Alter Ego
that evil mod from hell
- 5,750
- Posts
- 19
- Years
- Age 37
- Touhou land, grazing danmaku all the way
- Seen Aug 8, 2010
Pethalamine heaved a contented sigh as she slipped in between the sheets of the hotel bed, savoring their soft cleanliness. In the trash can behind said bed, a thick mane of auburn hair lay abandoned, the scholar absent-mindedly running a hand through the shorter, far more manageable, shoulder-length remnants thereof. It had been an impulse decision, one she was positive Natalija would scold as being even less fashionable than her previous hairstyle, and it felt a bit...lonely to be without the usual covering of auburn trailing behind her, but she had to admit that it felt strangely pleasing too...and certainly a lot less intrusive, though she still made a point of leaving enough for the usual fringe to cover the tattoo. Baby steps; baby steps.
"You think it's that easy, do you?"
The girl cocked a lazy glance in the direction of the nearest mirror, none-too-surprised to find an affronted looking feline shape glaring back at her through the reflection of her own eye. She wasn't sure if it was the change in clothes, or the new haircut, or something completely different, but for the first time since she couldn't recall when...she felt no anxiety meeting that glare.
"Discard, discard, discard." the negafael snarled, "You think you'll find your place in life just by throwing everything that doesn't suit your tastes away? You think those people will accept you if you just change again?"
"You think they will if I don't?" Pethalamine shot back cheekily, "Seems to me they pretty much hate the way I was, but you know what?" she shrugged, "So do I; even if they won't like me better, I will."
"Will you, really?" the cat gave a sceptical snort, "It's your own history that you despise, Pet, and you should know better than anyone...you can't erase history."
"True." the scholar conceded, an impish smile playing around her features, "But after today, you should know..."
"Know what?" the negafael snarled indignantly.
Pethalamine's smile widened a little, "Sometimes it's written down dead wrong."
"Happy illusions."
"It's a step up from unhappy ones." Pethalamine retorted, promptly turning onto her other side and pulling the covers closer around herself, "Good night, you old grouch."
Pethalamine got a little scratch just over her right eye for that one, but she merely grinned into her pillow and bore it.
Meanwhile, within his quarters at Silth Pharmaceuticals, one Pendragon was having a far harder time getting to sleep, twisting and turning in his bed as a single, obnoxious phrase kept playing back and forth through his head.
"Miss Ayre."
She had called her miss Ayre; there was no mistaking it. And those bright, colorful, mismatched clothes...there could not possibly be that many Ayres who would willingly wear something like that. Yet...that girl had obviously been far too young to be that Ayre. That Ayre would have been a Mrs. Ayre by now, and since there was also a Ms. Ayre, that meant that there would most likely also be a Mr. Ayre.
His stomach knotted itself at the thought, even though he kept telling himself that he should have expected this. No, he should have known this. Of course she would have moved on. Of course she would have found someone, someone who wasn't-
"You will see her."
The assistant snapped to attention, twisting around to see her employer towering above him, an exasperated expression on her face.
"Madame Silth, I don't know who you-"
"That Ayre girl." Argalie replied matter-of-factly.
Pendragon had to double-check to make sure his mouth wasn't gaping while he steadied himself enough to speak, "How...how did you know it's-?"
"Argalie, she has her ways." the woman replied, a hint of a smile playing around her features, "And besides...you have a tendency to think out loud, Mr. Pendragon."
"I see..." the man replied, blushing slightly. He soon regained his composure, though, determinedly looking elsewhere, "You're wrong, though; I don't plan on going to see her."
"That wasn't a question." Argalie replied flatly, tossing a rather heavy tome into Pendragon's lap, "Mahstion; a History," she elaborated, "A book on loan from the Sekt University library. Argalie has been informed that they would very much like it back as all of their copies are currently loaned out. You, as Argalie's assitant, will of course deliver it for her. Argalie would imagine that the Ayre girl has interest in this book also, so it is fair to assume that you will see her there."
"...I see..."
"Indeed you do." Argalie confirmed, "Just as you see the dirt and dust in the corner's of this pharmacy, yet you are all too reluctant to do what needs to be done about it."
"Oh?" Pendragon retorted, "And what might that be?"
"Sweep, Mr.Pendragon." the pharmacist replied, "And not under the carpet this time."
"Mmm?"
It took a while for Faewyn to register the ex-priest's words, her eyes still shut in concentration as she felt a fresh wave of mahstion residue brush against her, the mingling signals in the air like so many different breezes, each with slightly differing direction, speed, and warmth. She had often made a habit of borrowing Isaire's ability like this just for the joy of it, but this time she actuall had to pay attention to what she was doing. The signature was faint, but there was no way she could be mistaken on the faint scent of the mother tree on it.
"I'm worried about Adela too." she replied in a off-beat kind of way, slowing her pace just enough to slip her arm behind Aertan's back, "Her signature is very weak, but..." she took a pause, focusing on the scent of tree bark, the fain rustle of imaginary leaves, the trail slowly distinguishing itself from the plethora of others in front of her mind's eye, and at the end of that trail...
Her eyes abruptly snapped open, "That house." she declared, index finger pointed at a run-down structure that had most likely been a quaint little countryside retreat once upon a time, "Adela...is definitely in that house."
"You think it's that easy, do you?"
The girl cocked a lazy glance in the direction of the nearest mirror, none-too-surprised to find an affronted looking feline shape glaring back at her through the reflection of her own eye. She wasn't sure if it was the change in clothes, or the new haircut, or something completely different, but for the first time since she couldn't recall when...she felt no anxiety meeting that glare.
"Discard, discard, discard." the negafael snarled, "You think you'll find your place in life just by throwing everything that doesn't suit your tastes away? You think those people will accept you if you just change again?"
"You think they will if I don't?" Pethalamine shot back cheekily, "Seems to me they pretty much hate the way I was, but you know what?" she shrugged, "So do I; even if they won't like me better, I will."
"Will you, really?" the cat gave a sceptical snort, "It's your own history that you despise, Pet, and you should know better than anyone...you can't erase history."
"True." the scholar conceded, an impish smile playing around her features, "But after today, you should know..."
"Know what?" the negafael snarled indignantly.
Pethalamine's smile widened a little, "Sometimes it's written down dead wrong."
"Happy illusions."
"It's a step up from unhappy ones." Pethalamine retorted, promptly turning onto her other side and pulling the covers closer around herself, "Good night, you old grouch."
Pethalamine got a little scratch just over her right eye for that one, but she merely grinned into her pillow and bore it.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, within his quarters at Silth Pharmaceuticals, one Pendragon was having a far harder time getting to sleep, twisting and turning in his bed as a single, obnoxious phrase kept playing back and forth through his head.
"Miss Ayre."
She had called her miss Ayre; there was no mistaking it. And those bright, colorful, mismatched clothes...there could not possibly be that many Ayres who would willingly wear something like that. Yet...that girl had obviously been far too young to be that Ayre. That Ayre would have been a Mrs. Ayre by now, and since there was also a Ms. Ayre, that meant that there would most likely also be a Mr. Ayre.
His stomach knotted itself at the thought, even though he kept telling himself that he should have expected this. No, he should have known this. Of course she would have moved on. Of course she would have found someone, someone who wasn't-
"You will see her."
The assistant snapped to attention, twisting around to see her employer towering above him, an exasperated expression on her face.
"Madame Silth, I don't know who you-"
"That Ayre girl." Argalie replied matter-of-factly.
Pendragon had to double-check to make sure his mouth wasn't gaping while he steadied himself enough to speak, "How...how did you know it's-?"
"Argalie, she has her ways." the woman replied, a hint of a smile playing around her features, "And besides...you have a tendency to think out loud, Mr. Pendragon."
"I see..." the man replied, blushing slightly. He soon regained his composure, though, determinedly looking elsewhere, "You're wrong, though; I don't plan on going to see her."
"That wasn't a question." Argalie replied flatly, tossing a rather heavy tome into Pendragon's lap, "Mahstion; a History," she elaborated, "A book on loan from the Sekt University library. Argalie has been informed that they would very much like it back as all of their copies are currently loaned out. You, as Argalie's assitant, will of course deliver it for her. Argalie would imagine that the Ayre girl has interest in this book also, so it is fair to assume that you will see her there."
"...I see..."
"Indeed you do." Argalie confirmed, "Just as you see the dirt and dust in the corner's of this pharmacy, yet you are all too reluctant to do what needs to be done about it."
"Oh?" Pendragon retorted, "And what might that be?"
"Sweep, Mr.Pendragon." the pharmacist replied, "And not under the carpet this time."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Mmm?"
It took a while for Faewyn to register the ex-priest's words, her eyes still shut in concentration as she felt a fresh wave of mahstion residue brush against her, the mingling signals in the air like so many different breezes, each with slightly differing direction, speed, and warmth. She had often made a habit of borrowing Isaire's ability like this just for the joy of it, but this time she actuall had to pay attention to what she was doing. The signature was faint, but there was no way she could be mistaken on the faint scent of the mother tree on it.
"I'm worried about Adela too." she replied in a off-beat kind of way, slowing her pace just enough to slip her arm behind Aertan's back, "Her signature is very weak, but..." she took a pause, focusing on the scent of tree bark, the fain rustle of imaginary leaves, the trail slowly distinguishing itself from the plethora of others in front of her mind's eye, and at the end of that trail...
Her eyes abruptly snapped open, "That house." she declared, index finger pointed at a run-down structure that had most likely been a quaint little countryside retreat once upon a time, "Adela...is definitely in that house."