things that could happen when a mind was at peace.

Gifts given from one such as he was not given out of the kindness of his heart, even if that is how it appeared.

Staying his hand on the car Benjamin moved towards her, now standing alongside the front passenger door. Reflective lights were sure to begin casting his shadow and image over the car and even into the window she looked. He was studying her from the side, processing the information he was just given and watching for the reaction. There was something else he got from the connection as well- her name – but he was not going to use it. Yet.

“They are waiting for you, Lovely, Cerulean and Canary.” Using the names she had called her pastels. “I’ve taken care of them.” He spoke slowly, the words sent out to her as more than a slight brush of a suggestion to her mind. Through the clam he had placed on her mind it was almost as a standing thought. He had taken care of her colors. Look at how peaceful they appeared and comfortable on the back seat.

“And I will take care of you.” And I will take care of you. Those words held special weight. Another step and he took his hand, finally, off of the car and stepped towards the street corner then to the side. It broke any continual connection he had but it wasn’t needed. He had the part of her he was after. It was all the connection he needed for now and it would allow him so much in the future. He was fixing to get to the other side of her and to the door.

His hand ushered to the car. “Won’t you join them?”

by Guest Sun Feb 15, 2009 1:20 am

bzzzzzzt.

apparently benjamin on one side of their tin-can connection felt his safe was-it-pleasant-for-him click, and the unsuspecting young artist who just wanted her pastels to come home felt a what-the-heck-was-that shock. the shock caused her to jerk and shriek, much like she had when she'd learned the secret of his teeth.

whether or not pris' doctor and her mother were ethical in their decision to treat pris' blessedly mild case of schizophrenia with more non-traditional means than medication, that decision helped the girl in situations like now. because her doctor taught her the key to staying in her driver's seat was control, and connections. the more connections made, the more neurotransmissions were successfully passed, and the more pris' brain behaved like any other brain by pretending it was nice and balanced. to keep it pretending, her doctor told pris to make as many connections as possible - even nonsensical ones. so pris constantly made connections that most people wouldn't or couldn't even imagine.

so when bzzzzzzt happened, these useful connections were made: her hand touched window and window went bzzzzzzt. bzzzzzzt and made her jump and shriek. jump and shriek just like she had with poof's teeth. that meant this window was just like poof's teeth. poof's teeth were 'grandmother what big teeth you have'. 'grandmother what big teeth you have' was a scary story with a lesson. a scary story with a lesson was poof.

those connections were made with the panic of someone drowning, because those connections weren't the only thing happening in her mind. with terrible lucidity her father was happening, too. and her father happening was not something pris could handle very much. so a yowl immediately followed the bzzzzzzt.

until his gift came. it silenced the yowl with the efficiency of cutting a wire. because what people felt from his gift, the 'memory that’s lost its feeling, a strange detachment', that was pris. she was made of memories that all lost their feeling, living nearly all her minutes with strange detachment. so he snapped her back from the lucidity of bzzzzzzt back to herself. and that changed how her mind saw. what had started as normal, flickers of pictures naturally proceeding like a past tense parade, he would experience warping into how she saw. because hers wasn't a sickness of eyes, it was brain sickness kicking over mental dominoes and translating what her eyes saw into bends, twists and whirls that just weren't there. that brain sickness did the same thing to her memories. hence the resulting detachment she lived every day. or that she could live. maybe, maybe it was a choice.

so the flickers of father all became rope. like a closet packed too full that had its door pulled open and out came rope rope rope like an endless spill of string spaghetti piling higher and higher to take over the memory world, until everywhere was spilling rope - upwards, downwards, north-south-east-and-west and sideways as far as the eye could see. soon the spilling turned into slithering, like so many rope snakes moving to music that wasn't there. finally bits of rope were pairing up to wind in a dangerous dance. these were the very same memories of father he'd been watching the progression of a moment ago. rope is what they'd become. which begged the question, didn't it - how in the world could this girl live in a mind like this?

"it burns it always burns and it never asks just leaves its mark" pris whispered that to the girl in the window. because in her mind the ropes were dancing so hard against each other they were making sore red marks as they rubbed down to hidden flesh underneath and chaffed each other - rope burns. or, marks of a noose - a real memory, twisted into schitzophrenic symbolism. pris watched the girl in the window mouth the same words at her, but leaning in closer pris couldn't hear the girl in the window's voice.

or could she? "They are waiting for you, Lovely, Cerulean and Canary. I’ve taken care of them. And I will take care of you." it didn't quite match what shapes the lips of the girl in the window here making, and some of the words came when the lips of the girl in the window were still, but it was a voice. and with pris' eyes locked and lost in a reflective surface, to her that was only place that voice could be coming from. for the imbalance in her brain reflective surfaces were the biggest danger of them all. her eyes got stuck in the sight of own eyes, like looking at a mirror within a mirror within a mirror and not knowing which mirror was the way out.

"oh," she gave the girl in the window a very gracious smile. the girl in the window gave a very gracious smile back. here ben dropped his hand from the car, and pris' hand dropped from the window glass in the exact same instant. "you did, yes yes you did. thank you. thank you. thank you. i hope they didn't give you any trouble." so far picture was almost sweet, in an 'alice in wonderland' sort of way, and she certainly seemed very ready to comply. but just like wonderland, pris' relationship to reflective surfaces always turned sour. because of the connection her doctor tirelessly trained her to make to free herself from mirrors always went click. pris' own kind of switch. making her aware of what was happening to herself. turning on the panic.

the click happened so quickly, without warning, and pris' reflex compulsion began. "won't i? won't i......?!" she had to change herself. to escape the mirror. she scowled. when the girl in the mirror scowled back, pris changed her scowl to a snarl. "won't," she shot at the mirror to pick a fight. she changed her snarl. "won't." and here was why pris' appearance was always so drastically different. it was how she kept herself free of mirrors. as she repeatedly spat "won't" at her reflection, her right hand started to rip the glowing pink braclets from her left arm, tossing them on the ground. "won't," she kept repeating, as she switched hands to start yanking the glowing orange bracelets off her right arm and tossing them as well.

it was just when her left hand reached under her left armpit to clasp at the zipper of her dress - yes, her dress - that benjamin unknowingly saved her. for as he fixed to get around to the other side of her, he disturbed what was reflected in the car window - suddenly he was reflected in it too. this change the reflective surface shattered her fixation, freeing her locked eyes.

as she spun away from window to face him and took a few quick steps away, pris was obviously shocked, maybe even a little bit disturbed, to see him there. it was like she'd nearly forgotten what was going on - and thanks to getting trapped in her reflection, she sort of had. so when her eyes locked on him the words tumbled from her before she even realized what she was saying or how loudly she was saying it,

"grandmother what big teeth you have!"

by B.D. Adams Mon Feb 16, 2009 3:17 pm

Pris was looking at Benjamin, and Benjamin was looking at Pris. Both of them looked at each other with eyes locked fast as in the old childhood game of Stare. The object of the game was to see who could keep their eyes locked on the others, unmoving or blinking, for the longest. The first person to turn their eyes away, or blinked, lost the game. Benjamin liked to think that he was very good at this game when it came to playing against ‘normal’ people due to his ability to become a living statue for long extended periods of time, therefore, he didn’t think he was going to loose at this game any time soon.

However, due to images of slithering ropes that had invaded the otherwise fanciful array of thought, Pris had a good reason to refer to him as the so-called Big Bad Wolf. Both hands were at his side and the knuckles and joints cracked and popped as his fingers curled from an open and closed fist. He hadn’t been smiling, but now the left corner of his lip had curled up to a quasi-snarl that was pretending to be a smile. Maybe it was a smile? The smile on a cats face after it had closed in on a helpless bird and is about to feast. Yes, his smile could be likened to exactly that.

Fright. Medication. Ropes. Snakes. Burn. Thank you. Won’t. Anger. Won’t. Shock. Teeth. B-e-n-j-a-m-i-n. The idea of his own name was foreign to him, even playing in his mind it did not belong. A strange name, a different name. It was not his real name.

Things were playing out in his mind in short, rapid order before mixing and turning into shades of nonsense. It made him remember how it was when he first adopted this skin a few hundred years ago and the chaos that ensued after he had digested his first soul. Their emotions, thoughts, experiences, all of it was taken. When the minds and consciousness of many were pushed in the mind and consciousness of one, things were bound to get a little out of hand.

In the beginning it had caused him to be a wild ravenous beast. His thoughts had been everywhere and it was extremely difficult to determine whether what he was doing and remembering was from his own mind, or from someone else. There had been a lot he had to learn. “ . . .There is too much craziness in the wild and primitive side of your brain.” Those had been the words of his teacher. “You have to learn the dream language and seriously care about the dream messages, if you want to preserve your mental health . . .”

Dreams. That’s what all the flashes of images had been called and it had taken years for him to be able to handle and separate all the dreams and maintain his own identity and objectives, and only using what he had obtained when it wanted. Benjamin had a system of dealing with these dreams. The normal mind typically progressed, or gave a leading into the dreams of the subconscious mind, but Pris was not normal and things with her seemed to work in a reverse direction and he was not a hundred percent prepared for the images of her father to suddenly turn into ropes and snakes that burned. Always burned.

Being unprepared set him to thinking about the meal ticket that was standing before him. She was a brightly colored meal ready for the taking. ‘The better to eat you with, my dear.’ The thought was never given voice, but his hands began to rise up from their place at his sides and he took a step towards her. From the corners of his eyes he caught sight of the bracelets she had dripped off her wrist and tossed to the ground, he even caught sight of his reflection in the car window. They didn’t faze him. Benjamin was a very focused individual.

Another step closer. His foot came down next to one of the bracelets; and his hands were now at the level of his waist. All this time he had not blinked, letting his hard and cold eyes continue to bore into her, the smile on his face remaining unchanged.

“Lovely . . .” One step, and then another, distance between them closing. . The images in his head were starting to fade as he processed them the same as he did everything else. “Do you know, Lovely, what it is you have done?” One hand reached out and touched the car, fingers sliding along the frame until they grasped the handle. An upward pull and a ‘click’ was heard as the door opened. Could it be that he was falling into himself once again?

by Guest Tue Feb 17, 2009 7:39 pm

grandmother what big teeth you have! once she'd blurted that out, that storybook phrase repeated in her head with the insistence of a heartbeat. it was the game of stare that benjamin was playing with her that was keeping that single thought in her head looping on repeat.

during this new game of stare, did he notice that her eyes were not looking directly into his? pris wouldn't look at his mouth, no how could she after doing that told her 'grandmother what big teeth you have'? and pris wouldn't look into his eyes because she was afraid his eyes would tell her none other than 'grandmother what big eyes you have' which she was sure would be must worse than being told the truth of 'grandmother what big teeth you have'. but she also couldn't look away. because there were so many other things that could happen, her bending twisting mind told her, than being told what big eyes and teeth he had. what if it became 'grandmother what cold hands you have'? or even, 'grandmother, isn't the woodcutter that saves me from your stomach supposed to have that axe'?

while pris was an eccentric young girl who was the product of only sixteen years of experience, she still knew a thing or two. because this innocent had the luck of having a very very good big brother. after all, what did dommy always say? as a soft, high pitched sound came from the closed lips of pris in an uncomfortable whine, her strange little mind tap-tapped the girl to remind her of dommy's big brotherly refrain. how many times do i have to tell you, prissy? guys -

" - always want something from you." pris whispered that along with the dommy-echo as she stared at benjamin's nose. yes, that was the place that pris thought would be the safest to look at so that she could watch benjamin during his game of stare but not see him a way that would make her nervous. and she was right. because the only secret benjamin's nose was telling her was that it liked to sniff her. for even if benjamin's nose was hardly doing that at all, the longer pris stared at it the more to her warped mind his nose did just that. scrunch-sniff, scrunch-sniff, scrunch-sniff, to her staring eyes benjamin's nose became as ever-curious and active as a rabbit's.

"what do you want?" she asked his nose that softly, shifting her weight nervously from one hip to the other as he drew closer. while his hands were on the move, her hands were on the move too. one of them tightened around the strap of her big black shoulder bag while the other hand plunged into said bag, fingers slipping directly into the pocket where she kept her most precious non artmaking tool. her telephone.

because dommy reminded her on a daily basis how the only way he was going to let his little sister wander all over god's creation was if she always told him where she was and if she was safe, pris treated that phone like it was her holy grail. so it was always, always in the same pocket of her bag. and it was always, always charged up. and she had spent a lot of time with dommy making it episode-proof any way they knew how. to get around the fact that sometimes when she stared at letters they grew into squiggles that no longer looked like letters at all. and to get around the fact that numbers if she stared at them often melted and slid from where they were supposed to be sitting still. making pre-typed short cuts for the phone, so that if she was ever caught in an episode all she would have to do was touch three buttons in the right order to let her brother know what was going on.

benjamin's hand reaching for the door, that was what broke their game of stare for her. her eyes darted away from their fixation on his rabbit-nose to watch as he pulled the door smoothly open. as her emerald eyes bounced between benjamin - still only looking him in the nose - and the now open car door, inside her purse her fingers felt over the smooth surface of her phone which she'd cleanly flipped open. she knew the buttons by their feeling, for she had carved into each of them the night her and dommy had made all the short cuts. the button that had the heart carved into it was pressed once. the button that had a plus sign carved into it was pressed twice. and finally, the button that had the spiral carved into it was pressed once to send the message.

pris had just texted her brother the text he probably dreaded receiving the most. while she'd given dominic the address of the castle, her brother was no superman. he had no special powers and no amazing time teleportation devices. if he was going to attempt to come get her, well he'd have to get in a regular old car and drive. and that would take time.

pris pulled her hand out of her purse, a plastic baggy filled with pastels clutched in her fingers. "cerulean and canary," she said calmly to benjamin's nose. "since you have the door open i want them back."

by B.D. Adams Fri Feb 20, 2009 5:45 pm

The tips of his fingers still pulled at the handle of the door, having it lifted until the door was fully open. This created a quasi barrier between the two of them as the rim of the door rested at Benjamin’s side. Hand now moved, fingertips gliding across the smooth black paint and up to drape his arm on the window frame. It could even be said that he was leaning; his position even suggested a partial lean. However, this did not mean that he was off his guard.

He saw that she wasn’t returning his gaze, that’s all right; it wasn’t in everyone to look a person in the eye for an extended period of time. Many people found it daunting to hold a gaze any longer than what it took to say their few lines. Once upon a forever time ago, he was one of those people. What a difference time can make. When a person wanted to appear that they were looking a person in the eye – when they were not – the common places to look were either the corner of the eye or at the persons nose. She had chosen the nose. That made the corners of his lips curl more in a smile.

Pris whispered her first set of words but even if her words were barely audible on this busy street –cars going by and the sound of pedestrians going to and fro – he still would have heard them. It was a benefit of being an animal. The voice she spoke in was not her own voice for she spoke as though reciting a line she had been told many times before. Perhaps that was the reason for his smile? She had done something similar when they were by the caves. She mimicked and he had thought her a copycat, a possible one-time thing, but now she had done it again. Could it be that mimicking was more than simply coincidental? Could this eccentric girl accurately mimic people’s words or, better yet, their actions? That was a delicious possibility. How to test it, he wondered.

Her second set of words was directed to his nose and simply to humor her, or to keep her state of focus, his nose twitched. A very small twitch in the likeness of the rabbit she may have in mind. Benjamin’s words were deep and controlled as he watched her watching his nose and the opened door. “Trust me.” Trust me. It was said with a suggested hint, the nose twitched as though the words came from it instead of his lips that slowly moved in speech. If she had been watching his eyes she may have been looking closely enough to see the corners twitch.

“Trust me.” The power of suggestion wasn’t hard, but he pulled upon that small connection that had been made when she had her hands upon the window. His words were sent to echo in her ears. Trust me.

His dark eyes shifted and her bag of pastels was in plain view. She wanted her colors back, and she would. “Of course, Lovely. Trust me to give them back to you.” Trust me. The words went out to her again, each time more and more convincing that she could, indeed, trust him.

Eye contact, or nose contact, was broken as he stepped to the side and bent down into the opened door of the black cab. Though he had moved, Benjamin never took the girl out of his sight. Her two pastels were sitting peacefully, comfortably, upon the back seat, completely unaware that they were the vices in his grand design. Benjamin’s fingers wrapped around the colors, having them now encased in his fist as he pulled out from the cab’s door.

The smile he now directed to Pris was warm and helpful, a complete opposite of the one he had wore only moments before. In fact, going into the cab changed his outward feel as a whole for now he mannerisms portrayed him as man that had retrieved a persons forgotten object.

“Here you go,” A few steps placed him in front of the cab door. How friendly his voice sounded, and courteous. The hand that had collected the pastels stretched forward, palm turned up, and his fingers uncurled. There they were, resting in his hand as they had been in the seat. They were there for her to take.

Oh, how deceiving looks can be.

by Guest Sat Feb 21, 2009 10:24 pm

][ the post below is brought to you with the help of my most favorite dommy-mun! <3 ][

don't blink just keep looking at his rabbit nose and don't blink. or do blink? or...blink the normal amount that people are supposed to blink...how many times is that? oh if only her most precious doctor donnie duck were here, she could ask him and he could tell her. but then again...she couldn't ask him if he were here, not really, not when the person she didn't want to see her blink/not blink could hear her ask too, and if benjamin overheard well there really wasn't any point to asking the question at all. because for priscilla it was all about keeping safe what benjamin didn't know.

like the fact that before she'd pulled that baggy out of her purse she'd sent a very important message.

nothing she observed in benjamin suggested to her that he knew. good. sometimes it was a very very good thing to be a girl like herself. because she was so hard figure out or crack open like a nut or however people liked to put it, sometimes people overestimated what she was capable of. her math teachers, especially, never really getting that for her numbers really did not stay on the page. but usually most people underestimated what this odd little eccentric was capable of doing.

like bluffing. hours watching the world series of poker and the world poker tour and all those police shows taught her bluffing. taught her it was so much more than just a person's expression and body language and 'playing it cool' - poker and crime television taught her that when a person should bluff was so very more important. strategy. and so long as it wasn't wrapped up in numbers, strategy was something she really got. an artist has to, even if they're some sort of strange savant like she is, or else their artmaking wouldn't make a bit of aesthetic sense. even surreal sense needed strategy.

when pris had reached into her bag to text, she knew that if she didn't want benjamin to know what she was doing she would to have to sell a different reason for reaching into her bag. that's what her baggie was for. in the grand scheme of all this, her skewed little mind told her that she could always get a new cerulean and canary, and that the two there sitting on the backseat of his taxi would forgive her someday. asking him for her pastels back was her bluff. it very good bluff, it turned out. because even though her head canted to the side as she watched his nose talk about 'trust' in a way that tickled at her inner ears, and she started to think that it wouldn't be so bad after all if she managed to bluff and get her pastels back all in one swoop, and for some reason when he called her lovely that time it bothered her a little less....it also got him look away, and put the car door between them, and made him go in the car. all things that broke the fixated stare she had on his nose. that being broken was always good. for pris, at least.

"trust..." she murmured that to the air, her green eyes darting here there and everywhere as she spoke that word out into the night while benjamin was busy fetching cerulean and canary. from the thoughtful tone of it, anyone within earshot might wonder if she was looking to start a philosophical discussion. when she repeated the word, there was a question to it, "...trust?"

she was given a rather sudden answer. inside her purse the distinct opening riff to 'sweet child of mine' started to play. the ringtone that the voice on the other end had set for her phone, so she'd always know it was him. and that voice was very smart for doing so, because whenever pris heard that from within her purse the whole world stopped no matter what. so even though benjamin was offering her pastels out to her in word, deed and even with that 'trust me' smile...all of that had to stop for now because the voice was calling her.

"oh...my ring dings." pris' surprise was colored serenely. it was a stark contrast to the demanding tone she'd used when benjamin first pulled up, and the protective tone she'd used when pris' mimicked dommy's words, and the sober calm with which she'd requested her pastels back. pris took two steps away from benjamin as her hand slipped into her bag. even though she knew exactly where her phone was, she let her hand wander before pulling it out. bluffing. to her ear it went, and with a whisper whisper she answered it, and while she talked she kept her glancing eyes on benjamin. "hello?" what the voice on the other end replied brought out a lemon face and a slight whine as she replied, "that's too many questions one at a time.....there's no bus that goes to the cinderella castle party and i'm late for the ball and haven't dropped my shoe yet and there's this taxi here...."

the pause in the conversation was the choice of the voice on the other end, no doubt trying to understand her answer. at least the voice only asked her one question this time. "claremount circle and walnut street and i'm standing at the bus stop...." now this pause was her choice, and in that quiet she snuck the tiniest lingering glance at benjamin and tried add with a bit more emphasis, "with this taxi...." the voice answer brought immediate firm shakes of her head. "oh no. no no. no taxi. i promise." it was the easiest promise priscilla grace ganvesvoort ever had to make.

after the voice told her what it was going to do pris hung up the phone, giving it a mournful look as she bit her lower lip. she wanted to say something just then, but the voice had already hung up and there was no use telling it to the phone when she didn't mean those words when she just said them to the phone. so instead she murmured down at her screen, "no taxi, no bus, just wait. no taxi, no bus, just wait. wait."

as she slipped her phone back into her bag, she let out a deep breath. for a girl who often 'woke up' out of her own episodes to find out what seemed like a blink to her were whole handfuls of hours...the next ten minutes were about to seem like a very long time.

for now, all she did was glance to benjamin and match his warm and cordial smile. it was as good as any parrot's, for she was an amazing mimic.

by B.D. Adams Tue Feb 24, 2009 12:44 am

What was this? She was doing it again and might not even know it. Mimicking. It was in the way she said her words. If only he could put some power behind that mimic of hers and control what came from it. How he would love to have a puppet like her. She was young, yes, but humans aged and by the time she came to a more suitable age for his needs she would have been well underway in her training. To take her under his proverbial wing and mold her into one of his own creations would be a delight. The more he thought on the idea, the more he wanted to explore that route. Well, he could, couldn’t he? Reach out and grab her, he wouldn’t even have to put her in the car to take her with him. But he didn’t and you know why?

He had told her to trust him; he didn't say it to waste his breath or take up any extra time. It wasn't even a tool in some ploy. She was simply, to trust him. Sometimes, even a devil of a man had to be a prince in order to get the prize in the end. He could put on a show. Such as the one he was putting on now with his charming smile and friendly outward attitude.

In this case she was to trust that he was going to give her those two pastels back. Perhaps she was going to reach out and take them from his awaiting hand? Perhaps she was going to copy him and open her own hand so he could make a deposit. Perhaps, perhaps...

...The phone would ring and bring the silence between them to an abrupt - yet musical - halt. It was similar to one of those commercials played before a movie only this time the tag line would be: "One call can ruin a moment." How very coincidental that her phone would ring, from inside her bag even, only minutes after she had reached inside to pull out the bag that contained her pastels.

She had signaled someone. You didn't hunt people throughout the ages without picking up on distress signals. Glances to seemingly 'random' people in the area, choice words stressed in hopes of pulling attention of passing officials, over dramatic displays clearly done to stall, panic buttons on devices that signaled in the Calvary, they were all things he had learned by personal experience.

Well, at least one thing was made unmistakably obvious- she believed herself to be in danger. Wonderful. He couldn't help but wonder who she contacted and his eyes briefly turned upwards to the sky perchance of seeing Thor break through the sky. No. From her reaction to him last time he would not be her rescue choice. Aside from that, he couldn't picture the thunder god with a phone to his ear, holding a conversation. She had called someone else and had been sure to keep said persons name out.

Another thing that was obvious was her stress on the word taxi. Could it be that she was more afraid of the taxi than she was of him? Maybe, in her eyes, Benjamin and the taxi were synonymous.

He smiled at her while she held her semi-private conversation. Once she was done his free hand reached up to grab the lip of his hat, giving it a downward pull to shade his eyes even though there was no sun. The fingers of the other hand came to curl around the pastels once again as he moved forward. The car door was no longer between them, he was on the other side of it, and he was moving towards the hood.

When he reached the hood those pastels switched hands, moving from one to the other, and he placed them upon the hood - first one color, and then another. Each making a light 'plink' as they hit the surface. Looking at her he said simply, "Your pastels."

His hand moved from hovering over those two colors and fingertips slide back and rested on the cars hood. Her move.

by Dominic Tue Feb 24, 2009 4:03 am

It was such a pain in the ass having to work two jobs. Ignore the fact that it gave him barely any time for sleep. It took him away from the most important thing. Priscilla. It meant there was little time for him and his sister to spend very much time together.. and worse still, it lent Pris to her penchant for wandering the whole bleeding world. An activity that he was completely against... but one he knew he couldn't stop her from doing. Not when he wasn't there. Vicious cycle.

Dominic was just getting started with job number two for the day. The one that Priscilla liked the best. Probably for two reasons. One because it was allowed her to go and wander like she did. the second being the fact he worked a warehouse dock, unloading trucks. Which she interpreted as a boat dock, and he was protecting ships and their cargo from pirates. Which had become a subject that had her howling and berating him for just a few nights ago... damn that had been fun. But now, these docks were just that. Loading areas where he drove this forklift around for hours in the middle of the night.

Tonight, though, was a lot different than the rest. She's got eyes of the bluest skies and if they thought of rain... The fact that his phone began to sing and vibrate wasn't unusual in itself. Pris always texted him to tell him she was okay. It took a while to get her to do it, but now it was a religious thing with her. But when he pulled it from his pocket, and saw the message... his forklift stopped dead in its track. Foot off the gas, staring at the screen.

Heart plus plus spiral. 7 4 4 8. Which, in text mode, spelled s h t.

For a few seconds, all he did was stare. The text he had hoped he never got. Priscilla's SOS call. But once the shock wore off, he was hurriedly pressing his two button, then call. Of course Pris was his first autodial. Mentally rushing her to answer while the phone sat against her ear. Riiiiiiiiiiiiing. ...... damn it, answer! Riiiiiiiiiiiiing. .... answer!

Then she did. "Pris? What's going on? Are you okay? What's happening?" ... cue the little twitch at the corner of his mouth at her voice. Of course he'd ask a thousand questions after a text like that! A few seconds of silence were required to decipher what she had said... no bus to the cinderella castle party, late for the ball... that party she was talking about? Yeah, that was tonight. So she was going to that, but... no bus... she hadn't dropped her shoe yet... she hasn't gotten there yet. And this taxi... taxi... this taxi she spoke of... was it the thing that had her sending that text?

"Okay... okay... where are you, Pris?" He was already releasing the seatbelt on his seat as he asked the question. Engine off. Claremount and Walnut... and there was that taxi reference again. Yep. This whole taxi thing was the source of her fear. That was a ways off, too...

"Okay. I'm on my way, Pris. Don't. Move. Stay off the bus. And stay away from that taxi." By now he was jumping off then forklift and starting to job from it. A full load still on its forks. Which caught the eye of the foreman, who spotted him just as he jumped off the docks and went booking for his car.

"Hey! Hyatt! Where the hell you think you're going!"

The screech of wheels was the only answer he got.

by Guest Wed Feb 25, 2009 12:30 am

don't. move. one of the last things dommy had said before he hung up, and the two words were like a ding-dong in the bell-like pendulum that was her mind. ding [don't].......dong [move]. as that thought repeated with all the laziness of a pendulum's smooth swing, priscilla had mimicked benjamin's cordial smile. because if you smiled, you didn't have to move very much at all. but. a ten minute smile? no. pris had to do something with poof while she waited for dommy, she couldn't just stand there a statue of Her Smile Lights Her Up.

ding [don't], dong [move], i have to do something with poof...the repetition of these words collected to frame a song as she watched benjamin move around the car. as the song in her mind grew, priscilla began to hum its tune - it was a tune where each note was either drastically higher or lower than the one before it. a hum of contrasts as she watched. thanks to this musical backdrop, she could tell how benjamin moved to music. or how music moved to him. or how both moved without even acknowledging each other. for every person this is always different.

poof moved in and out of music. that's what she decided. the timing of some of his movements seemed born from her procession of notes. others seemed to be what pulled her same procession of notes out of her. and sometimes there was a curious in-between where his movements seemed to slither between her notes in the small rests. "s-s-s-s-slick," was what she decided to name poof's quality, vocalizing it just before each of her pastels hit upon the hood of his car and benjamin found his resting perch. when they did, "tink. plink," she answered the sounds of her pastels.

pris' gaze lingered on the sight of them, and then her eyes moved slowly for a change. starting at benjamin's middle and creeping upwards. ten minutes, don't move. so as her eyes slowly traveled and looked over his every detail, she started to talk. "cerulean is good to paint skies because the blue is so pure, other blues let a little red or yellow sneak into bed with them but not cerulean, and it's permanent. isn't that a nice thought when you're making a sky, knowing that it's a sky that's never going to fade away even if your painting is on a wall in a home where the people don't even think about it anymore and the guests wrinkle their noses at it and it eventually sits at some garage sale they're having to make money to send their kids to college but no one buys it so it gets put in a trashbag with all the other unsold things and taken to the trash heap? because that's the important thing...not that the people who originally bought it or who it was given to forgot about it, or that their guests didn't like it, or that it'll live the rest of its life in the trash. it's that the sky will stay pure and won't ever ever fade no matter what happens around it. that's important. because what's around," a little gesture of her hand around their general area to indicate the world or life or whatever, "it makes people fade. don't you think?"

by the time she asked that pris' emerald eyes were set upon benjamin's face - as much of it as she could see under his hat anyway. there was a breath's worth of silence as her question hung, and her eyes darted to the pastels on the hood. "canary..." she mused, the tips of her right hand touching against the warm little lights which made up her dress over the stomach area. "is named after the bird which is named after some islands somewhere in one of the oceans. but it's never seemed right to me, to call that yellow a canary when it's so very different than the bird..." her eyes strayed to look upward and around them. she was scanning the tree canopies, looking for birds. "because if i were to do a portrait of a canary, a...normal portrait," where was a little face made when she added that for clarification, "well i couldn't just use that yellow to draw a canary. it would be bright too bright and need browns and little bits of black."

her head remained tilted slightly upwards and to the side as her eyes traded between him and the pastels again. "i don't know about a canary, but if there was a pastel named after me, when someone used it to paint my portrait i would want it to match my colors all on its own." firm earnest pressed into her words. she wasn't telling him all this for no reason, that's what her tone said.

during all of this, pris didn't once look up or down the streets and that was a purposeful choice. she knew that a bluff wasn't just one moment, that you had to keep thinking during the whole rest of the poker tournament. she didn't want to show expectation. even if it was twisting up her stomach into knots knots knots and her pendulum mind was still ding-donging, don't. move...

...i have to do something with poof. dommy wasn't here yet, and now there was a what next. she'd already treated benjamin to more words at one time than anyone and that surprised her. but even though her mind was nagging at her by asking why'd you say so much to him repeatedly, pris squared her shoulders and tried her very best to focus through it to say,

"now it's your turn to tell a story. you can tell me the story of how you got the taxi. because you're not really one, are you? a taxi driver. right?" that was what her gut told her when he drove up. if he had pulled up in a regular car, all of this would have happened very differently. and even with her stomach in knots knots knots and her mind fixated on a question she couldn't answer, she managed to say the above to him in a tone of natural strength, as if those were the rules of a game and they both knew it.

to her fixated mind she quickly answered, for the pastels. her mind never minded when she lied, so long as it got an answer.

by B.D. Adams Wed Feb 25, 2009 9:21 pm

Stall tactics, that's what she was initiating. It was the art of taking up time by doing one thing to allow - or while waiting for - something else to happen. Having picked up bits and pieces of her phone conversation it was clear that this is what she was doing. She had to stall in order for the 'cavalry' to arrive. All right, he could play along.

For a person who knew that his prey was going to be taken, and that he was soon to be the object of scorn and pique, this shrouded taxi driver was relaxed and arrogant in his pose. True, he could have gotten into his cab - with the pastels - and drove away, leaving the girl to stand along on the corner. But he didn't. If she wanted her colors they would have to be passed to someone’s hand, whether that hand was hers or that of the one who was on the way. Why should he leave when he had the opportunity to connect to another person? Let them come, he could wait.

At first she had seemed confused over what to do in order to take up the needed time, idle sounds of repetition coming from her lips. Benjamin had a few ideas on how to occupy the time and if she hadn't begun to speak his ideas would have come into play. Whatever those ideas were, would now be dismissed as he listened to her speak.

The girl had an interesting quality to her voice when she decided to use her own voice and not speak like someone else and she had decided to use it to tell him a story.

The story she had decided to tell was an interesting one. She was speaking about her blue color pastel, but the story could be used as a metaphor for something else. The purity of the sky, and how it stayed that way through the paintings journey and even after the end, he compared to those people who had 'pure hearts'. Though they were subjected to the world, with all of its corruption, they remained untouched. It didn't mean that they were oblivious to the world around them, only that did not let it taint them.

Of course, this was merely his take on that particular story and in her telling she could have meant nothing of the sort. Soon enough, after her short story of the other color (perhaps she didn't care as much about that one) she was asking him to tell a story. Benjamin. Tell a story. It was fortunate that she had given him a topic or else he could have told about anything.

During this time he had not moved from his spot against the car, and she hadn't moved, and so his statue-stance would continue. "I am, and have been, many things. There are many things yet that I can be." This was said in response to her question, a smile, bearing on the edge of sinister, played upon his lips.

"For this occasion you can say that I am a Maker. I can make things happen. You were in need of a taxi," his extra hand motioned to said vehicle. It was possible that his words would only serve to make her more wary. "So I made this one just for you, your personal carriage to keep you on your journey. You, Lovely, called for me."

He could have laughed; even though the humor of what he said would have been lost to her. There was no laughter, only the continuous cold stare from beneath the brim of his hat. "A simple ride is not the only thing that I can make happen for you."

He was taking on the role of a devil. "For instance," he stopped, letting the pause stretch and be filled with the din of the street.

"I can make your fears go away."

by Guest Thu Feb 26, 2009 2:05 am

when benjamin decided to play by the rules and talk, maybe he'd notice something pris couldn't control - or something she didn't realize she had to control, anyway, to keep her bluff as perfect as she thought it was. when he began to tell her a story, any tension that had seized her muscles into knots knots knots suddenly released like a breath. while the release didn't come with a literal breath, the shift into a more relaxed stance was a noticable one. it was relief. pris didn't know what she was afraid benjamin would do instead of telling her a story, but she was a flood of nevermind now that she didn't have to wonder about that anymore. don't move, ten minutes...but now that benjamin was talking it seemed like this 'don't move, ten minutes' would be okay.

all she had to do was listen. although pris' gaze did its constant resurvey of the area around them - though she was still being careful not to peer too much up and down the street - she was listening. with as much focus as she could. even during the moments she spoke under him, a habit of hers he'd remember from when he met her at the ching-a-ching cave. the first time she spoke underneath him was to shut up her still fixating mind. "for cerulean and canary," she mumbled with soft insistence while benjamin told her he was many things. her mind wasn't accepting the lie she told it about why she'd told benjamin so much. and she didn't like that. because her mind had never cared before. the frown that briefly creased her lips was because of that. not because of what benjamin said.

though what he said was enough to make her frown too. "maker," she echoed quietly. her voice wasn't mimicking this time, she was just repeating the word as he continued to talk. she thought she would need to remember it, that it would be important. "maker maker who says i called him but i didn't call him i didn't call anyone on my phone i called out, i called out 'taxi!' i yelled taxi. i yelled taxi and you weren't close by, so how did you hear me?" all of that was a quiet mutter under her breath as he talked, pris needing to hear her own voice in order to reason this through because her mind was working against her and nagging her by repeating, why did you say so much to him?

but it stopped nagging when he said fears. the one thing that could strike a very, very nasty chord in pris were statements like that. just ask her therapist. she'd ripped apart an entire bookcase of his once just because he wouldn't leave her alone about fears. and kept saying things like 'trust me', 'tell me', 'you're safe', 'let it all out', and 'we can make them go away'. when he didn't know the first thing about any of those things he said. why should she trust him? why should she tell him? why was she safe? why should she let it all out? and the most important part,

"some things don't go away until you're dead." pris said that through gnashed teeth, and her pretty dress of lights lights lights was illuminating quite a face. she'd narrowed her eyes to slits that were all the better to glare at him with, and she did the snarl that she'd done when she was staring at his teeth to do her own version of grandmother what big teeth i have. with the small lights casting strange halloween shadows on her face, she looked like a girl who could take a bite out of someone's arm and not feel bad about it.

and then it was gone. the expression didn't drain from her, draining was too slow. in the time a streak of lightening took, pris' expression returned to its usual neutral, slightly-curious-slightly-detached serenity. dommy had said don't move, but it had to be almost ten minutes now. and like her doctor had, poof needed to be tested. so pris moved.

first the movements were small. she opened the baggy of pastels she still clutched in her hand, lifting it up so that it was illuminated by the small lights covering her bust. but before she did anything else, she had something to say. her emerald green eyes switched between looking towards his eyes, nose and chin. so that she could generally look into his face when she said this. her tone was the same as it was when she said it was his turn and asked him those questions. again these were the rules of the game. "you keep cerulean and canary. and you draw me your portrait of a sky that won't fade. i want to see your sky. and see if it has no fear."

from the plastic baggy, she pulled out a pastel of a red hue. "alizarin crimson will help you." she said that with a sprightly smile to him, one that suggested calm before the mischief-storm. because dommy told her she wasn't supposed to move, pris stepped forward only as much as she needed to to be close enough to the car to drop the single pastel on the its hood where alizarin would land with a 'plink' a few inches away from its two fellows. then she closed the baggy, slipping it into her purse as she stepped back up on the curb to the spot where she was before. a little nod of her head, as if she was congratulating herself on a job well done.

then, as she resumed her regularly scheduled looking all around, she added soothingly, "don't worry, you don't have to do it tonight."

by Dominic Thu Feb 26, 2009 8:38 pm

The place she had told him was a little bit off, but Dominic had a pretty good grasp for the roads. Made mainly so because of having to ride around and track his sister down so many times when she went on one of her adventures. He had to take some serious twists and turns - at some serious speeds - but soon enough, he was blazing down Walnut, his little blue Focus whizzing around other cars, and in general just begging to be pulled over.

While he was blurring down the road, Dominic was being a total brother - and oddly enough, parent - by having a mini panic attack creating doomsday scenarios in his mind about the fate of his darling little sister. Pris kidnapped. Beaten. Raped. Murdered. Each one making his worry and fear spike a little higher. Thoughts that only served to get his foot to stomp down harder on the gas, to get him there quicker.

This was exactly what Dominic was dreading. As good as getting out of trouble as Priscilla was, he knew eventually that she would find herself in over her head, without a bolt hole to escape it. That was the reason behind all the reminding, the insistance that Pris always keep in contact with him when she went out wandering. And, the reason for the special codes. That way she could get the message to him quick, without too much obviousness to those around here.

Hopefully, the 'taxi' hadn't noticed.

Even as he caught up into the more narrow streets and heavier traffic, he wasn't slowing down all that much. So much so that when he neared the intersection, and saw the taxi and... the illuminated girl standing by the bus bench that could only have been Prissy - that the squealing of tires was what announced him on the scene. Slamming on the brakes, yanking the wheel hard to the side to cut across a lane of traffic to get to the curb, and come to a jerky halt behind the taxi.

Door opened, and out he popped. Not bothering to look anywhere else but Priscilla at the bus stop. The little whirring and clicking of the power locks unlocking the passenger side for her. As soon as she was ready. And... yeah, some prompting for her would come as well!

"Come on Prissy. Get in the car."

by B.D. Adams Sat Feb 28, 2009 9:34 pm

His story appeared to be well received. Her relaxed pose was noted but, like the words she muttered under her breath while he spoke, Benjamin chose not to acknowledge it. There were a couple reasons for this, one being that if this girl believed that he couldn't hear small utterances while he spoke then it was likely she would do it again. There were things that people would say -and do - when they thought that others were not aware.

He was very conscience of what was said, especially the question of how he had heard her. Maybe, just maybe, if she would have voiced the question formally he would have told her. There were somethings he did not mind exposing.

The reaction caused by his last line made him smile indefinitely, a wolfish grin as she gnashed her teeth. So, this girl did have bite and it was may have been centered around her fears. She had only reacted that way when he mentioned taking them. Though this display had only lasted mere moments, he had seen it. The grin he gave her acted as the perfect counter to her snarl and glare. This bit of information was absorbed and stashed away for later use.

Still Benjamin did not say anything, in the distance he heard sounds of an approaching vehicle. True, they were on the street and all manner of vehicle passed by, but since she had sent out that signal he was keeping tabs on everything that had a chance of mingling with them. What he did do was step a bit closer.

From within her bag she withdrew a pastel and stepped forward to drop it on the cars hood. How lovely, she was giving him another one of her items. Not only that, but she was requesting that he give her something as well: a picture. Now, Benjamin was not an artist of any note, but that did not mean that he could not draw. Even if he personally could not there were a few souls in his collection that could.

The art of using souls had its conveniences.

The early sound of an approaching vehicle drew ever closer and, just as Pris had finished belaying the task to Benjamin, and he began to wrap his fingers around the pastels, her 'Calvary' arrived. He didn't pause in retrieving the pastels nor did he shift to put more distance between himself and the girl. No, he simply carried on and paid this new addition to the scene no more attention than what was given by his side vision.

Until he had all three colors within his grasp. Then he straightened and, with a slight turn of his head regarded the 'calvary'. Fortunately the man did not hit his car.

"You should do as he says," said as he turned those shadowed eyes towards the girl, the three pastels going into his pocket. "Prissy."

by Guest Mon Mar 02, 2009 1:21 am

once her glowering, gnashing moment was gone, it didn't come back. and wouldn't come back, especially since dommy her hero was here. even before the car pulled up, she knew he was coming - her always darting eyes had seen his car coming down the road, though her face or body language didn't change tip benjamin off. she kept the majority of her glances darting back to benjamin, watching him most in between darts to look at the pastels he was picking up, the surrounding people-cars-trees-buildings, his taxi and the street.

the only shift in her body before dommy pulled up was her weight squirming from one hip to the other, and her hand touching over her radiantly lit stomach to soothe it as it tied into new knots knots knots. benjamin was taking three of her pastels, and they would become his, never hers again and would be trained to his fingers no longer hers. she had given them to him voluntarily and she knew she had to do that, she knew she had to see a painting of his sky that never fades to see if there really was no fear, but that didn't mean that doing so was easy for the sixteen-year-old. the soft sound of a pained little whimper came from the girl as he scooped up her colors, but she said nothing.

pris would be able to tell a lot from whatever he drew, as her warped mind saw details in ways that no other could possibly see them, and it saw details in a way that was disturbingly accurate. it was the closest a human being could get to seeing into someone's soul, perhaps. if a picture told a regular person a thousand words, things people drew they themselves told pris hundreds of thousands of words. it was that strong a gift, if it could be called that. the only one she really had, besides her art. so if it was someone else's essence that did the painting, that is something she her skewed mind would tell her right away.

even though she already knew dommy her hero was almost here, when he pulled up she couldn't keep her bluffing face. a beautiful, beaming smile bloomed over her features and in that moment priscilla looked like a regular teenage girl who had costumed herself in wondrous dress of tiny pink, orange and yellow lights. in the presence of those she felt safe with, some of pris' odder behaviors were so very far away, unneeded or usually unable to touch her when she was in a state of comfort. usually. episodes still happened even in the company of dommy, sometimes.

it would be interesting to see the transition, the nature of her expression changing when her eyes darted back to benjamin after he spoke her name. the radiant smile was gone, replaced by that neutral detached effect. "pris," she asserted with an almost haughty touch. "to you i'm pris." there was only one person who got away with calling her prissy, and that was the working class knight in dickies and workboots standing next to his car door.

her point made, pris walked with graceful dignity towards the passenger's side door of dommy's car. just before she passed benjamin, she paused long enough to give a curtsey. "charmed," she said to him. even if this man tied her into knots knots knots, it was only appropriate for someone who was going to a cinderella ball to curtsey and say that. cinderella would have. so she did. no, pris did not ask benjamin his name. she already knew it. maker poof.

would pris actually be allowed to go to the cinderella ball? she was trying not to think about that, probably because she was afraid the answer was no. instead she went to the passenger's door, pulling it open. she took her time getting inside, she didn't want to crush any of the lights lights lights. placing her big black shoulder bag on her lap, she didn't bother with her seatbelt. not yet. she was too busy trading her gaze between benjamin and dommy, and would be too busy doing that until dommy got in the car.

was she nervous for dommy? maybe. maybe she was nervous for both of them, and would be until the moment dommy pulled the car away.

by Guest Mon Mar 02, 2009 11:35 pm

If Prissy had been looking for a confrontation, she would be very disappointed. She should know better. Dominic was decidedly not a fighter. Too slight of build, and untrained in the art of fighting to start tangling up with strangers. Sure, the Louisville Slugger in the backseat could have possibly evened up the odds, but as it were, the 'taxi,' or whom he assumed she was referring to when she referred to it, was on the other side of his taxi, and not attempting to stop her from doing exactly what Dominic had said. Though Dominic stayed where he was, standing beside his open car door, waiting for his sister to get inside. Once she started to, he allowed his gaze to break from her as she left his sight. Lifting to regard the man that had spooked her into that text. He seemed pretty normal to him? But he knew something was off. Pris spent a lot of time at the track and in even worse places at god awful hours of the night, and ran into people who most likely were much sleazier and dangerous looking than this taxi driver was. So something must be underneath this facade. Once the door slammed shut, Dominic's eyes again left the man - never having spoken a word to him - as he got himself back into the car.Backing up, then pulling out around the taxi and back into traffic. And... off they went.

ping pong, ping pong went her eyes between dommy and poof until her brother got into the car. when he did, pris relaxed a little bit. enough that she let out the breath that she was holding, and the knots knots knots calmed down in her stomach a bit. when he worked his magic with the car and they pulled away, then pris really relaxed. slumping and slouching back into her seat like a rag doll, when she let all the tension of her muscles go all at once she realized just how tense she'd been. she made a face, wrinkling her nose and sticking her tongue out a little bit. she didn't like the fact that maker poof had gotten her so tensed up. she had a whole wonderful minute of relaxation until she realized that dommy had to leave work to come pick her up, and that he might be mad, and that she wasn't going to get to go to the ball, and all of those things started the knots twisting all over again. she shoved her black bag to the car's floor at her feet, and her hand started rubbing over her stomach again. not only was she trying to calm the knots, but it wasn't until now that she realized it was almost nine o' clock and she hadn't eaten since lunch. on cue, her stomach growled really loud. but she didn't whine that she was hungry. instead all she said was, "i won't get to drop my shoe at the cinderella ball, after i made this nice dress...." even when she said that it wasn't a whine. it was actually very soft, and a little sad. pris didn't get invited to things often. she had really been looking forward to it.

He was watching her out of the corner of his eye. Watching her while she slowly relaxed, then went into full slump in her seat. He always kept her in his sights. Even if just in the very corner. Always in sight. Though... that wasn't all that difficult, when she was all lit up! She certainly had a way of making herself the center of attention, didn't she? Dominic kept on driving down the street they were on... what was it, Walnut? Quiet for a few minutes. Until he heard the rumble of her belly, and the small, sad little murmur from Pris. Was Dominic mad at her? No. Had he been mad, he would have been yelling at her by now. "... are you okay?" Would be his first question for her.

when he asked her that the girl squirmed in her seat a bit. whenever people asked her about her feelings, pris didn't like it very much. she didn't deal with her feelings very well at all. if anyone, dommy was the only one who could get away with asking her about her feelings and maybe getting a realistic answer. but even then, when she was really having feelings she usually skirted the issue. like now. "i haven't eaten since lunch..." was her answer to his question, trailing off. since they ate lunch together, he'd remember when that was. "and..." the sentence trailed off before it really started. now pris' fingers were picking lightly at the small bulbs that lined over her stomach, a nervous little fidget. finally, finally she said what was on her mind. "do you think they'll miss me? at the ball? most of them don't know me...but donnie duck might be there. and the epiphany. and..." a little shrug. her darting eyes looked down at her stomach, and she continued picking at the lights. now that she was safe and sound with dommy, benjamin would be all but forgotten unless dommy brought him up.

It was a good thing that he wasn't asking about her feelings! He was trying to get a gauge of what happened. And since she wasn't crying or freaking out outwardly or anything, he kind of assumed nothing really physical happened. She just got spooked, or was afraid of something he said or did. All that really mattered was that she was in his passenger seat and not killed. Or beaten. Or raped. Or anything else. She was safe. Taking a turn at the next light, he kept on driving, staying quiet again. Listening to her when she answered his question... kind of. "I'm sure they will, Pris. Not that I know who any of them are, except your Donnie Duck guy..." The guy she brought home with her for dinner one night. Hope he liked the drawing of his apple. "But I'm sure they will miss you. And I think they'll be understanding too." One hand off the wheel to reach over toward Pris. Letting that hand lay atop her shoulder and give a little squeeze. "As long as we're out... you want to go get something to eat? Or should I just bring you home?"

"i don't really know who any of them are either. and they don't know me. i think that's why they invited me." because they didn't know any better. a little sigh down at her stomach, which answered her with another gurgle. poor pris. "i thought if i made a dress that would light up the room someone would ask me to dance, like prince charming asked cinderella, and then we would have lots of dances and because you gave me a curfew i would have to run off right when he asked me to....do something else that you do at dances....and he would try to chase after me and i could drop my shoe...." she tapped her glass slippered foot against the floor of the car as she confessed all that, "and i could play cinderella for a night." and that squeeze to her shoulder was all she needed. pris started shifting, turning her body so that she was sideways in her seat and facing him. he got her head on his shoulder, and her arm over him, and her pouting lip. sometimes a girl just wanted to be babied. "i want to do somewhere in my pretty pretty dress, dommy," she said that with whined urgency in reply to his question. home was totally not going somewhere.

As he listened to her talk about all her plans and hopes for the evening, Dominic couldn't help but smile a little. She had such a great mind! He wished she would have made it to that ball, now. She would have been so happy. And that was what he was always trying to make sure she was. Which was why she got to wander around at night instead of staying home alone. Why she was given free reign around the place they lived. Why whenever she wanted him, she got him. Which was why when Pris slid herself over and draped herself around him, Dominic didn't even bat an eye. He had vast experience with babying and consoling Prissy. The hand that had been on her shoulder was now wrapped around her side and back. Hugging her gently into his side. And the slight cant of his head to let his rest against the top of hers on his shoulder was done with practiced ease. "Well, what do you want to do in your dress, Prissy? I thin about the closest you're going to get to a ball tonight would be dancing by moonlight with me... and I have to believe that is totally not what you have in mind."

little did brother dommy know. just because it may have not be what she originally had in mind, that didn't mean that she wouldn't think it was a good idea. they might have bonked heads a little bit as prissy picked hers suddenly up, green eyes wide as she said, "oh! oh! yes! the cinderella ball it had dinner first and then it had dancing so we can have a romantic dinner and we won't have to have candles because my dress will be enough lights and so we can just have lots and lots of flowers all over the table and we can smash cake in each other's faces like they did at ricky's wedding," their cousin who got married last year, "and then we can go to the cemetery and dance with the ghosts in the moonlight because they need people to dance with too and you said you would go with me to see where bren and i went wading in the mud and we can bring charlotte the flowers from our dinner table, and she'll have flowers and feel like what's written on her stone is true again that she's beloved forever!" that was the most excited that pris sounded in ages. what had dommy done.

... yes. What the hell had he done? He forgot for just a moment that he was behind the wheel of a Focus going 65 down the highway as she rattled off that whole slew of activities for them to do. Was... she... serious? Because by the way her voice kept getting louder and louder, and the way she started to talk faster and faster, and the look on her face told him... yeah, she was completely dead serious about this. Way to talk yourself into the oven there, Hansel. "... really?" Taking a second to steal a peek her way before turning his eyes back to the road... because, yeah, you are driving, Dommy! "You really want to go out and do all of that?"

"yes yes yes yes!" the wilting priscilla had now gotten her second wind, and all trace of tension, knots or sadness had passed like a fleeing storm. now benjamin and his taxi were really forgotten, as she busied herself with looking out the window to find a restaurant that might have lots of flowers, or a florist that might have lots of flowers that they could buy to put on their table. "do you know where we are, dommy? i don't, i've never really been out this way before so i don't know where there is to eat not like i've been to any restaurant that has flowers all over the table how about that one? or that one! i don't think that one." as happened sometimes, there were a string of restaurants just off the highway. the first one had some fancy french name. the second one was some sort of fancy steakhouse. and the third, that was probably a glorified denny's which is why she could tell just by the sign that it wasn't the sort of place that had flowers on the table. "this way we'll both have valentines and we won't have to sit home and it will be really special and we'll remember it for the rest of our lives and always keep the pictures in our phones." oh yeah. she was dead set on this.

Yeah, he was officially stuck on this one. There was no getting out of it. Oh well... it got her out of her brooding, at least? If taking her out on a romantic dinner as his valentine and running around all night with her was what would make her smile... so be it. "... okay then. I think I'm a little bit underdressed?" As he pulled into the right lane to get himself off the highway at the next exit. "But maybe one of them will have a nice blazer or something for me to wear, huh?" Good thing he brought his wallet... "Pick one. Whichever one you want to go to, is the one we will go to, valentine."

by Guest Mon Mar 02, 2009 11:38 pm

"i tried you dress you in something that would be better for fighting pirates and you wouldn't let me!" said with a little whine. that had been a fun night, a few months ago. if only dommy took her to where he worked, maybe she would let the pirates thing go. "um um um the middle one. that said steakhouse. so we know what we'll be eating. the first one i didn't get what they were calling themselves, i don't like eating food from places i can't understand. pris was squirming all over the place now, thrilled that she was going to light up a room after all...and a cemetery too! it didn't get better than this. "hm hm hm maybe i have something you could wear to dress up with, dommy..." uh oh. she was reaching for her big black shoulderbag, who knew what she had in there.

"Let's not try that, okay?" Dommy about jerked them off the road when he reached over to reclose her bag! Keeping his hand clamped over it too, until she was ready to let it go! "I'm sure the place has something for me to put on, Prissy. And besides that, a pirate outfit would not have been very romantic either, Prissy Pie. So yeah, let's just stick with what I got now, okay?" She had pointed out the steakhouse, so after getting off the highway, onto the service road, and back down to the steakhouse he drove.

she screwed up her face like a lemon. that was something he should be used to seeing, at least when she was younger. where you didn't know if she was going to bust out laughing, crying, yelling or if she scrunched up her face for nothing at all. in this particular instance when she relaxed her face she blew a gigantic raspberry, her spit flying all over the car with no windshield wipers to save poor dommy. "phhhfffffffffttttttttt." she made that last bit sound as much as a really disgusting fart as possible, before sticking her nose up in the air and saying with great queenly dignity. "fine. fine dommy doughnut. fine." a pause, long enough that her next really loud emphatic word would sound out of place and abrupt. "BUT. some people. find pirates. romantic."

... good lord. The entire interior of his poor car was now juicy with Prissy's spit. Not to mention the side of his head and face. He just sat there quiet for a few seconds, before turning to her. "Yeah, well guess what? Pirates are NOT romantic! Pirates are killers, thieves and scoundrels. And when they find a cute, sweet little girl..." Looking right at her when he said this next part! "They love to steal them away so they can share her with the whole crew." How did that sound, Prisserella? Turning off the car... and wiping the drool off the sides of his face... "Swashbucklers... those are the ones you should think are romantic. Because they like to charm the ladies and make them swoon... not share them with all their buddies."

uh oh. prissy went quiet after that. all of the sudden she was thinking back to maker poof. and his taxi. and how he said he'd come when she called him. and how he started promising no fears and all the rest. "hm. hm hm hm," pris hummed that thoughtfully to herself as the gears were turning in her head. the first time she saw him he'd come out of a cave. "he was hiding his booty," she murmured to herself, "and the cave was trying to say ching-a-ching to tell the police?" what she said was more than a nonsense answer to get her mind to stop fixating, she was really considering it. "do swashbucklers keep pirates from making things that don't belong to them their booty?" she was kind of wondering if that was his job title at work.

Pris was slipping a bit. Something he said had derailed her. Or, gave her a moment of clarity. Well, clarity for her. Those winding thought patterns of hers all coming around to one point were interesting and cool. ".. well, sometimes, yeah, I guess. A swashbuckler is usually not a bad guy... and since they have the same sort of job as a pirate, since they do steal sometimes... I guess they cross pirates sometimes." Not really even making the connection she was making... just answering the question.

hm hm hm. pris sat there staring off at the parking lot of the something or other fancy steakhouse they were about to eat at, thinking all of this over. click-click-click went her brain, making all sorts of new and strange connections. "maybe you should get a job as a swashbuckler, dommy....i did tell him to paint me a sky that never fades he's going to come back...." and then, pris' eyes landed on the sign. the one she saw from the highway. and as if it just occurred to her and her stomach she cried with victory, "we're here!" and the pensive spell was broken. pris slid her bag over her shoulder and she hopped out of the car, far less worried about squashing lights than she was when she sat down. the people in this restaurant were in for a shock of their lifetime, with how she was dressed! pink and white striped stockings, glass slippers, hair jewels and all.

Dominic was used top people looking at the two of them oddly whenever he took Pris out. He sure didn't give a damn what they thought, and Pris was either blissfully unaware, or just didn't care enough to let it bother her. He hoped it was the latter, actually. Meant she knew what was going on around her. "... you'd have to let me know where to apply for that kind of job, Pris. Not too many taverns down by the docks I work at..." And then, just like that, she was back. And flinging herself out of the car, and as always, making Dominic jump out and chase after her!

[fin pris and dommy in this thread!]

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