Logs:First Steps: Return of Deckard
|First Steps: Return of Deckard|
"Deckard? Is that my name? I like the sound of that name for some reason." - Deckard, after hearing Ting call him by name.
|Dramatis Personae|| |
28 January, 2018
Deckard is discovered in the forest by Ting, who manages to talk some sense into the feral man. When he passes out, she takes him home.
Norther Crow Hollow Woods
A small clearing, somewhere in the North Crow Hollow Woods, featured a distinct lack of sound. Not that there was something muffling the ambient noise...more like there was little ambient noise to begin with. No signs of life. No birds, squirrels, insects. Even the trees themselves were still.
In the darkness, there was a light. Cold, shimmering, like an aurora borealis. The closer one came to the cold light, the more unusual the scene: There were ribbons of swirling turquoise light, weaving through the trees. They took on wild shapes, and upon closer inspection, one might have thought those floating, disembodied lights were the cause for the destruction.
Trees, small and large, were felled equally and with seemingly little to indicate the cause. The only thing tying them together was the light that held in place, casting an eerie glow like water over the snow. The light, and the man. In the center of the clearing stood an individual, shirtless, barefoot, and wearing tatters for boarding shorts. He was covered in dirt and grime and splinters, likely from the surrounding debris. In his right hand was a weapon of intricate design, black as night, and with a blade casting a cold, turquoise light. The source of the ribbons.
With each breath exhaled, visible on the frigid air, the man's torso expanded and contracted. The only sound in the clearing. In his left hand, missing the ring finger, was a lock of hair clutched tightly. He stood there, staring off into oblivion, heavy breaths and white knuckles and destruction his only company.
Suddenly the witching hour is upon her and she stops dead in her tracks. Why here? Why now? She cannot say. But this is where she is to turn back, head home. The eerie silence stills her and she looks from side to side. The nothingness is haunting. Something twists in her chest. The glow to her left draws her gaze and she tilts her head to the side. One step, then another, she moves toward the trees, the glow, and the man.
With a hand gently held to the trunk of a tree she watches and waits. This... is not normal. Not on this side of the Hedge, this side of the Twilight. He looks lost. He seems hurt. A creature in need is what drives her into action. The very first step she takes crushes a cluster of branches tucked into hard snow. Crack, crunch, she halts in place and winces. "I'm sorry," she whispers. Sorry if she frightened him. Sorry if she upset his silent reprieve. Sorry for things she cannot yet know have happened to him. "Are you hurt?"
He didn't move from the spot upon which he stood. His eyes on the other hand, were wide open, his pupils pinpricks, darting around the changeling, and away, towards the peripherals. He might have been checking for others. When he eventually spoke, it was with a gravelly, dry voice full of anger.
"You some kind of trick?"
He is a familiar kind of stranger, but then all anger from male creatures tends to blur into a singular banner of danger. There are no others. Just him, a large raging animal, and her, a tiny speck of... hope. Does he remember that light she would spread across everyone she met, everything she touched?
"A trick? Of your mind? No. I am here. With you." She looks to the sky, then the rended trees and wild light around them. Her gaze falls to his hand, that lock of hair. "You've lost something." That might be putting it mildly. She would very much like to check him for injuries, but this seems an inopportune moment.
"I'm Ting," she tells him. The way she met him. The way she has greeted everyone before him and after him. "Are you in pain?"
Warmth. Hope. Soothing, calm waters. Was it another trick? The man was clearly pondering her disposition. "I have lost something." He snarled. "Nothing else matters."
At the mention of her name, the man paused for a fraction of a second. A flash of recognition. Alas, the respite from ferocity was short lived, and his hazel eyes that had been previously opened in surprise were once more narrowed to a knife's edge. "Pain is relative. A fool to underestimate the meek. Why are you here?"
It is no trick. It happens effortlessly for her, and that is perhaps what is so disarming about her. Ting. Is. Good. Period. No smoke and mirrors. Just fact. It can be quite annoying when one is faced with this kind of goodness. This is not the first negative reaction she has caused in a torn up person. "You have. I see it," she says as she looks to his hand and the lock of hair. "Something else matters. You just cannot see. Not yet."
She shifts slowly behind the tree, though her hand stays where he can still see it. Then she emerges on the other side. That look in his eye. What was it? She cannot be sure. "Pain is relative," she confirms by repeating. "I am here because you called for me. You're in despair. I can..." she begins, her voice but a whisper. "...heal your pain."
Eyes darted back up to Ting. "You're not her. Similar. What could matter besides her?" The man's left hand was shaking, he held the lock so tightly. "What good would healing my pain do? You, your words. You're familiar. Your favorite colour is blue." A little bit of confusion began to creep into his expression. "I smell...baked goods. Icing. Fresh from the oven." He shook his head rapidly, as if he were trying to dispose of the familiarity. "Do you know me?"
"I am not her. Similar? Was she..." No, the faerie will not say it aloud and hand her secrets to a stranger. Stranger? Something is in his eyes. Something of a distant dream. "What could matter besides her? You." That one word, uttered with a reverence meant for a holy place. His shaking hand compels her to extend her hands forward, like she would hold his hand and still that trembling pain. "It would make the ache go away. And each day that passes the ache grows more and more dull. I know. Please believe me." When he tells her that her favourite colour is blue she straightens, shoulders rolling back. "You smell cake!" Her eyes go wide, and caution be damned she moves in on him. And for all his anger and pain and feral disposition, she puts her hands on either side of his wild bearded face. "Look at me. Look at my face. Who are you?" She is so close he could stab her over and over then bury her in the snow. But something tells him he would regret that. Ting is much more interesting alive.
When she said that one word, it echoed in the man's mind. "Me?" Brow furrowed, he growled. No words accompanied the gutteral sound, but anyone would know enough to hear the disagreement. When she reached forth, his hand shook no longer. "Pain is useful. Without it, how does one even know they are injured? An open wound bereft of pain still bleeds."
Caught off guard, the man had no immediate response to the sudden movement. After he realized that she was holding him, and had gotten too close, that's when something flashed in his eyes. Something void of rationality. Without telegraphing, without drawing back, the man brought the blade up and under the woman's jaw. It was sharp enough to split skin at the slightest of pressures, and it was that slight cut that Ting would feel. Nothing of any real consequence...at least, not yet.
"No quick movements." His eyes darted around, into the background, before coming once more to focus in on Ting. "Winter. Earth. Husband...Father. Son, brother. The wolf, the warrior. Kerberos of the Athenaeum...a name escapes me. The Old Man, told me my past was grim...what does this mean to you?"
"Pain is necessary to alert you to the wound. But beyond that, unnecessary." Ting bites back her words here and closes her eyes even as she still holds his face in her hands. Who trusts like this? Who charges blindly into the face of danger to save another? It is madness. And thus was born a Spring faerie.
Her ocean blue eyes open again, drinking in his dirty, angry, mysterious face. The eyes. That is where the truth lies. Her lips part and she sucks in a breath to speak... then a knife is at her jaw and she goes still like a statue. He rattles off his cryptic clues, enigmatic to him, but a path for her. "Geist," she whispers so slowly only her tongue dares to move. "I know you. Sin-Eater. Please remember me." Her blue eyes well over with tears as she considers that he might just slit her throat in his madness.
"I am." He replied, leaning away from her. The heat coming off of his body was negligent. He wasn't cold, per say, but there wasn't much in the way of regular, normal temperatures. "This place is where we met, she and I. Threatened to kill her. She stood her ground." The blade evaporated like steam into nothingness, and the cold light that surrounded them faded into darkness. "Ting. Who bakes cakes. Healer of Spring." The struggle was apparent. "We were...siblings? No, that doesn't make any sense." His right hand, then free, rose up to scratch his head.
When he again looked to Ting, his expression was still wild, but far less volatile. "Did you know her?" He took Ting's hand in his own, and transferred the hair to her.
The faerie's breathing grows rapid and she nods with a slight upward motion. "Ting who bakes the cakes. And healed you when you were hurt. You were always getting hurt. I would always heal you. We were like siblings. We were friends. We /are/ friends."
Now with the blade gone she lets out a shaky breath. "I knew her." She looks to their hands together then her expression falls when he gives her the lock of hair. "She broke the Pledge. You were married? Your finger. Did it burn off?" She seems to have a pretty good idea about such things. The hair is tucked away in a pocket. She will deal with it later. A broken Pledge is one of the worst sins for a Changeling to commit. Or one bound to a Changeling. The Spring's hand moves to his cheek and she tilts her head to the side. "Deckard. I'm sorry." It is so very heartfelt and heavy with emotion. "Can I take care of you? Do you have someplace to go? You can come with me."
He looked up. "I'd hurt you. Hurt everyone, you know? Nothing matters in comparison. My hands are stained forever red." He brought his hands up to stare at them. Were they brand new? With the way he stared, they could have been. "But you know her. So that has to count. We were married. Las Vegas. Small thing, really. Then we went on our honey...something." When she mentioned the finger, he laughed. "No. I cut it off. Made a deal so I could gain power. Kind of made wearing my ring a bit awkward though." He reached under his beard to reveal a chain around his neck, looped through a small metal band.
"Deckard? Is that my name? I like the sound of that name for some reason." A little chuckle, and his head drooped forwards. "Someplace to go? We were supposed to build a cabin...together..." It was almost like someone hit a switch. One instant he was awake, and the next, he was out cold. Probably literally. He just leaned to the side, and fell right over, unconscious. How long had he been awake for? How long had he been destroying the trees? The worst part was, he never did give Ting an answer.