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Silence... « Thread Started on Jul 20, 2009, 10:42pm »
After prowling the park for some time, eyeing some of the other visitors from behind his styled hair, Vincent managed to find what he deemed was the perfect tree. Not too many people were nearby (secretly, this was the primary factor in his decision), the shade made the grass cool to the touch, and he was certain he'd be able to get some good lighting to read the selection of books he had brought with him.
The first was an English translation of the Divine Comedy, originally written by Dante so many years ago. It was the 1981 translation; part of the Oxford World Classics. Of course; it was an Epic: a type of extremely long poem. Vincent hated poetry - he always had - but this one was just too good to pass up. He didn't count it as much of a poem. It was even one of his favourite books, so far; he hadn't finished reading it yet, but he was certain he'd get enough time to finish it up this afternoon. Nobody ever approached him, and it was not likely he'd get distracted enough by other things.
He also had a copy of 'Manfred'; a dramatic play written quite a number of years ago. He hadn't read it at all yet, and it was rather quite an obscure play - written by Lord Byron; ironically, a poet - and a defining part of the Dark Fantasy genre... something Vincent was very interested in. Of course... he also had an H. P. Lovecraft book with him; a book that was both a biography as well as a collection of the various short stories of the rather famous author. Vincent had recently developed a penchant for his work - interestingly, he was a poet as well! It was getting difficult for him to avoid poetry these days - when he had read his famous work, 'The Call of Cthulhu'.
Holding the dusty hard-copy of the Divine Comedy, he carefully opened it, leafed to where had left off, and set his eyes to the page, leaving his other two books resting against the tree. This was just all too comfortable: the cool grass, the tree set against his upper back, and his knee partway up in the air. Maybe this school wouldn't turn out to be so bad, after all. He'd just have to hope that everyone would continue to leave him alone.
Serenity. The perfect perfection of silence attuned in with the sounds of nature. Sanctuary, a place to be safe, to be sound, to have complete comfort wrap its arms around you, a warm hug through your entire soul. The wind blew softly about the land, playing whimsically with the leaves in the tree. Up from the ground bloomed the after scent of rain, intensifying and refreshing, causing a certain coolness on an other wise almost to warm after noon. The sun slanted through the leaves shafts of light hitting the ground. Birds sung and flapped around, seagulls hovered high in the air, where the breeze was stronger, staying in one place, their wings spread. Lunar academy was a beautiful picture, that summer afternoon. Students milled about, hanging around outside, chatting idly to friends. For once it seemed, the chaos of the school, caused by seniors and freshmen alike, was at a pause. Students seemed to have all agreed today was much to perfect of a day to ruin with childish antics and running around like a pack of buffoons. Everyone needed a safe place that day. Tensions were high at Lunar academy, threads pulled to their ultimate limit. Relaxation was key. A deep breath in, and a deep breath in, melting into the day like the soft rain evaporating on the blades of grass.
A roar, a deep throaty sound, from the very mouth of the foulest beast crashed through the serenity. There was no warning, no visible cause. In a flash, a black dart swung through the narrow roads leading up to the park. Then, a screech, worse then that of nails on chalk board, resonating against the walls, the sound of tires harshly trying to grip to pavement. The rumbling was louder now, crashing through the delicate air, shattering sound waves. It continued, the source now obvious, sitting mockingly in the middle of the parking lot. Black like pitch, silver shining devilishly, and a rider straddling the bellowing beast. Smoke curled up slowly from the ink black tread marks spread across the pavement, like a cut wound, seeping blood. The bike snarled, shaking viscously, like it wanted to jump forward, like a prowling panther, waiting. The rider sat upon it with such confidence, there was no doubt who was in control. The cacophonous rumbling finally ceased, leaving a harsh ringing in its place, as the bike was finally moved at a slow place, squeezed between to other cars, parked most definitely illegally. After the noise, silence returned, but the serenity had been shattered. The figure straddling the rumbling beast, clad in a leather jacket, worn down jeans, aviator sunglasses and a helmet that looked like it really wouldn’t do much if there was an accident, sat there for a while. Hand lifted and the helmet was shed and placed before them before arms came up to run through the messy hair, mostly sticking up and everywhere but with a vague hit of style. The aviators on his nose were slowly lowered as he looked over the people still staring. God fucking damn, this place was so fucking pathetic. Zac snorted, pushing his sun glasses up again. He stretched his arms back, feeling the leather tighten over his chest and a few vertebrae’s snap. The fucking beds in this place were not meant to sleep on. It was like whoever chose the damn things wanted to make it so none of the students ever got sleep. Or maybe it was just him. Every other fucking person in this place always looked so damn happy. Zac’s body started complaining as he deserted his bike, but he moved away none the less. He shouldered past a bunch of dimwit bimbos standing in front of the park and strode down the path, helmet under his arm and glasses still on his face. He hardly ever took them off, even at night. His face felt barren and empty, vulnerable to anything without them. As well, they kept them from people, an extra barrier between him and all those annoying fuckers who never meant good. Zac strode with a certain confidence around him, not looking at anyone, not showing a single sign of insecurity or indecision. He knew where he was going, his route predetermined by eons of time. His body moved through the people skilfully, with enough swagger to make them move, and yet slipping through them all like a shadow. His eyes suddenly met something Zac did not like at all. He snarled under his breath, his tone like that of his precious motorcycle. His step quickened and he moved straight toward the tree. If he’d been a wolf, his hackles would have been raised, his fur on end and his teeth bared. He was practically snarling as it was. “Move it fucking cretin. My tree,” his voice growled lowly, as Zac stared down at this little kid who dared sit in his spot.
A powerful wave of anger washed over Vincent, who had been so calmly minding his own business. There was no way this emotion was his own; he'd never felt like this before. It grew stronger and stronger on him, like an impending thunderstorm. When his temples felt like they'd burst at any moment and the muscles in his arm were pulsating with the kind of adrenaline only someone feeling true rage could have, the thunderstorm moved in and blocked Vincent's view of the Divine Comedy.
Then came the thunder. None too graceful, it roared in Vincent's ear. This man was not in the least bit happy; Vincent didn't need to be Empathic to know that much. He worked hard to downplay this prime example of rage, and found it pretty damn difficult not to storm right back at the titan standing over him. He was determined not to let his - nor anyone else's - emotions control him, though; he put on a mask to hide his share of feelings from this Desecrater of Sanctuary.
Perhaps the anger throbbing in the background of Vincent's mind caused him to think irrationally... perhaps he just had a death wish. Whatever the case, he didn't move, except to switch which knee he arched in the air. Worse yet, he spoke to this angry thunderstorm, drawing its rage, playing with it a little. Vincent was a man holding up an eighty-foot long steel pole, poking at this thundercloud.
'This is your tree, you say? My sincerest apologies... how should I call you...?' Vincent paused a moment, as if waiting for a name; his British accent thick in his voice. He didn't honestly expect a name, so in short time he continued anyway, without even glancing up from his book. 'I honestly hadn't the slightest clue that this tree was indeed yours' He drew out this word, putting much emphasis on it. He couldn't help but glance up at the living embodiment of anger, just to see his reaction. 'I didn't notice any particular signs, signatures, or indications of any sort that would label this tree as belonging to you. As for my thyroid - I assure you, it is in fine working order. Neither has there been much sign of cretinism in my family ancestry...' Vincent would have felt a little excited inside, and probably extremely fearful, if it wasn't for all this anger drowning it out. He actually liked feeding off the anger of this individual; it wouldn't be far removed from the truth to admit that sometimes he liked these stronger emotions. He was numb to all of the little things.
Vincent wouldn't go so far as to insult this titan before him. He wasn't seeking assisted suicide that badly. Instead, he flipped to the next page of the Divine Comedy. He hadn't quite finished reading that stanza, but the effect it might create was too tempting to pass up: to show that he wasn't really paying attention. He'd make sure to return to it afterward, in his dormitory. If he could still see out both eyes by then; rather, if he was still alive by then.
Just breathe in now, and breathe it out. Zac snapped quickly, his fingers pulling in and nails, as short as they may be, digging into the flesh of his palm. Many people had always told him two little words, over and over. ‘Calm down” they said, in an irrationally soft voice, or the very pinnacle of irony, a much harried voice themselves, crushing through the words meaning. It was never understood, this great need to be calm and happy and acting like a great drugged up flower child all the time. The world was in chaos as it was, it was obvious, and those people who tried to deny it were just the type to be happy. Why deny what wasn’t going to stop? A good amount of anger and infuriation at the world was a good way to deal with everything. So thus, Zac’s certain attitude toward lividness never ceased or was staunched in anyway. He let his enragement have its full head, let it roar through him, his own protection from the world. As he stood there, words barraging his ears in the most irking manor, all twisted and worn out, he could feel it. A slow burn, snapping quickly through him, as he glared down at this immaterial little thing sitting in his way. After the words were through, Zac paused a moment, letting a quick succession of all the curses he knew fly through his head, desperately wanting to throw past his mouth. He held back, knowing it would do him no good to swear like an irrational sailor in this situation. His plan started to form, a surprise, since the anger was making his vision seem red around the edges.
Eyes behind mirrored shades flicked down to the book in the audacious fools hands, and Zac felt a rumble crawl through him as he flipped a page. A seemingly innocent action, but its meaning was so much deeper then that. He’d done that on purpose, Zac was sure, to show disinterest and a certain amount of calm that Zac was certainly not sustaining. He felt his spine bending, one hand folding out of its tightly clenched fist. Long fingers stretched out, and then plucked the book from the boys grasp like an apple from a tree. Zac straightened; his demeanour suddenly a strange calm. He flipped through the book, easily loosing the fellows place, and looked it over in every square inch. Zac personally hated literature, with every bone and nerve in his body. Not because he did not enjoy reading, but because he found it to be a great waste of time. Who needed books? Seemingly done with his inspection of the book, Zac looked at the person sitting at the tree again. “Now now, I’m sure you must have troubles understanding me, with those little ears so used to that fucking twisted thing you may call English, so let me say it again, though I fucking hate to repeat myself. I do not care if you do not fucking see anything that claims as mine, the fact remains, that this tree is fucking indeed mine. I do not fucking care about propriety or anything of the matter. What you, po’di merda del cazzo, need to understand, is that the world is not fucking fair, and not everything needs a fucking reason, as little cac filled British fuckers like you think. The world is a fucking chaotic place, and you need to learn to avoid what you fucking cannot handle,” Zac’s language casually slipped into others, cursing him harshly in different languages. It was something he could hardly contain, it just happened. His hands moved then, opening the book that still rested in his hands. For a moment, he started at the pages, like he was reading. Then his other hand, which had dropped his helmet long ago, rested on the book carefully. He now held the book, one half in each of his hands. Ever so slowly, Zac cracked the pages back, toward each other. The silence was filled with the sound of the book bending, which was much like that of glue unstitching. It was a soft, simple sound. He only stopped when the front covers were touching, his gaze moving to Vincent, though he did not move his head. He held the book like that, restraining the many pages with one hand. He lifted one page away from the rest, holding it from the very corner like some disease. “Now move,” he snarled, and slowly, slowly started tear the one page downward.
This was highly unexpected. Vincent supposed that this thunderstorm would have struck him, beaten him, bruised him, then left him bloodied before making off. Or, at least, walked off, steaming to himself. Both of these results would have thoroughly entertained Vincent, but what he was doing now was just... childish.
Vincent got to his feet, cautiously. The thought of giving up this spot to someone so single-minded would have infuriated Vincent, if it wasn't for the fact that this person's own anger drowned any other feeling out of his body. He only just began to wonder how angry somebody could really be. He collected up his books from beside the trunk, and glared the monstrosity in the eyes. He was going to go, that was true, but he wasn't going to turn tail and run. He was no David, but he wasn't going to give this Goliath the satisfaction of scaring him off. That book... that tome that sat in his grubby hands had cost him a ton, and that was back when it was still in print. He was going to walk away, with at least some of his dignity intact. For the sake of his book.
Then something clicked. '...the world is not fucking fair', he had said. These weren't the words of your average, hot-headed idiot. There must be reason behind this rage. He wasn't showing off, and he probably wasn't doing this simply to terrorize Vincent. He chanced a glance around the area; someplace relatively nearby that he could perch... this time it didn't matter how perfect it would be for reading. He probably wouldn't be doing any of that. He was personally very curious, now.
Vincent brought out his arm, rather half-heartedly. He suppressed a sigh, and glanced off to the right; he knew he wasn't going to be handed the book. That would just be too simple. It would probably get chucked into the bushes, or off to the side somewhere, and he'd have to go chase after it like a little kid after his soccer ball. His eyes returned to meet that of the Desecrater of Sanctuary (that felt like a fitting nickname, for now), and he waited for what would happen next, without speaking so much as a word.
Normalcy crashed around him with a bing bang and a big fat boom. Zac was left staring in something like shock that didn’t really register on his face, or any visible part for that matter, as the boy go up. The shock, small and weak, was replaced with the same old slight irked manner Zac had of always being. He had excepted, no wanted this guy to retaliate, to cause some kind of problem. He wanted to take his anger out somewhere, have someone else be the victim for once. He had apparently picked the wrong guy. Zac watched as he gathered his books. For a moment, after he straightened up, he stared Zac right in the eyes. Zac felt a sudden chill go down his spine, felt like he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses. This kid made him feel…uncomfortable, which was not normal. Zac did not like it. He was glad when he glanced away. His hands still held the book, the page tearing slowly by itself, gravity relentless. Zac watched the boy reach out for it, not even saying a word. That sparked a little flame, and for a moment Zac had a few urges. He wanted to set the book on fire, he wanted to toss it away as is, and holding onto one page with his hands so it tore as it flew away. He levelled his eyes on the idiot before him, weighing his options. After that initial spark though, Zac couldn’t get the energy to do anything. So, like the irony of ironies, Zac closed the book slowly. He flicked it forward with his hand, like he was going to throw it, but it didn’t move from his hands. The guy didn’t even flinch. Then, simple as that, he put the book in his hands, whipping his hands on his jeans as if he’d touched garbage.
A long sigh moved past Zacs mouth as he slid slowly down into a sitting position, his back resting against the tree. He slipped his hands through his hair, closing his eyes. He didn’t even check to see where the guy had went, he didn’t care. He felt himself slipping into what was some what of a calmer state. He’d been angry before, royally pissed off, yes. He didn’t really have a reason. Maybe it was a date. Today bore a horrible reminder, the one day of the year doomed to be bad. Well, there was another, but on that day Zac vowed every year to just sleep through it. He couldn’t remember how long it had been. A while, then, because of the not remembering. Or memory repression. His feet slipped down before him as his head leaned back. Another body sat, warm beside him. He felt a head lean on his shoulder, long hair tickling his neck. Zac’s eyes opened to a new scene, but a park all the same. He turned his head to see the blond top of another’s. His head leaned down and he kissed the girls head. “happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday my dearest…” “FUCK NO!!!” Zac roared, and more obscenities flew past his mouth, of any language he knew. He gripped at the ground, fingers burying into the grass, tearing and pulling. Rage crashed over him in a red tidal wave, pulling him down down down. He felt a pain behind his left eye, a sharp pin prick that would explode into another migraine. He buried his head in his hands, tugging at his hair roughly. How dare that bitch invade him like that?! He wanted to rip something, someone, apart at the seams. God fucking damnit all to hell.
Surprised that he was simply handed the book without so much as an insult, Vincent knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth and took the only slightly damaged book back. He felt words creep into his mouth, mostly instinctual, thank you, but luckily he stopped himself from uttering them. The strange actions of this monstrosity had almost humbled Vincent for a moment. He escaped the situation as soon as he could, striding off in the direction opposite he had been facing while sitting at the tree. He carefully made his way to a tree a short distance in that direction; one that he had previously overlooked for it had too much shadow, making it impossible to read. Carefully, he sat down and thumbed the rip in his book; if only that was dealt to himself... wounds healed; books did not.
Slowly, Vincent felt calm fall over him... this was so unexpected that he checked around to ensure that nobody else had accidentally stepped close, and was interfering with his attempt to read him. Finally, he had to accept that this thunderstorm had managed to cool so quickly, despite the infuriation he had only just held. He wondered idly if that tree really did have some significance to this person; it just would have been a lot less... rude to be uprooted from the spot so angrily.
Then a sum of feelings crashed over Vincent, all adding up to what was no doubt rage. He found himself gritting his own teeth and tugging at the roots of the tree to stop himself from yelling out. A resounding 'Fuck No' made it to his ears, and he knew that there had to be a reason for this... either that, or this individual was mentally unstable. Nobody could be angered this much by nothing.
Vincent got to his feet, and moved as far away as he could muster without entirely losing sight of this person. He needed to think, and that sort of anger just paralyzed him mentally. This would be far more difficult than he had thought... he would need to pry apart the rage, and try to understand what it was that was causing it. Vincent was no psychologist, but feelings were something he had to put up with - whether he liked it or not - ever since he was an adolescent. He even had half the mind to just leave, and forget this day ever happened...
Vincent eyed the tear on the first page of the Divine Comedy. He slid the page over. Inferno; the first poem in the book. Dante, both the narrator and character of the story, had explained that he had been lost in a 'dark wood' - metaphorically, had been contemplating suicide:
"This man has not yet seen his last evening; But, through his madness, was so close to it, That there was hardly time to turn about"
Inferno... in another word, Hell. This person must be walking through his own form of Hell. It just wouldn't sit right with Vincent to leave him wandering that Hell... he felt like he needed to be this man's Virgil; to walk him through Hell and then out of it. How to do it, though...? He carefully made his way back to the tree, and sat down in the shade once more.
Perhaps it was his own anti-social nature, but Vincent didn't seem to find stalking all too much of an offence. It was all in good cause... right?
Re: Silence... « Reply #7 on Aug 3, 2009, 7:38pm »
Anger was still boiling around his veins like a wild thunderstorm. Zac tried to think of something else. He tried to remember why exactly he’d decided to pick this tree. He had never really come here before, to this park that was. The place held no allure for him. It was just some damn park. The open road was his home, the place he’d go to calm down. So why did he stop then? His bike had been making a strange noise, and he really just needed to sit, somewhere. Or maybe just this constant anger needed an outlet. This tree though, it had no significance. He’d just spotted it, spotted the guy, and found himself walking over Unexplainable. True, he’d really wanted to start a fight. Zac found himself in many more fights since packed into this little school with no freedom what-so-ever. This place was way too strict for him. Back home, he could get away with whatever, but being in a boarding school meant to call in sick you had to go to the nurse, who could tell in a flash if you were faking or not, to actually get out. The administrators here were so full of fucking pompous bullshit it made Zac want to blow each and every one of their heads right of their bodies. He knew that this anger couldn’t be good, but hell, whatever way was there to deal with this goddamn world? He didn’t care. People left him alone and that was all that mattered. With this ‘wondrous ability’ of his, he was set for life. Fuck the rest of it. He was done with high school already; if he could have he would have dropped out.
Slowly, Zac let go of his head, the pain in his head growing again, that pinprick exploding slowly. He rubbed his temple, growling under his breath, making up words now. This rage would not go away for a long time. It would be a very bad time to cross him. He looked around him, trying to imagine why people would even like it here. Sure, there was a certain amount of charm, for a little old lady with her bird seed. While looking around, Zac’s eyes caught something. He was wearing his sunglasses, making everything pretty dark already, and in the shade things were barely even visible, but he could swear he saw something. He narrowed his eyes, and lifted his hand to narrow his sunglasses just the smallest little margin. It was still pretty hard to see, but Zac was sure. The rage kicked up again, as impossible as that seemed, though his amounts of anger never seemed to have an end. He slowly got up, wondering what had gotten into this kids head. He clearly had a mental deficiency. “I don’t know if you have some kind of fucking problem kid, but I would think it would be in your best interest to vacate this place, as in now. I’m not making you or anything, understand that, just see, I’m not in a good mood, and for some reason, you totally fucking irk the hell out of me, got it?” Zac stood, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He didn’t know if the results would change if he kept bugging this kid, but hell, he could at least beat the shit out of him if he was annoying again.
Re: Silence... « Reply #8 on Aug 14, 2009, 9:12pm »
The anger built up in Vincent again and exploded once more - this person just wouldn't calm, would he?
Vincent was just about to get up to try to walk it off again before he found himself being approached once more. Same guy; just as angry. It was painstakingly obvious that this wasn't going to be a moment for apologizing. The anger hadn't even subsided slightly; there was no chance that such a thing would happen. He didn't understand what this person's problem was - he let him have the spot by the tree, he didn't fight back... but now here he was again, cursing at him like Vincent wasn't worth shit.
All he was doing was sitting under the tree, minding his own business. Reading a book, or three... despite the anger he unwillingly shared, he somehow managed to keep his cool and get away from the situation. Then, in a rare moment of actually caring, he tried to learn more about this guy. Maybe figure out what it was that seemed to be bothering him. Obviously, he didn't know about that, but even if he did Vincent doubted it would have changed anything.
"Vinny Vinny Vincent! Is it true you have eyes on the back of your head? Why are you reading? Books are so boring! No wonder you don't have any friends!" Vincent slowly got up, not even glancing back to the kids calling at him. They stood an unusually large distance away... Vincent was too weak to do much, but his mere oddness was enough to keep anyone at bay. All he really wanted was some time alone, to read under his favourite tree...
"Oh, is he running away now? Vinny, running home to your mommy? Is she going to save you, now?" The mere mention of his mother angered him. She had left him completely alone, in this Hell of a world, when his father died. It was better if she had never even existed, he thought to himself.
"Vinny Vinny Vincent! Crying home to mommy!" He turned on his heels and found himself face to face with the fat, bloated child that wouldn't stop bothering him. A dozen and one different things ran through Vincent's mind... the sum of all of the dark novels he had read urged him to do things to this child that even the Devil himself might feel guilty doing. He wasn't violent, though... he never really was. He clenched his fists, and found himself instead throwing insults back. "My mother is dead to me. Why don't you run home to your own mommy, fatass? Maybe you'll catch her fucking the mail officer again, like the filthy whore she is. I bet he's even your real dad. That would make you a bastard child, wouldn't it? Billy Billy Bastard Child, born of pure accident? What're you going to do?"
Some might consider those words a little strong for an eleven year old. Regardless, Vincent needn't worry about silence for quite some time after that incident. Everyone left him quite well enough alone.
It was impossible to tell whether or not this anger was his own or property of the guy standing before him. This was just getting to be too much for Vincent. He regretted ever caring - he should have just packed his books and returned to the Dorm. But that place was just a cesspool of emotions... Depression, happiness, anger... there was nowhere on this entire damn campus that he could go to be left alone to his own thoughts. He found himself clenching his fists once again, just like so many years ago.
It would be difficult to imagine so many years of calming oneself to unravel so quickly. But all it took was one loose thread, and this person happened to step on it. Vincent was on the brink of losing it, but he tried to keep his cool for just a few moments longer. At least, relatively cool... "That feeling is growing more and more mutual by the minute. All I wanted was some time to myself to read, and you have to come in and stomp all over it. I let you have your damn tree, but yet you insist on bothering me. Like Hell I'm going to vacate this place. Its the only place I can go to get away from everything. I don't know what it is that I'm doing that is causing you to be in such a bad mood, but your mood is rather contagious; moreso than you think. Why the Hell are you so pissed off, anyway? What has anyone ever done to you?"
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