leave your shoes at the door {kel and eos}

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leave your shoes at the door {kel and eos} Oct 15, 2014 2:01:18 GMT -5

Post by ᴥ on Oct 15, 2014 2:01:18 GMT -5

e o s g r e e n e

There’s nothing more sobering than being sold to the highest bidder. I stood stock still as the man who’d made my life hell for the past six months regarded me as nothing more than a fresh piece of meat. ”He’s cute, Marge, figure we could get a good sum for him.” Anger, now a foreign emotion, burned across my skin and more than anything I wanted to sink my fist into the smug Bastard’s face. Yet like a beaten puppy (was that all I was?) I flinched at the mere emotion, expecting discipline for even daring to feel. I’d long since forgotten what it was to be human. So I stand, hands clasped tightly behind my back, as they look me up and down. His customers whispered and laughed, free to talk amongst themselves. A luxury I would never have.

They’d dressed me in a black suit, better garb than I’d ever possessed back in Ten. I hated every inch of it. It restricted me, the movements I was able to make stiff and unsure. The loose fabric strangled me, beads of sweat building upon my brow. I’d rather be naked than wear this a second longer. That’s what hurts, however, because Avoxes don’t get to rather. We have a choice, to obey or to be beaten. I chose the former because the latter hurts like a bitch.

I held no hope that my new home would be any different than this. Rich sons of bitches kicking me down because they could. Perhaps they’d make me sleep outside too, restrict the meals I was allowed and dress me in fancy clothes as though I were a doll. Even that was better than some of the conversation I could make out from my vantage point only a few feet away from my potential masters. If I were ever allowed one wish, it would be to beg and plead those dark-eyed figures not take me away today. Alas, even that pathetic action was impossible without a tongue.

His swollen hand takes a fistful of my hair, yanking upward and sending a sharp pain throughout my scalp as several hairs were brutally torn away. ”Lucky you ain’t mine anymore, ey son?”

Don’t call me son you abusive-

I give a curt nod, eyes closed as he rips more hairs from my head. My face is smooth as stone, jaw clenching and unclenching as the pain intensifies. A hearty laugh echoes throughout the room. ”Perfect little bitch, he is!” The disgusting man announces, ”Shoulda seen him when we first bought him. Wasted good money, Marge telled me! I took good pleasure in breaking him, I tell ya, he can take quite a beating. Don’t go soft on this boy, give him one good kick for me!” And suddenly my head was shoved forward with such force I could hear my neck pop. I stumbled hard, falling to my knees in front of who I could only assume had purchased me. I’d have been embarrassed, had I any dignity left. Instead I stand in front of them, brushing dust off my carpet-burned knees.

They were a slave trader of sorts, only a stop until I found a new home, a new master. I’d go quickly, they assured me, young and fresh-faced as I was. (Well, It would have been fresh had the bastard’s wife not had a go at me the day before my sale. I’d put too much sugar into her tea and had been “trying to make her fat”. How I wished I could tell her you can’t paint a pig pinker.) The trader interacted with me as little as humanly possible and for long hours I was in a barren room. Nothing but four walls and a single door, the silence was enough to drive me mad.

It was two days before I was bought. They didn’t feed me, didn’t speak to me in all those hours. It was the sound of my own breathing that kept me sane, the gentle sobs that would overwhelm me for hours at a time. It was all that was left of my voice now. When they found me curled up upon the floor, another trader scolded the man who’d brought me here. Her tone was that of a mother reprimanding a child for forgetting to feed their dog. (”We can’t have this thing looking so sick upon Arrival!”) The woman did not apologize to me, simply sunk her nails into my arm and pulled me away to be fixed. ~~Though I doubt such is possible anymore.~~ I didn’t fight as she undressed me, stood there quietly as I was washed. It was an utterly violating experience yet I was powerless to protest. Even if I dared struggle, it’d only be met with a palm across my cheek. I ate and drank like a king, the whole process painfully slow as I tore off tiny chunks of meal and shoved them into my mouth with a vigor long since forgotten. It was all I had to remind myself that there was no point getting used to this.

It was like a sick sort of carriage, at least twenty Avoxes loaded onto the same truck, dropped off at their homes and never seen again. The automatic machines were terrifying enough, I’d never even heard of such a thing back in Ten, but how could one handle so many of us? The others seemed to regard me with pity, the ones who shared my space were veterans. I could see it in their eyes as they all shifted uncomfortably within the tight space. A girl who was pressed against my back took violent, labored breaths and I swear I could hear her heart racing. Part of me wanted to comfort her, but I was too terrified to act.

”Eos Greene!” and it was my time. The machine gave a startling jolt and the lot of us were thrown forward. Apologetic shrugs and nods followed me my entire journey to the entrance. A death rattle sounded as my transporter threw the metal door upwards, exposing a blue sky and white clouds. He regarded us with suspicious eyes, as though expecting any one of us to bolt out the door any second now. I wanted to laugh because I doubt the thought had even crossed our minds.

Walking upon the gravel was startling. It’d been so long since I’d really, truly, been outside and I allowed myself one deep breath. No matter how polluted, it was nice to feel the wind through my hair. Those who had been my comrades for long hours of riding disappeared behind the metal door once more, sealed away with a padlock. Overkill, I thought, for slaves who’d had any rebellion beaten out of them.

He escorts me to the door and it’s about the kindest thing anyone has done for me in half a year. ”Good luck, kid.”

Thanks. I open my mouth to reply, closing it as soon as cold wind hit the stump of what was once a muscle. Nodding is the only reply I can give. He raises one burly fist and I duck away, awaiting white hot pain from wherever his fist chose to strike. Instead there was only a knocking at the door. He looks at me with amusement and maybe pity before slapping me on the shoulder like a coach would his team and returning to the death trap called a machine.

I bite my lip, anxiously awaiting an answer. My hand finds my hair and despite myself, I run my fingers through it quickly. Naturally, it was dark, though the Bastard had been known to change it on a whim, whenever he grew bored of looking at me. ("Why the long face kid?! Me and Marge din't buy ya to see a pout. You're pretty, act like it!") Disgusting. I'm more than terrified, my hands shake within their pockets as what seems like hours pass. Were they home? Would I just be taken back to the prison and left for another two days until purchase? Please, please answer the door.

My fears are quelled in an instant, the man's engine revving and disappearing down the street.

And I’m alone to face whatever – whoever – lay beyond this door.

{'cause i'm only human
and i bleed when i
f a l l d o w n ;

Last Edit: Feb 9, 2015 0:23:24 GMT -5 by ᴥ

the m o o n controls the t i d e, it could cause you to d r o w n

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leave your shoes at the door {kel and eos} Oct 15, 2014 15:44:38 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Oct 15, 2014 15:44:38 GMT -5

K E L V A N D A M

Finding a reason to get up in the morning is getting far more difficult. Of course there is my daily routine, it must be followed to perfection. I can't go to bed until it's all done. The only thing laying in bed all day does is put off said routine and push my regular bedtime back further, which won't do at all. The reason there is a routine is because it must be followed, otherwise what is the point of having one?

The problem is, that there is no longer any motivation. I'm at an impasse in my writing. For the first time in a very long time, I have no idea how to move forward. I have exhausted my creativity. Somehow I have run dry and so I am destined to fade into nothing, ignoring the calls of my publicist and the letters he sends me in plastic sleeves by the dozen, all of them fans questioning when my next book will be out. Sometimes they send me their theories of what is going to happen or what has happened and somehow they all seem better than my own and I feel like an idiot.

Some days I sit down to write and I kill off Simon or Elend loses his memory and becomes a war machine again, Simon is forgotten and the humans fall, everything they did, all that they went through to change things is lost. The book ends in blood and horror. Often times I just sit there in front of the typewriter, fingers splayed across the keys, nothing. There's just nothing. I have no inspiration, no motivation. I am too far removed from the world. The only one I interact with is Eva and she has no tongue. It's been too long.

I turn over with a sigh, burrowing deep down into the covers of my bed, tangling the sheets between my legs. It's warm in here, I'm putting off breakfast for as long as I can. Maybe today I won't even eat breakfast. The thought of rebellion dissipates in my head as soon as I think of it. I'll eat breakfast meticulously. I follow the routine. One time my mother tried to make me skip a step and I got so anxious that I was sick on the kitchen floor. Never again. My mouth went raw from all the brushing. I couldn't get the taste out.

I'm up ten minutes later, unable to lay in past nine in the morning. It gets too boring, which is another problem. Everything is far too boring. I know everything there is to know about Eva, despite the language barrier. She gestures with her hands a lot and I've come to learn some of it after nearly four years. So we can hold a descent conversation if we try. She's happier left alone, as am I. I doubt that she even likes me. It gets lonely sometimes.

I've moved down from two and a half pieces of toast to the more even two pieces. Both have an even amount of honey and peanut butter spread over them to the edges. I eat the toast with a knife and fork so I don't get any on my hands. With breakfast, I read the morning news. Eva prepares it every morning for me, each piece laminated in the machine that I bought years ago for this purpose. It may seem excessive but I am excessive and incredibly paranoid but it's better to be safe than sorry.

After breakfast I shower for approximately ten minutes, sometimes fifteen. After showering, I perform the basic bathroom rituals: combing my hair, shaving, brushing my teeth, shaping my eyebrows, moisturizing, and all the other little rituals to keep me healthy. I then change into one of the outfits I keep prearranged in the closet and the preparation portions of the routine are complete.

I then choose one book on the house's interface, bringing it up in the catalog for study. I did not attend school, it would have been impossible. The mere idea of it is laughable. Instead I have maintained self study by reading and learning everyday. Today I choose a political book on the thirty-fourth Hunger Games and settle down to read.

Two hours later I am at my typewriter, staring at blank pages with nothing on my mind and a knock comes at my door.

I make the publicist warn me of his arrival but no one else comes here except for the grocery man but he uses the kitchen door. I never see him. No one comes to the front door but my publicist. For one wild moment I wonder if it is my Mother. It can't be though. She would have rung first and I would have been cold to her and she would use my coldness as an excuse not to come so it is not her.

I open the drawer in my bedside table and remove the black surgical mask that I keep neatly folded inside. Slipping it on, I step into the hallway, where Eva is already at the front door and looking through the peephole to see who is there. She stands there for some time and then turns to me with a shrug. I gesture for her to move out of the way and then step forward, looking through the fish-eye myself.

As my eye focuses, a boy comes into view, light hair and a nervous expression on his face.

I stumble backwards, away from the door.

I haven't spoken to anyone my own age in a good two years, let alone been near someone. They're disrespectful at this age, angry things. They don't follow the rules for being near me. They touch me and don't wash their hands and they breath all over me and it's gross.

I turn to look at Eva, a look of complete horror on my face. She rolls her eyes at me and begins to unlock it despite my obvious disagreement with the motion. The problem is, I've always been extremely lenient with Eva. Something about trying to order my elders about does not sit right so Eva mostly does as she pleases. The door is opening whether I like it or not.

This is not part of the routine.

Eva pulls the door open and steps respectively to the side. A breeze enters the hall and I stiffen almost immediately. I haven't so much as stepped outside or cracked a window in at least a year. I remain where I am, nearly two feet away from the threshold. We stand there in silence for a long moment, blinking at each other.

"What do you want," I utter, not having had to deal with niceties for a very long time now, I sound exactly like a mannerless idiot.

Last Edit: Oct 15, 2014 15:47:36 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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leave your shoes at the door {kel and eos} Oct 15, 2014 17:29:00 GMT -5

Post by ᴥ on Oct 15, 2014 17:29:00 GMT -5

e o s g r e e n e

I don't know what game he's playing, but I don't like it. He's tall and lean and might have been pretty had a surgical mask not been concealing half his face. Was he trying to humiliate me? The words he spoke stung as though he'd brought his hand across my face. I'd never been asked what I wanted, it didn't matter. I always did what Achilles wanted or the bastard wanted or his wife wanted. The words held such meaning to me and the first time they were uttered were from lips I couldn't see. One who had bought me only hours prior and one who now acted as though I were asking if he had time to hear about our lord and savior. My jaw clenches and I know that I cannot be angry at his teasing. Anger only leads to pain and I was done with hurting because of my own sense of pride. I didn't get to have pride.

My eyes meet his with exasperation. I wasn't going to open my mouth and show him that I couldn't respond to his shitty question because he must have known the answer already. Right? Had they delivered me to the wrong address? The driver was long gone now and there was no way for me to flag him down. No matter if this man was supposed to be my owner or not, I was his now. I've been a slave for so long the thought of wandering the Capitol free is more terrifying than a beating. Hands against my skin had lost their meaning long ago. They're petty and stupid and done just because one can. I wonder if he will beat me because I have not answered. I didn't expect kindness when I arrived, but somehow his words burned worse than the cigars the bastard pressed into my skin.

Fear eventually casts my eyes downwards, picking at a loose strand upon my shirt. His gaze feels like daggers upon my skin. Like I'm a child once more, being scolded for some wrong doing Achilles had coerced me into. Was the man ill? Crazy? I'd never so much as seen a surgical mask outside of the hospital. They'd often worn one around me when I was recovering from the peacekeeper's beating.

What do I want? I want my fucking tongue back, that's what I want.

I've long since forgotten how to feel angry, but the thoughts manage to bypass the Bastard's "lessons" every now and again. Although not eager to be sleeping out here tonight with my face damn near caved in, I wanted to yell at the man. Force him to hear the grunts that were the only thing I was capable of speaking. I wanted some sympathy and a warm bed to sleep in at night. I wanted to be well fed and to be treated like a normal human being. I want so many things I cannot have.

This man doesn't care what I want, whether he knew I was coming or not, he doesn't care. No one cares about the little rebel turned avox who got his ass beat because he was tired of being a foot stool for the overweight Ms. Bastard. I don't think those two ever bothered to learn my name. Three simple letters they couldn't remember. That's how important I am. Not even three letters worth. It makes me more sad than angry.

I hadn't noticed just how violently I shake now. A mixture of fear and anxiety seizing my hands and rocking them back and forth. My eyes have not met the man's in a long while, shoulders hunched over themselves and head tilted downward in an attempt to make myself look as small as possible. Please don't hurt me. My body was the only voice I had left, smiles and frowns, the way I held myself speaking volumes to me. Who am I? I can't tell them anymore, but I can show them. I'm a broken piece of furniture left out on the street to decay. I'm a wall painted so many times over it has begun to peel and no one cares enough to paint it again. I'm a dog kicked too many times. No one has ever read the words printed across my forehead. ("Pretty boy, get me that water!" At the time I hadn't a single thing to drink in twenty-three hours and nine minutes. They beat me for taking a sip. But better beaten than dead.)

Never once in my time here have I thought of giving in. It'd be easy, just to die. The bastards had brought me to the brink so many times that just fading away had been more than tempting. But life was so precious, it's a miracle even to be born. The fact the the stars aligned and mother met father and father loved mother and when Achilles was born they wanted another child even though he was a handful and then I was here. We were poor and hungry and had little more than our farm and the pretty flower boxes I kept on my windowsill but I was alive. And when I'd been sitting on the cold stones during a thunderstorm, when I couldn't tell what were tears and what was rain upon my face I was alive. Breathing. The most beautiful music I've ever heard it that of a heart beating. Call me an optimist but that's a lot more than some people have. I came to be by a one in a million chance and I never got the proper opportunity to thank mother.

The man's house was huge. I could only see his feet now, and the space beyond it but there were the legs of tables and chairs. The floor was impeccably clean and I wondered if I'd even be needed in a place like this. The Bastards had been pigs, throwing wrappers and food onto the floor just so I'd have to get on my knees and scrub the wine stains out of the carpet and then beat me because I hadn't done it right. Father had usually done the cleaning back in Ten, he had an awful back and preferred mundane housework to tending the fields and the cows because it caused him so much pain. Mother didn't mind, she'd kiss him on the cheek and grab our hands spraying the hose on Achilles and me as we threw hay into the cow's field.

I missed it all so much.

Until I remembered it was my brother's fault.

That I was here because he'd set me up.

And yet I still blame myself.

{let the rain
wash away all the pain
o f y e s t e r d a y ;

Last Edit: Feb 9, 2015 0:25:31 GMT -5 by ᴥ

the m o o n controls the t i d e, it could cause you to d r o w n

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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

leave your shoes at the door {kel and eos} Oct 16, 2014 5:42:22 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Oct 16, 2014 5:42:22 GMT -5

K E L S I E R V A N D A M
♂ ☆ 19 ☆ ♕

The very first thing that most people note about me when I open my mouth is that I sound like a rude asshole. This is true. I am both of those things but not really by choice, it's just how I was raised. I don't try to be rude, in fact I try to be polite on most occasions only because I've found that when you're polite people tend to leave you alone. When I'm uncomfortable or afraid, that's when I come across as a rude asshole. Unfortunately I am uncomfortable and afraid during ninety percent of the interactions I am forced to deal with throughout the year. People don't think that health issues or my obsessive compulsions have an effect on the way that I interact with people but they do. Somehow my good intentions become twisted and I throw up the rigid mask that my mother helped me build from a life of her neglect. I come across as cold as my stories.

I have done it again.

I don't know how this time, most likely just by standing here. It's exhausting just trying to figure it out, which is reason number two for why I don't like going outside. Going outside means germs and interactions and I'm very bad at both of them. My body can't handle the germs, my brain the interactions. I make a mess of everything. Which is something that everyone who actually knows me is well aware of. Even my readers should know by now, I've been in the papers enough times for all the things that happened four years ago. Divorcing your parents sort of makes you a terrible human being, especially when your mother is a socialite that gardens the sympathy of every important person in the Capitol for her tragic son.

I received so many letters in that first year, telling me that I was a horrible human being for doing that to my own mother and father. Sometimes I got letters telling me that I was right to do what I did and that I should stay strong but those letters always seemed quieter in my head when the loudness of what I had done was still resting on my shoulders.

Whatever I have done here is shouting at us, loudly, in an embarrassing manner.

He looks like he wants to punch me for it. Which is weird and stressful because he's the one appearing out of the blue on my doorstep. He also has a really nice jawline and his shoulders are broader than mine but he's shorter than me. Most people are shorter than me. I'm pretty tall. He isn't that much shorter. But shorter. I don't know he's average maybe. I didn't notice what colour his eyes were. I mostly just noticed that he has hands and hands carry germs and he's wearing shoes and shoes carry germs. My fear of germs far outweighs my want to apologize and that's why I don't have any friends. I'm selfish like that.

I'm just afraid of dying even though sometimes it's all I can think about.

Eva looks from me to him, then back at me. She's shorter than me and him. I don't like this dynamic. If looked at from the side, she is the shortest but not on one end like she should be. It should go: me, him, Eva. That way we could be in order. The chaos makes me feel even more discomfort. With a sigh, Eva nods at the boy, then points at herself. She does this again and then once more. I squint dumbly at her, not understanding what she wants from me, brain already exhausted from this unexpected interaction.

She throws up her hands with an exaggerated sigh and then signs at me, I follow along as best as I can but my handle on the language the Avox use is still not so good. He's - avox - same - me. Understanding dawns like a sweet gift as I read her hands and if my mouth was not hidden safely away behind the surgical mask then Eva would have been able to witness my understanding in full as my mouth formed a soft 'o'.

Then confusion hits again. I did not purchase an Avox, nor did my publicist buy me one like he's been threatening to. I have not received any information from anyone about an incoming Avox. A couple of years ago they wanted to assign me an aid for my illness but I assured them that Eva was enough for me. It seems odd that they would send one anyway even two years later. Perplexed, I look him up and down again, taking in the crispness of his uniform and the way his head is bent downwards, away from my eyes.

I don't know what to do, I can't remember how to talk to people my age.

I clear my throat, unable to figure out what to say anyway. I feel like I should apologize for being rude but I don't know how to do that without sounding like an insane person. I'm sorry, I just thought that you might be here to kill me with germs or maybe you came to see the weird hermit in person, please excuse my weirdness. It doesn't really roll off of the tongue.

As I'm trying to figure it out, Eva throws her hands up to the sky again, as if she's asking the powers that be why she had the misfortune to be working for a total dimwit. Without waiting for my orders, she takes the boy's arm and pulls him inside. I freeze, horror jumping through me at the invasion of my privacy but she does not forget the steps, silently insisting that she remove his shoes, handing him the sanitizer to clean his hands and skin with, checking his temperature in one fluid motion with the back of her han-

He flinches, more like tries to get away from her hand like it's a baseball bat and she's swinging it at him full force. I stare, sorrow building quietly, piece by piece as I watch him straighten slowly once again when he realizes that she isn't going to hit him and for a brief moment, the sanitation process is forgotten, my lips form the words before I'm aware of them and the most sincere, "I'm sorry, that I've ever said in my entire life slips out onto the wooden floorboards of the entrance hall.

Last Edit: Oct 16, 2014 5:44:53 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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leave your shoes at the door {kel and eos} Oct 16, 2014 7:01:17 GMT -5

Post by ᴥ on Oct 16, 2014 7:01:17 GMT -5

e o s g r e e n e

I wince when the woman grabs my arm, expecting pain and feeling none. My eyes meet hers for a second and I see a kind of understanding in them, a kindness that terrifies me as much as it relieves me. Questioning is for people who have tongues, and so when she gestures I remove my shoes, I do just that, setting them neatly just outside of the door. Somehow I doubted he'd want them anywhere near him. Or me for that matter. Standing straight as I can manage, my eyes dart quickly between the two wondering who will throw the first punch.

It's the woman, her hand coming toward my face at a speed that was slower than most. Good avoxes don't move when being beat, they take it and smile.

I'm not a good Avox.

My hands fly to my head in an instant, ducking so low I'm in danger of falling on my ass. I wait, hoping the momentum has faded by the time she hits me. The blow never comes. Feeling more than a fool, I straighten. My hands fall limply to my side and I regard the both of them with the curiosity of a rabbit whose hunters have stopped short with a gun to its head. Why not just get it over with? I know they want to hurt me, everyone I've met since District Ten has wanted to hurt me. Fear leaks out of my eyes and as much as I want to appear strong its all I can do to keep myself from collapsing at their feet. I was so tired and scared and I just wanted to forget it all for a few hours.

"I'm sorry."

The world stops turning. My eyes find the man almost instantly and I want to hit him or hug him or both. Words like that felt foreign and I'm tempted to look behind me to see if he was apologizing to another for my appearance. There was no way he spoke to me with that type of sincerity, with emotion behind his voice that I'd not heard when he first spoke. No one apologized to me because I was not a person. Both of my hands have crept over my mouth now, trapping sobs behind my lips. My breath has caught within my throat and I can only look at him. What was he sorry for? Was this some cruel joke before he told the woman to hold me down and cut my skin or hit me until I could no longer feel anything? No, I can see it in his eyes. He meant those words. It hits me like someone has just thrown bricks onto my head. He's sorry. I still don't understand why, but he is. For me. And that was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.

The woman has yet to say a word. She's weathered and aged but there's light in her eyes. Was she an Avox too? There were no fresh marks on her skin, I saw no fear in her eyes as I had the others, the ones still shoved into that death trap. No, she wasn't an avox. Not the kind of avox I knew.

I don't understand him. The look in his eyes, his apology. The bastard had told me that there was not one Capitolite in all of Panem that'd treat me with an ounce of respect. I was a dog, a pet, and no one would give a fuck if I were to drop dead because I was replaceable. He didn't say those things to tear me down, he'd managed that my first few hours with him, he said them because they were true. This was too good, this was far too good to be true and it made my knees weak. I had become so adept at reading other's bodies that there was no doubt within my mind he was at least somewhat genuine. It was shameful to feel such strong emotion for pity. I was so happy to be pitied and it made me nauseous. ("You really are a pathetic bastard, pretty boy.")

But in that moment he was the most beautiful thing in the world. I didn't care if he'd made me remove my shoes or sanitize my hands or wore a stupid black mask, he was beautiful. I'd forgotten how good kindness felt. It was probably only temporary and he'd probably throw me out on the streets at any second but I didn't care in this moment. I was so tired. Of being angry, of being scared, of hating myself and hating everyone else. The scars on my skin will likely never fade and I'll never get my tongue back but I'm so tired of thinking about it.

Back in the hospital, they had taught me a few phrases. A whole new language in which I could speak with only my hands. I needn't open my mouth and listen to the disfigured sounds I made. It was only the basics, and something I'd never used because the Bastard didn't care what I said and probably didn't even bother to learn it in the first place.

I'm sorry. If there was anything I'd learned from the bastard, it was that I didn't deserve an apology. It was my fault for making him apologize to me and I felt guilty for stealing the words from his lips. Words were such precious things and I'd made him waste them. I'm sorry that you sorry. My hands still shake, the adrenaline having yet to leave me, I'd be lucky if he could even read one sign. I doubted any Capitolites knew a language I barely knew myself. They could speak, after all. Speaking was such a wonderful thing. My fault. Sorry. I didn't know what was my fault and I wasn't eager to find out. But I was desperate not to hear the words leave his lips again, as good as they felt they weren't meant for me. I didn't want them because I didn't deserve them.

I have tried so hard to appear strong. It was easy when only faced with cruelty, when I had to wear a straight face because I couldn't let them know that I cared. All of that pain was locked far away and I'd never touch it again. It's bizarre to look at myself when faced with the opposite. When someone treats me with even the smallest bit of kindness it scares me. I want to run away from it, dismiss it and minimalize it because they probably didn't even mean it.

All I knew how to be was a servant, and servants don't deserve apologies.

{let the rain
wash away all the pain
o f y e s t e r d a y ;

Last Edit: Oct 16, 2014 7:01:38 GMT -5 by ᴥ

the m o o n controls the t i d e, it could cause you to d r o w n

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leave your shoes at the door {kel and eos} Oct 18, 2014 0:27:45 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Oct 18, 2014 0:27:45 GMT -5

K E L V A N D A M

I read a book once by a man named George Orwell. Now that I think about it, the book was probably meant to be destroyed ages ago. It was in the library, hidden behind an enormous dictionary. At first I thought that it was some analytic book, the title seemed to be the answer to a math question. However, when I opened the novel later to read it, I found that it was quite the opposite. I ended up reading it all in one night. I won't bore you with the details of the book but at the end of it, there were the types of questions and answers that kids do in novel study at school. One of the questions was, 'What clues given in the novella tell you that '1984' is set in a dystopian society?'

I had to look up that word in the old dictionary that the book had been hiding behind. All it really managed to get across was that it was the opposite of a 'utopia'. When I looked up that word, it said that a utopia was a perfect society where everyone lives in harmony, there is no sickness, nor crime. There is no poverty and everyone lives comfortably with no one the better or less.

Looking at the boy standing in front of me is my first piece of physical evidence that we live in a dystopian society, and not the utopia that we are told time and time again that we live in.

That's how it is in '1984' as well. Everyone believes or pretends that life is perfect, that it's how it's meant to be and everyone is happy. They aren't. They all live in fear and there are people have less and there are people who are in pain when they shouldn't have to be.

I've been raised around Avox all my life, they've been such an integral part of my world knowledge that I never put much thought into where they came from or what life is like for them. I haven't really seen Avox treated badly before, the thought of treating someone badly is foreign to me, I've worked hard to avoid it my entire life.

I take in the darker coloured patches on his skin, slightly yellow places where bruises are still healing, the dark circles under his eyes. A critical eye that is finally rearing it's head past my initial fear tells me that he's far too thin, worse than me even. In a utopian society, all have the right to choose their own futures. I'm certain that this boy has not chosen any of this.

He signs at me, his far more crude in comparison to Eva's and I stare dumbly at the place his hands were for a few long moments, horror transforming my face for the briefest of moments. I've read books about that, how the abused will apologize to, sometimes even thank their abuser, believing that they deserve whatever they've done. I've always believed in the insane, I am too after all, but I guess apart of me never believed that someone could actually believe that they deserve to be treated poorly. Of course, I had the choice to remove myself. Most don't.

"No," I say, shaking my head quickly, voice coming out harsher than I mean it to, "That's not how it works. We scared you and you're, well you're suffering for it so we're apologizing. You did nothing, so you don't say sorry, ok? Don't do that. Don't apologize for the way that you have been treated. It isn't your fault." I take a couple of steps backward and run my fingers through my hair, trying to figure out what to do here. Obviously, there has been a mistake. They'll be here to pick him up eventually or I'll just be stuck with him. I shudder at that. It isn't that he seems like a terrible person. I'm just a selfish brat who needs things to stay the same. All of this is making me feel nauseous.

Reaching a decision, I give my fingers a snap and point at Eva who has already reached her decision eons and eons before me. She's a lot smarter than me sometimes, especially at knowing what needs to be done. I think if she wasn't so respectful of my need for things to be a certain way she'd be telling me what to do instead. I'd happily oblige. As I said, she's a wise one.

Gently, she gestures forward and leads the Avox boy down the hall. I follow in procession, staying farther back than needed, my hesitance having nothing to do with my status as a Capitolite, having everything to do with the fact that I'm a giant wuss.

We go to the large bathroom that serves as a guest 'cleaning facility' on the off chance that I do get a guest. I'm always well prepared. A large bath sits in the center of the room, it has two large, shining taps. As Eva prepares the boy, I prepare the water. "Alright," I begin nervously, being the only one able to fill the silence, "Okay don't freak out, this isn't because I think you're gross or anything but I am.... I've got serious issues and so I'm really obsessive about cleanliness and so, Eva's going to bathe you, and I'll be...." I pause, blushing slightly, backing away from the tub, towards the door. "Well, I'll be out here."

Last Edit: Oct 18, 2014 0:28:49 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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leave your shoes at the door {kel and eos} Oct 18, 2014 1:57:11 GMT -5

Post by ᴥ on Oct 18, 2014 1:57:11 GMT -5

e o s g r e e n e

No, that's not how it works.

My brow furrows at his words, and I must have looked an idiot because my only reaction was to stare at him. As though if I looked long enough his words would make some sort of sense. That had been how it worked my whole life. When Achilles did something wrong, I apologized, when that awful man yelled at me, I apologized. It was my fault because no one else had to take the blame that way. He tells me everything I know is wrong. He tells me that it is not my fault. I don't understand. I can't. I want to say something, maybe to argue with him and insist that it was my fault because it certainly wasn't his or the woman's. He looks upset, stepping away from me and running his hand through his hair. A frown pulls at my lips because I know that is my fault. My heart has calmed down some since I have not been hurt yet and my thoughts have begun to untangle themselves. Because I am okay. At least, I think I am. My stomach still growls and my knees feel weak, but I think I feel better than I have in a long time.

His fingers snap but the woman has long since made up her mind. She gestures for me to move and I do so without hesitation, feeling almost guilty for fearing where they would take me. The house was large, bigger than even the farm I had grown up on and I felt as small as a fly walking down the hall. I cannot see the man as I am ushered down the corridor and almost in a panic I look behind me, relieved to see him following, even if it was some distance away. I do not know why, but he is safe, and I am not eager to be away from safety any time soon.

There is a distinct feeling of dread that washes over me once we enter the bathroom. I hide my face in my hands, knowing what would follow and hating every minute of it before it began. Nothing shamed me more than my body, covered in scratches and bruises and dried blood no one cared enough to clean. The woman helps me remove the suit that had been restraining me all morning. I hadn't dressed myself in so long, I had no clue how to work the intricate buttons and zippers and did not protest as she helped. My eyes stay upon the man, preparing the water in which I would be sitting. Once again I am confused, no one tested the water before I entered it and most of my bathing had been in water that turned my toes blue or drew red patches upon my skin. I had long since come to the conclusion that he was like no one else in this world, but how could anyone show such caring for someone they just met? Avox or not.

When he tells me not to freak out, I can feel heat creeping up my neck, heart rate increasing tenfold as I await inevitable bad news. I've got some serious issues. Part of me wants to laugh and tell him I hadn't noticed in a tone that fingers could not portray. The words were too advanced for me, anyway. I knew too little of the Avox language. So I stay quiet, letting him continue speaking. He tells me that he likes to be clean and I can see it in every part of him. In the mask around his face and the literal spotlessness of the house which I stood. More than anything I want to speak and to tell him I understand and that he doesn't need to worry about me freaking out because I've had so much worse done to me. But I can't. I have no tongue.

My safety threatens to leave and I cry out. The first sound I have made in a long while. It's urgent, somewhere between a whimper and a sob and my hand reaches for his. I dare not touch his fingers, it was improper to touch someone I'd just met, but I still didn't want him to go. As exposed and embarrassed as I am, I don't want him to go. It was the first thing I'd asked for in a very long time, but I do not wait to see his answer. I'm too afraid that he will ignore me. Eyes searching the tile in front of me intently while looking for nothing, I climb into the bath. The water was hot and it felt nice. The bones which had slept on hard cement for half a year suddenly did not ache. It spread over every part of me and I wished for the world to stop for just a moment. Just so that I could sit here and feel everything. The warmth returning to my numb fingers and the way my joints did not ache when I moved. So that I didn't have to look at my body and see the scars and bruises and bones that had been forced onto my skin by a man much crueler than the one who I'd near begged to stay.

Alas, the moment lasts only that, a moment. Suddenly self-conscious, I pull my knees to my chest, looking at the woman with apologetic eyes. It was an ugly sight and I felt bad for her having to look because I could barely stand to look at it myself. Wanting to apologize, I raise my hands out of the water. They do not shake.

It's not your fault.

And my hands return to the water, his words stopping them dead in their tracks. I search for the man, for my safety, with eyes akin to a deer.

Please don't leave me.

{let the rain
wash away all the pain
o f y e s t e r d a y ;

Last Edit: Oct 18, 2014 1:57:32 GMT -5 by ᴥ

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leave your shoes at the door {kel and eos} Oct 18, 2014 4:15:50 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Oct 18, 2014 4:15:50 GMT -5

K E L V A N D A M

He lets out a cry, guttural and animal in nature. It stills me.

My hand is on the latch and I know the wall tiles extremely well at this point, they're all I've been staring at this entire time, unable to be like Eva. She doesn't look away, not ever. I can't even look at my own body, let alone anyone else's. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, with a housekeeper like Eva. I'm not. Ever since I was little, I've barely even been able to wear short sleeves let alone be naked in front of anyone else. I don't search out the answer to that one. I put it down to yet another of my weird rules. I don't know where those come from either. One day there were no rules and then the next there were endless rules to follow. My therapist liked to prattle on and on about childhood trauma and it's true that maybe my parents were a little bit uncaring and small things happened, a lot of them but I'm pretty sure that my inability to be naked or look at naked skin stems purely from

a complete and utter lack of self-confidence.

I'd never heard an Avox make a sound before. Sometimes if you watched them from far away, you could see them laughing but they didn't do it around Capitolites. I'd thought that this was because they were shy. Now that I'm older I understand it as resentment. Why share a sound so raw, so personal with those who can not appreciate it?

There's a rush of air. He almost touched me. I shudder, cringing back from his touch, trying not to show him, trying not to show how weak I am because not everyone has to know. I'm shaking already, the ordeal of this day already too much to handle but I take my hand off of the knob anyway and take my hand off the door latch, resting it against my arm instead. I steel myself. It's not easy, I'm not made of much.

When I turn back around, I begin by staring at the vaulted wooden ceiling, counting each piece of wood before I look back down. When I do, he's stepping into the tub. I flinch, heat rising as I begin to look away again, but something stops my gaze from leaving. It's simple really. The latticework of scars criss-crossing his back, the bruises that hinted from beneath his clothing, spreading out like blots of ink on the page, burns, marks, bruising, scars, marks, bruising, whip marks. His skin is chaos.

"Um," I say, looking away again, busying myself, "So, we're going to have to burn your clothes. That's because, that's because..." I pause for a moment, hands shaking, "They could carry contaminates." Carefully, I take the tongs from their place inside the closet and lift them, sliding them into the containment chamber that lines the wall. "Uhhh, so you're gonna have to borrow my clothes until we can get you something else to wear." I'm saying this like he's staying for the long term. He showed up on my doorstep ten minutes ago. I guess he's staying. At least until someone comes along and fixes the mistake and takes him away again.

I've been out of society too long, I must be far too trusting or just have a death wish.

This kid has probably brought in ten thousand different types of germs. Watch, I'll be bedridden for the next week. I hate being sick. My parents first had me diagnosed because I got so sick when I was small. I was hospitalized for two weeks in critical care. I still have dreams about the nurses and doctors, how they all looked like aliens to me.

I was scared then too.

"You know," I say, voice shaking, trying to remain casual as I put the tongs back and make my way over to the sink to wash my hands, "You know." I don't normally have to interact so much with someone in one day and it isn't usually in the bathroom either when one of us is naked because normally I leave the bathroom and we meet in the library and then we go over why I don't have any new pages and that's how it goes.

"We're just like '1984'"

I want to apologize for what's been done to him but I'm sure the words would just sound sour from my lips. I don't want to associate myself with the rest of the human race anyway. I've separated myself for a reason. Besides, I don't want him trying to take responsibility for his hurts too. I somehow couldn't take that if he tried that. I don't know why the idea of him taking responsibility for his own beatings makes me feel so sick. Maybe because I still refuse to accept responsibility for all the wrongs that have been done to me.

If I don't have to, then why should he.

Last Edit: Oct 18, 2014 4:20:43 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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leave your shoes at the door {kel and eos} Oct 18, 2014 5:28:39 GMT -5

Post by ᴥ on Oct 18, 2014 5:28:39 GMT -5

e o s g r e e n e

I feel guilty for being so selfish. He is scared, just as scared as I. Of whatever contaminants might be hiding within the folds of my clothing, or behind my ears as the woman scrubs them. My palms press against my face and I try to apologize but I cannot find it in me to look at him. It is not only the hot water that makes my cheeks burn. Yet I feel better, not as alone, knowing that he is there. Someone who will not hurt me, I am sure of it. The way he looks pained even to be near me, wouldn't touch my clothing, let alone me, and as much as it hurt I understood. I was a dirty, ugly Avox and he a rich Capitolite. He wanted to be clean and in his eyes, I was anything but. My skin is not clean, and part of me hopes that it is hidden from his eyes because I don't want him to think of me as damaged. Even if I am.

Was I truly delivered to the wrong person? The thought sends panic reeling up into my mouth and sends my heart into a desperate attempt to escape my chest. Not even an hour had passed but it had been the best not even an hour in my life. Her hands were not rough, like the Trader's had been, she treated me as though caring for me and not just forcing boiling water onto my skin because she did not want to make a bad impression on the buyers. I wanted to promise him that I would be no trouble, that he'd never see me if he didn't want him and I would just hide away. He wouldn't have to feed me or anything. Just please don't let them hurt me any more.

We're just like '1984'.

The numbers were nothing to me, and I figured it was some Capitolite term that I was far too stupid to understand. No, it was not that that brought my eyes too him once again, it was his words. We're. We. Perhaps he was only talking to the woman, but I'd like to think that he meant me too. We. We. We. I repeated the word over and over in my mind until it not longer sounded like one and then some. A smile crept onto my lips. It wasn't a big smile, only the ghost of one. Slight tugging on the corners of my mouth until one side was raised slightly above the other. As though I'd forgotten the proper motion. We.

Back in Ten, we showed our gratitude through affection. I'd spoken with a drawl back then, heavier than my parents and my brother. They'd always teased me for it and slapped the back of my head with an open hand. It didn't hurt and Momma called it something along the lines of a love tap. I'd always complain, holding the back of my head while I chased the criminal around the fields. When I inevitably caught them, I would latch onto their waist, wrapping my arms around them and burying my face in their shirt. "I love you too." (though it sounded more like 'ey lurve yew two) and then because what goes around comes around, I'd slap their back and take off at the speed of light. I had so much energy when I was a kid. That's all gone now, drained with every punch. It seems breathing is a chore.

I don't know how to thank him. Words would fail me, even if I could speak. A simple nod of my head was not enough. He needed to know that I was thankful because that was the respectful thing to do. But I can only speak with my body and he does not want my body anywhere near him. Because I am a dirty, ugly Avox and he's a rich Capitolite.

My fingers are prunes by the time my bath is over. Red patches have risen on my skin from where it was scrubbed clean of anything that could have appeared there. It felt like I'd been scrubbed ten times over and once more for luck. There was no pain, just a slight pink because my skin had become sensitive after scarring too many times over. Some have faded into thin white lines, but others are still angry and red and I'm tempted to turn to him and promise that I am not still dirty and that these are uglies that cannot be removed.

She hands me a towel and I take it with gratitude, wishing I had three to cover the entirety of my body. I settle by wrapping it tightly around my waist and pretending that I can fade into the walls around me so they do not have to look at the rest of my body. I dare not move until someone tells me what to do. My hands are wrapped so tightly around the towel that my knuckles have gone white and the tips of my fingers a deep purple. Whether I am embarrassed or scared or ashamed or some gruesome mix of all three, I cannot tell.

Sorry.

My free hand makes the crude symbol without my permission and I figure that there was no going back now. It's not because of my body that I apologize, but because I have scared him.

Not mean - be dirty.

Last Edit: Oct 18, 2014 21:07:19 GMT -5 by ᴥ

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leave your shoes at the door {kel and eos} Oct 19, 2014 4:21:35 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Oct 19, 2014 4:21:35 GMT -5

K E L V A N D A M

My parents used to be pretty irresponsible when I was little. Neither of them wanted me, I wasn't expected. They weren't prepared for a baby, let alone one that was so high maintenance. They used to go out a lot, leaving me with the Nanny Avox, coming back drunk and unashamed in the early hours of the morning. One time they must have picked up a virus at a party. Apparently it was mono, something like that. Whatever it was, it almost killed me. I've had quite a few near death experiences in my life, a lot of them caused by the people I should have been able to trust to protect me. Not as many now though that I live alone. I feel safer alone. I guess when someone hurts you enough, you start feeling afraid that everyone else is going to do the same.

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing again and again and expecting a different result. I've got issues but I'm not crazy, not in that sense.

My parents never set out to be careless, no one does, they just were. He signs at me, an apology and despite myself, I let out a sigh of exasperation, "What did I say about apologizing for things you can't control? It's my problem, not yours." This time, I manage to maintain my gaze, forcing myself not to be rude by catching his eyes. It isn't the easiest thing to do. Avox are never good at eye contact. It's trained out of them. Eva doesn't give a shit about any of that. She watches amused as he takes his first towel and doesn't seem to notice her holding out two more. This house has got fifty-five towels and that's for five bathrooms, two of them only needing hand-towels, which is in a different towel category of seventy-two. She proceeds to wrap him up as if to create armor for him.

He's so thin that he could catch a chill just to get to my room for clothing.

We have to go to my room to get clothing. Just as I don't let people into my house I also don't let people into my room. It's sort of like an inner dungeon to my dungeon. It took me two years to even let Eva inside.

He can't go in there. He's a stranger.

My mother used to say that everyone was a stranger in the beginning. You had to let people in to change things. At first I thought that was all she meant by it, that you have to be welcoming. Later I understood that my mother had been making a sexual reference. My parents were never actually married for a good reason.

I'm not my mother. I don't let people in so easily.

"Come with me," I say, gesturing loosely at the Avox boy. I keep calling him the Avox boy in my head. That's not his name, just like how mine isn't 'Capitolite'. "Eva, please get him something from my closet for him. We'll be in the central lounge."

I pull the latch and gesture once again for the 'Avox Boy' to follow me. We make our way deeper into the house in silence. I can't hold a conversation with someone who is having to use both hands just to keep their towel held up.

The inner lounge is always kept warm in the winter with a fire that Eva starts early in the morning. It's heat helps keep the entire house warm. I gesture to one of the couches, and take a seat on one two, folding my body nearly in half when I take my seat. I can remember being smaller once. Forever ago now.

Carefully, I reach up and unhook the surgical mask. Somehow I think that quelling his fear would somehow be worth any sickness I might get from it. Or maybe I just really am insane.

"What's your name?" I ask, finally breaking the silence that I have created for us.

Last Edit: Oct 19, 2014 4:42:52 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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leave your shoes at the door {kel and eos} Oct 19, 2014 5:14:06 GMT -5

Post by ᴥ on Oct 19, 2014 5:14:06 GMT -5

e o s g r e e n e

She's read my mind because two towels soon encompass me, and I am relieved that my body is not longer exposed. I was used to temperatures colder than this, but the warmth was welcome and I bury my face in the soft linen before he speaks again. His eyes hold mine and I feel an inability to look away, despite the color rising to my cheeks. Avoxes did not deserve eye contact. I bet the Bastard had never even known my eye color. The authoritative tone is one I'm used to, and is almost comforting. It's all I have not to apologize again. I simply nod and return my gaze to the tile once more. How was my being dirty his problem? My questions only grow the longer I remain in this house, and it frustrated me that I can make no other conversation than a cry which embarrasses me to even think about. Avoxes should not ask for things, and I want to punish myself for even daring to ask him to stay. (What has that Bastard turned me into?) (Whatever he wanted, I was never allowed to be anything else.)

Follow me. I take comfort in the order, standing straight and giving him a brisk nod. It was safe, comfortable to be told what to do when this day had been utter havoc. He asks the woman to get some clothing and my lips are pulled into a deep frown. But you will not want them once I have touched them. How can I take them from you? Even if it was the only option, I didn't like the idea of being given something. I'd depended on this man far too much and his name was still a mystery. Avoxes should serve and he was serving me. The wrongness of it made bile rise in my throat and I vowed that I would spend the rest of my time here serving him because that is what I should be doing. I shouldn't have been weak and allowed him to help. He'd grow to resent me if I let that continue and once he leaves me I know they will drag me kicking and screaming from this place. I don't want to go, not yet.

The towels are my only lifeline as we venture deeper into the maze. (That is what his house seemed). My teeth have dug so deep into my lip I can feel their indents upon my skin, it throbs something awful. I am completely terrified yet there is no real reason why. We have reached our destination and I wonder how he has memorized this house so completely. He sits on a couch, long limbs folding so that he seemed smaller than he really was. I had been small for all my life, and I wondered how it must be to be as lean and nimble as he appeared. The gestures he makes are unmistakable. (Take a seat.) Panic overwhelms me, face turning a bright red. Sit on a chair? As though an equal with the man across from me? ~~I very much wish that I could call him by a name, alas I lack the courage to ask.~~ I would refuse, I wanted to, but an Avox obeys. I gather the towel around me, ensuring that none of my bare skin will touch the seat because I was dirty and I didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

There is a heavy silence surrounding us until he breaks it. Hand reaching up to his face and revealing the half that had been concealed by black fabric. I take in a startled breath, taken aback by how different he looked, and how he had even dared remove the cloth. My brow furrowed and I ground my teeth, confused at this act of kindness. (I am only an Avox. I am only an Avox. I am only an Avox.)

He asks me my name and I open my mouth to respond. It feels natural at first, as though I were about to have a conversation with the man whose couch I now sit. As though I were his friend and not his servant. That he'd actually get to hear the drawl which mother said was so endearing. The shock of seeing him, all of him, for the first time had seemingly struck me dumb as I closed my mouth instantly. I wanted to cry I was so frustrated. At myself and at him for being so captivating that I'd lost my sense.

My hand reaches the air feebly and I write. I don't know the letters of the Avox language and so my only hope is to write in the air and hope he can understand.

E. O. S.

I draw each letter slowly and surely, pausing after each one to make sure he had understood.

Eos.

My name had become such an intimate thing, I had rarely heard it in my time living in the Capitol. I point to him, trying to signal that it was his turn. Perhaps knowing his name is a moot point, as I'll never speak it. But I'd like to know. It mattered to me.

Last Edit: Oct 19, 2014 5:19:04 GMT -5 by ᴥ

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leave your shoes at the door {kel and eos} Nov 2, 2014 1:47:10 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Nov 2, 2014 1:47:10 GMT -5

K E L V A N D A M

"Eos," I echo, lips forming the word as he writes it in the air above his head. For a moment, he isn't just a boy. For a moment he transforms as the towel falls from around his shoulders, fingers painting the sky the colour of his name. For a moment he reminds me of one of the characters in my stories, writing a spell in the sky. I shake my head and lean back against the couch rubbing my eyes as if to dispel the image. I'm insane. I'm bonkers, we already know this but it's not like I've ever had hallucinations before.

It's gotta be because I've been living alone for so long. I don't know how to...how to...people. I don't know how people work. I think it's art watching an Avox bo- watching Eos trace his name in the air. A boy who cannot communicate using the tools he has at the time. It's beautiful. I want to write about it. Who wants to read about a mute slave? I do. I want to read it and write it and type something useful for the first time in a while. I want to write.

He points at me and I'm giddy from this feeling of flowers blooming against my skin. I'm sure that anything new being introduced into my quiet life would cause this but I'm certain that they don't have the same name as Eos and they don't carry the same scars as he does. He couldn't even look at me when he walked in the door and now he's pointing at me, demanding a name in return.

"Kelsier," I crow, to the boy named Eos and I even smile. "But call me Kel. Please." I don't phrase it as a command for a simple reason- I am no commander. Not even to Eva who is bustling back into the room with a pile of clothing for Eos. I watch, wishing I had the security of the surgical mask to hide the laugh that wants to emerge. She's such a force, I really don't think I could live for very long without her. She's brought one of my sweaters with her and a pair of jeans. He'll have to roll up the cuffs on both.

The boxers of course won't be as easy to slip on without me seeing. At least she grabbed a fresh pair that hasn't been worn yet. They're Tuesday ones but it isn't Tuesday today. It's not like they say Tuesday on them, they're a forest green. Tuesday.

"You can go and get changed in there," I say, pointing towards a door on the wall which holds a small walk in closet for storage and coats or things. Eva uses it to store her sewing supplies. Once he's inside, Eva turns and gives me this look, hands flying away already at a mile a minute. From - Your - Mother - She point at the door and she doesn't need to make it any more clear. Sent -

My mother knows that I do not do strangers. She's got to know this, yet she sent me one anyway. For a second it's like my world is falling apart and I struggle to form any words. I don't know why she's still able to hurt me. After all these years. Why - I sign back, and Eva shrugs, hands up in the air, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. She - Think - You - Need - Friend - Think - You - Go - Crazy - All - Alone - I - Think - Yes -

I - Already - Am - ! I sign back, leaning forward as if to get my point across.

I'm not mad that he's here, I'm angry that she sent him even though she knows that it's dangerous. She lives her life like I'm invisible and the only time she pays attention to me is when she's attempting murder. Eva prepares a no doubt incredibly crafty response and I see it brimming but I stop her with one raised hand when I realize that the door is open and Eos is standing there, watching. I don't know for how long.

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leave your shoes at the door {kel and eos} Nov 2, 2014 4:34:11 GMT -5

Post by ᴥ on Nov 2, 2014 4:34:11 GMT -5

e o s g r e e n e

He smiles. His lips curl upwards and his face lights up in a way I'd not seen for years. Like when Ma was pleased that I'd done my chores without her asking. When I'd passed my classes even though I wasn't all too smart to begin with. It's a kind of smile that makes me want to smile too. Kelsier, but call me Kel. Please. It isn't a last name, prefixed by Mister, it's not a title like Sir or Master. It's an intimate thing, the name he was given and one that he wanted to be called, but didn't demand to be. Kel wasn't like anyone I'd ever met and it scared me just as much as if he were beating the shit out of me. That's what I know and I've come to expect it. This was uncharted territory. Just as I'd learned to be the perfect slave, life threw me on my knees again and I didn't know what to do.

The kindly woman rushes out with clothes in her arms and I look to Kel again, frowning. I didn't want to take his clothes. Hand-outs felt wrong upon my skin and as pitiful a creature as I am, I don't want Kel to pity me. I know he will not take the clothes back once I have worn them. What I was doing was as good as stealing. When he tells me to go change I do because it wasn't like I could argue anyway.

Kel's house is too big. It's a work of art, really, with beautiful design and rooms that emanated a mysterious charm; but it seemed almost dead. Ma always told me that the walls don't make a home, the people do. I wondered if I'd ever get used to living in a house as empty as this and a part of me wonders if I'd even get the chance. Kel was a kind man, but a troubled one. I don't pretend to know everything about someone I've just met but there are demons laced within his words and his actions. You'd have to be a fool not to see it. He's scared, scared of contaminants and dirt and things he doesn't know. I am every one of those things and I'm lucky he hasn't thrown me out on my ass already. He's a kind man and a brave one.

I close the closet door behind me and for the first time I'm alone in this house. Alone with the memories that haunt the walls and that groan and creak when its floors settle. It's an unsettling feeling that sends shivers up my spine. Moving too fast burns every part of my body but I'm too terrified to move any slower. I've never liked being alone, even preferring the Bastard's company to hours of silence every day.

The clothes slip onto my body with ease, and I'll admit I feel better. They're natural and soft, if a bit long, they're something I'd have worn back in Ten. They're not the suits I'd been forced to wear for half a year and that is enough to make me love them. My hands shake when I reach for the knob, opening it at a snail's pace. There is no sound when I push the door open; they have not yet seen me. They use their hands, the woman's are fast and urgent. I can catch only one sign. Crazy.

I wonder what they could be speaking of. Me? I don't think I'm crazy, not yet. Surely having your tongue cut out and forced into slavery was enough to drive any sane man into madness' embrace but I've kept my head upon my shoulders so far. I couldn't be sure of much but I'm absolutely sure I'm not insane.

Kel answered and his hands are jumbled. I'm too stupid to make heads nor tails of his words but it's something like I and Am.

I am crazy?

It makes me angry. I'd met a madman in my life, a brother who was willing to sacrifice me for a world that'd never come to be. He was deluded and hot-headed and completely mad. Kelsier was not crazy, he wasn't normal but that didn't make him a madman.

She's going to reply and I hope it is to tell him exactly what I'd been thinking but he holds his hand up. A sign that even I could understand. Stop. He's seen me. I stand in the doorway with clothes far too long for my stature and he's seen me. My cheeks are red and and I'm nothing but a bumbling child but I roll up a sleeve. Pale hands shake violently but I speak. No one cares what an Avox has to say but I speak.

No. No. No. Not Crazy.

No. No. Kind. You. Kind.

Last Edit: Nov 2, 2014 4:40:51 GMT -5 by ᴥ

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leave your shoes at the door {kel and eos} Nov 5, 2014 20:52:01 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Nov 5, 2014 20:52:01 GMT -5

K E L V A N D A M

I wonder why it's so easy for me to go from smiling to feeling like I'm standing over my own personal pit of despair. If I lean too far forward I could topple right in. I try to figure it out. I'm a successful author, I've got money and a warm home. I've never gone hungry except by choice and I lead a comfortable, quiet life. There are things to be sad about, things that make me anxious, make me sick. I can get by though, it's easy to avoid problems if I refuse to leave my house and confront them. People might think that not going out is reason enough to feel despair but I prefer it this way. I prefer the loneliness of this big empty house to living with my parents. If you don't have anyone to rely on anyway then they can't let you down.

Not having anyone to rely on is lonely but it's better than relying on someone that doesn't care.

I don't know what my mother was thinking, if she even was at all. She was always half-hearted about taking care of me when it came to my condition but I thought that she at least understood what was wrong with me. It isn't something I can just get better from. I'm going to be stuck like this for the rest of my life or at least until my doctors finally can come up with a better pan than all the medications they have me on. I know that half the battle is my obsession with it, that it's probably not as bad as I think it is. Chalk it up to a childhood spent with a mother who was never careful.

I watch his fingers work uncertainly but sure of his words. What an idiot. I've never met anyone so trusting, least of all an Avox. I could be a right crazy bastard who plays mind games better than anything and he'd have fallen into my trap way too easily. I'm not the type to abuse people but if I was he'd be in danger. I don't understand how someone can retain that much innocence, not when they carry as many scars as he does. He's got more reason to be a hate than to trust but he's gone and decided to trust me already, despite barely knowing me. It's stupid. Dangerous. He's dangerous. My mother has basically given me a ticking germ bomb and expects me to thank her and dammit all if I'm not actually grateful, too.

"Eva, send him.....show him a room to stay in. Any of them is fine," I say, deciding to ignore his comment. I couldn't pretend that I hadn't seen his hands moving. Any movement he makes seems to catch my interest. Frustration grips me and I frown as I rise from the couch. I fold the surgical mask neatly and place it in my pocket before turning my back on my newest house guest.

"I'll be writing," it's a lame excuse- Eva and I both know that I've had a block for a few weeks now, "Please don't disturb me unless it's urgent." It's code for: 'everything is happening a lot and I am afraid so go away.' Eva can see right through me, so I don't look at her. I don't look at him either as I exit the room, breaking into a run as soon as I've turned the corner.