Pascal Member
- Last Seen: 1 hr ago
- Old Guild Username: Pascal
- Joined: 13 yrs ago
- Posts: 371 (0.08 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- Pascal 13 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
CitrusArms,
LadyAnnaLee,
Obscene Symphony,
O O,
RPM,
vue2026,
Three Steps Far,
D3AD ST4R,
Emma,
Guardian Angel Haruki
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio.
Most Recent Posts
Ever see the show Harper's Island? It has a premise a bit like this. A group goes to a small island to have a wedding, but people start dying off one by one. They try to figure out who it is before they get killed. Neat mini-series--I think it is on Netflix.
I'm looking forward to this. I haven't done a group game in a while! And fortunately, with no investigators under my purview, Avery can just sit back and enjoy pina coladas while the investigators do all the hard work. :P
Yippee! Liriia they aren't exactly teens, but Abigail isn't too much older. Hope it works out!
*I can add in any details that you think I might have missed. I wanted to get it done in the two hours like I promised :) *
Name: Avery Goldstein
Age: 24
Appearance: Avery is 6 feet 2 inches tall, but he generally slouches, leaving making him seem a bit shorter. He tends to wear baggy clothing, and weighs almost 150 lbs. His hair is short, and dark, curling around his head in an annoying fashion, and so he prefers to wear a cap rather than make any attempt to groom it. He has a tattoo on his back (large tree), as well as one on his right forearm (celtic knot), and his left wrist (barcode)—all of them are with black ink only.
Occupation: Busboy-recovering drug addict, just moved onto 6th street
Personality: Avery has a lot to prove. He generally thinks that people who take the time to talk to him are trying to get a rise out of him. He doesn’t depend on other people, and is afraid of making new friends. He feels like if he starts becoming social, he is going to slip into drug and alcohol abuse once more. Avery can be friendly, but his first response is usually a bitter remark, and he isn’t very good at apologizing, or admitting when he was wrong.
Bio: Avery’s mother walked out on his father when he was an infant. He doesn’t remember her, and he doesn’t care. His dad was a nice enough guy, but he married a woman named Sandra pretty quickly. Avery grew up calling her mom, but she didn’t call him her son. When his dad and step-mom had their own child, Avery was pushed to the side. She was a sickly child, and they put 100% of their effort into caring for her. When he wanted a bicycle, he couldn’t get one because Abigail had a doctor’s appointment. When he wanted to go to summer camp, he couldn’t because they needed to save for tuition for Abigail to go to a special school. He was happy when she left, and he thought that his parents would pay more attention to him.
Instead, they threw themselves into their work. His father began to travel, and he would only see the man a couple of times a month. Avery was bullied in school, and when his teachers asked his parents to come in to discuss his progress academically and socially, they didn’t show up. The high school he went to was rough, and by then, he was already doing pot just to cope and get through the day. Mom went to work before he left for school, and he almost failed out because he just didn’t have the initiative to go on his own. When he was fifteen, he fucked up, and got arrested trying to rob a grocery store of their cigarettes. He ended up in juvie for a year. When he got out, he lasted three months before he got into trouble once more.
By the time he was 18, Avery barely visited his parents. He found himself using whatever drugs he came across, including a few things whose names he didn’t even know. He ended up in jail at 20, serving two years before going to a mandatory rehab facility. He was released a few months ago, and his step-mother agreed to help him start fresh in a new town. She would pay for his apartment, if he would live with and help take care of his estranged sister. Avery considered the offer, preferring to stay around the people he knew already, but he also recognized that he would never get out of this cycle if he stayed.
Other: Avery has been clean since he moved, but he doesn’t advertise this to Abigail, since he doesn’t want her constantly questioning him about how he is feeling.
-.-
Name: Abigail Goldstein
Age: 21
Appearance: Abigail is 5 foot 6, and has a slim build. She generally wears jeans and a plain t-shirt with sneakers, but occasionally wears a dress with leggings.
Occupation: unemployed- aspiring musician, just moved onto 6th street
Personality: Abigail is generally an easy-going person, and a bit clumsy. She can focus for a long time on one thing, but that one thing is usually messing with a guitar or piano. She is eager to make friends, but not very good at following through and actually speaking to new people. She is also self-conscious about her appearance, around new people especially.
Bio: Abigail was born a few complications, the most important of which being that she had two detached retinas, and has never been able to see. Her mother and father did research, and hired a private tutor/caregiver to be with their daughter all the time, since both of them worked. When she was four, they sent her to a boarding school for the blind, where she was able to learn everything she needed to be successful in life. The financial strain on the family made her parents throw themselves into their work. Her mother took a second job, and her father began to travel for his job, flying multiple times a week for a position that would help make enough of an income to sustain the family.
The family got together for holidays, but her parents walked on eggshells around her, not letting her get things for herself, or even walk around the house without someone trying to warn her about items that might be in her way. This frustrated Abigail, as she liked to be treated like a human being. She honestly barely noticed when her half-brother, Avery, stopped attending these events, and when she asked her parents, they dismissed her concerns quickly. When she was in her teens, her father stopped coming to the holiday meals, because of his intense schedule. Her mother offered to continue, but Abigail suggested that they do their own things over the breaks instead, and traveled with friends from school, spending time with their much more normal seeming families.
After graduating from the school, she got her associates degree in music, but wasn’t ready to continue her education. She needed a break, and moved in with her mother, Sandra. That lasted…four months before they realized that they were far too incompatible. Sandra didn’t want Abigail living on her own, though, and offered to pay for an apartment for Abigail if she agreed to live with her brother. After harshly reminding her mother that, “He’s only my half-brother, Mom!”, Abigail agreed, and packed her bags for 6th street.
Other: Abigail doesn’t like wearing the stupid dark sunglasses. It feels weird to put something else on her face that she has to think about, but she does occasionally use a white cane.
Name: Avery Goldstein
Age: 24
Appearance: Avery is 6 feet 2 inches tall, but he generally slouches, leaving making him seem a bit shorter. He tends to wear baggy clothing, and weighs almost 150 lbs. His hair is short, and dark, curling around his head in an annoying fashion, and so he prefers to wear a cap rather than make any attempt to groom it. He has a tattoo on his back (large tree), as well as one on his right forearm (celtic knot), and his left wrist (barcode)—all of them are with black ink only.
Occupation: Busboy-recovering drug addict, just moved onto 6th street
Personality: Avery has a lot to prove. He generally thinks that people who take the time to talk to him are trying to get a rise out of him. He doesn’t depend on other people, and is afraid of making new friends. He feels like if he starts becoming social, he is going to slip into drug and alcohol abuse once more. Avery can be friendly, but his first response is usually a bitter remark, and he isn’t very good at apologizing, or admitting when he was wrong.
Bio: Avery’s mother walked out on his father when he was an infant. He doesn’t remember her, and he doesn’t care. His dad was a nice enough guy, but he married a woman named Sandra pretty quickly. Avery grew up calling her mom, but she didn’t call him her son. When his dad and step-mom had their own child, Avery was pushed to the side. She was a sickly child, and they put 100% of their effort into caring for her. When he wanted a bicycle, he couldn’t get one because Abigail had a doctor’s appointment. When he wanted to go to summer camp, he couldn’t because they needed to save for tuition for Abigail to go to a special school. He was happy when she left, and he thought that his parents would pay more attention to him.
Instead, they threw themselves into their work. His father began to travel, and he would only see the man a couple of times a month. Avery was bullied in school, and when his teachers asked his parents to come in to discuss his progress academically and socially, they didn’t show up. The high school he went to was rough, and by then, he was already doing pot just to cope and get through the day. Mom went to work before he left for school, and he almost failed out because he just didn’t have the initiative to go on his own. When he was fifteen, he fucked up, and got arrested trying to rob a grocery store of their cigarettes. He ended up in juvie for a year. When he got out, he lasted three months before he got into trouble once more.
By the time he was 18, Avery barely visited his parents. He found himself using whatever drugs he came across, including a few things whose names he didn’t even know. He ended up in jail at 20, serving two years before going to a mandatory rehab facility. He was released a few months ago, and his step-mother agreed to help him start fresh in a new town. She would pay for his apartment, if he would live with and help take care of his estranged sister. Avery considered the offer, preferring to stay around the people he knew already, but he also recognized that he would never get out of this cycle if he stayed.
Other: Avery has been clean since he moved, but he doesn’t advertise this to Abigail, since he doesn’t want her constantly questioning him about how he is feeling.
-.-
Name: Abigail Goldstein
Age: 21
Appearance: Abigail is 5 foot 6, and has a slim build. She generally wears jeans and a plain t-shirt with sneakers, but occasionally wears a dress with leggings.
Occupation: unemployed- aspiring musician, just moved onto 6th street
Personality: Abigail is generally an easy-going person, and a bit clumsy. She can focus for a long time on one thing, but that one thing is usually messing with a guitar or piano. She is eager to make friends, but not very good at following through and actually speaking to new people. She is also self-conscious about her appearance, around new people especially.
Bio: Abigail was born a few complications, the most important of which being that she had two detached retinas, and has never been able to see. Her mother and father did research, and hired a private tutor/caregiver to be with their daughter all the time, since both of them worked. When she was four, they sent her to a boarding school for the blind, where she was able to learn everything she needed to be successful in life. The financial strain on the family made her parents throw themselves into their work. Her mother took a second job, and her father began to travel for his job, flying multiple times a week for a position that would help make enough of an income to sustain the family.
The family got together for holidays, but her parents walked on eggshells around her, not letting her get things for herself, or even walk around the house without someone trying to warn her about items that might be in her way. This frustrated Abigail, as she liked to be treated like a human being. She honestly barely noticed when her half-brother, Avery, stopped attending these events, and when she asked her parents, they dismissed her concerns quickly. When she was in her teens, her father stopped coming to the holiday meals, because of his intense schedule. Her mother offered to continue, but Abigail suggested that they do their own things over the breaks instead, and traveled with friends from school, spending time with their much more normal seeming families.
After graduating from the school, she got her associates degree in music, but wasn’t ready to continue her education. She needed a break, and moved in with her mother, Sandra. That lasted…four months before they realized that they were far too incompatible. Sandra didn’t want Abigail living on her own, though, and offered to pay for an apartment for Abigail if she agreed to live with her brother. After harshly reminding her mother that, “He’s only my half-brother, Mom!”, Abigail agreed, and packed her bags for 6th street.
Other: Abigail doesn’t like wearing the stupid dark sunglasses. It feels weird to put something else on her face that she has to think about, but she does occasionally use a white cane.
I have two civilians I am working on, half-brother and sister. Just got home, but at least was brainstorming while I drove. I should have character sheets up in 1-2 hours...depending on when I get my kitty off of my lap.
I didn't see the original interest check, but if it is okay to suddenly drop in and post a CS, I would like to join. Don't want to invite myself where I'm not wanted, so let me know if I should proceed!
In
[High-Casual/Advanced] Something Like Conspiracy (SlummyChap & Pascal)
→
12 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Hey, if you would rather I add more to my post, let me know. I was pretty tired when I finished up last night, and might have lost some coherency, lol.
In
[High-Casual/Advanced] Something Like Conspiracy (SlummyChap & Pascal)
→
12 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
“Of course” Bransen replied, “Whatever you think, Dave.”
The rest of Bransen’s concerns, paranoid thoughts, and fears were left unsaid, and Dave had his own concerns as they got closer to New York. He stayed awake for the next hour, keeping an eye on the signs, and making sure that the driver wasn’t going to pass out or anything. He suspected that something was bothering the man, but in their situation, he wasn’t exactly surprised by such. When they pulled up to a dirty-looking motel, Dave heard his companion mutter a rather depressing thoughts. Dave regarded him for a moment before exiting the car, before giving a small nod. “Perhaps.” He said, certainly looking too thoughtful regarding Bransen’s suggestion. Dave opened the door, and then turned back to Bransen, realizing that his words might not have come across with good intentions. “Not literally… just… you might have something there…” He trailed off as he got out. “I’ll take care of the room, if you want to grab our stuff.” He suggested.
As he mentioned to Bransen, he wasn’t literally considering killing himself, or encouraging Bransen to do the same. Instead, he was thinking about faking their deaths. It was difficult, but if it could throw off Hawtholders’ trail for a little while, it would buy them some time. An old friend came to mind, a girl named Cindy. A former goth chick, Cindy never really got over her fascination with the deal. As far as Dave knew, she still wore way too much black eye-liner, and destroyed her naturally blonde hair by dying it as black as my soul she used to say. She was always weird, but she had helped him out a few times, and she had a boss who purchased drugs from some of his associates. He never noticed when things seemed to be misplaced. Hell, Dave remembered Cindy telling him that she was sure her boss was doing some shit on the black market with some of the John Does that came in. It was a flickering thought, but one that Dave could certainly put some more time into. Unfortunately, it would mean that they needed to spend more time in New York. Perhaps he needed to run more details by Bransen—and that was if Cindy was still around/in this business/willing to help/in possession of decent John Doe’s to use.
Taking a bit of the trash out of the car with him, Dave made his way to the office. There wasn’t anyone in the office, naturally, and Dave thought about just going through the office until he found keys to a room, but the last thing he wanted was the cops pounding down the door first thing in the morning and arresting them because they had stolen a room. He hit the stupid bell a few times until a man stumbled out of one of the back rooms. As the door opened, “Africa” by Toto was heard, slowly drowning until it was muffled when the door shut. He reeked of marijuana, was eating a churro, and his eyes were extremely bloodshot. “I need a room for the night.” Dave said.
“Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus under the Serengeti, my brutha.” He said, grinning from ear to ear.
“Okay…” Dave said slowly, wishing momentarily that they had just parked and slept in the car somewhere. He did not have the patience to deal with this shit. “Do you have any with two beds?” He asked.
“Mhmmm…. If you like the company of rats.” He said, still grinning.
“Do you…have any rooms that don’t have rats?” Dave said, his fingers closing around the counter until his knuckles began to turn white.
“Yeaaaaaa….. MAN!” He said, and Dave began to realize that this guy had no idea what the hell he was even asking.
“How much is a room?” Dave asked, changing the subject.
“How much…how much difference in the world can one person’s life make?” He asked, his eyes widening. He turned his head a bit, in awe, and noticed the churro in his hand. He slowly took another bite, and turned towards his guest as the man spoke again.
“That is a good question. So I pose this—How much difference in the world is the cost of one more room going to make?” He asked, feeding into this man’s obviously drug-induced state. “I mean…it isn’t like the money disappears. It’s still there. It just goes from me to you to the drawer… It doesn’t make any difference at all, really.” As Dave spoke, the man behind the counter began to nod, completely agreeing with the bullshit that Dave was spouting. Dave continued, going on about the dollar was just a symbol, a picture, and any picture, worth a thousand words, could have more value than that unchanging dollar. “How about this? I will draw you a picture—something unique and separate from the monotony and bullshit of pennies and dimes, and then you can just give me the key.” He said. “Then I can give it back tomorrow, and there will be balance.” He suggested. It was difficult for Dave to act so laid-back regarding things, but he knew how to speak to someone on drugs, and he knew how to use them to get what he wanted. A minute later, Dave exited the office, room key in hand. He had no idea if it was a two-bedroom with rats, a one-bedroom, or what, and he didn’t much care. The churro-eating night clerk went back to the room playing Toto, cradling his doodle of a dinosaur like it was worth a million dollars.
Dave caught up with Bransen, and made his way to the room. Fortunately, the key had been labeled. “I have good news and bad news.” He said as he put the key in the door. “The bad news is that this room might have rats… The good news is that it was free.” He said, grinning as he opened the door to the motel room.
It actually…wasn’t nearly as bad as Dave had been expecting. He didn’t see any rodents scurrying away, or poop on the floor. Some parts of the room had a bit of dust on them, but it wasn’t disgusting by any means. “You know,” Dave said, turning on the lights as he walked in. “I think we should invest in some sleeping bags.” He said lightly. Dave had roughed it quite a few times, but since they were consistently staying in shitty dives, it might be nice to have a somewhat clean area in which they could sleep and feel like not everything was dirty and disgusting. Dave used the restroom, just washing up briefly before he sat on the edge of the bed, checking his own bandage. It wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t going to let it breathe for the night here. “How’s your foot?” He asked after putting a clean bandage on his own wound.
The rest of Bransen’s concerns, paranoid thoughts, and fears were left unsaid, and Dave had his own concerns as they got closer to New York. He stayed awake for the next hour, keeping an eye on the signs, and making sure that the driver wasn’t going to pass out or anything. He suspected that something was bothering the man, but in their situation, he wasn’t exactly surprised by such. When they pulled up to a dirty-looking motel, Dave heard his companion mutter a rather depressing thoughts. Dave regarded him for a moment before exiting the car, before giving a small nod. “Perhaps.” He said, certainly looking too thoughtful regarding Bransen’s suggestion. Dave opened the door, and then turned back to Bransen, realizing that his words might not have come across with good intentions. “Not literally… just… you might have something there…” He trailed off as he got out. “I’ll take care of the room, if you want to grab our stuff.” He suggested.
As he mentioned to Bransen, he wasn’t literally considering killing himself, or encouraging Bransen to do the same. Instead, he was thinking about faking their deaths. It was difficult, but if it could throw off Hawtholders’ trail for a little while, it would buy them some time. An old friend came to mind, a girl named Cindy. A former goth chick, Cindy never really got over her fascination with the deal. As far as Dave knew, she still wore way too much black eye-liner, and destroyed her naturally blonde hair by dying it as black as my soul she used to say. She was always weird, but she had helped him out a few times, and she had a boss who purchased drugs from some of his associates. He never noticed when things seemed to be misplaced. Hell, Dave remembered Cindy telling him that she was sure her boss was doing some shit on the black market with some of the John Does that came in. It was a flickering thought, but one that Dave could certainly put some more time into. Unfortunately, it would mean that they needed to spend more time in New York. Perhaps he needed to run more details by Bransen—and that was if Cindy was still around/in this business/willing to help/in possession of decent John Doe’s to use.
Taking a bit of the trash out of the car with him, Dave made his way to the office. There wasn’t anyone in the office, naturally, and Dave thought about just going through the office until he found keys to a room, but the last thing he wanted was the cops pounding down the door first thing in the morning and arresting them because they had stolen a room. He hit the stupid bell a few times until a man stumbled out of one of the back rooms. As the door opened, “Africa” by Toto was heard, slowly drowning until it was muffled when the door shut. He reeked of marijuana, was eating a churro, and his eyes were extremely bloodshot. “I need a room for the night.” Dave said.
“Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus under the Serengeti, my brutha.” He said, grinning from ear to ear.
“Okay…” Dave said slowly, wishing momentarily that they had just parked and slept in the car somewhere. He did not have the patience to deal with this shit. “Do you have any with two beds?” He asked.
“Mhmmm…. If you like the company of rats.” He said, still grinning.
“Do you…have any rooms that don’t have rats?” Dave said, his fingers closing around the counter until his knuckles began to turn white.
“Yeaaaaaa….. MAN!” He said, and Dave began to realize that this guy had no idea what the hell he was even asking.
“How much is a room?” Dave asked, changing the subject.
“How much…how much difference in the world can one person’s life make?” He asked, his eyes widening. He turned his head a bit, in awe, and noticed the churro in his hand. He slowly took another bite, and turned towards his guest as the man spoke again.
“That is a good question. So I pose this—How much difference in the world is the cost of one more room going to make?” He asked, feeding into this man’s obviously drug-induced state. “I mean…it isn’t like the money disappears. It’s still there. It just goes from me to you to the drawer… It doesn’t make any difference at all, really.” As Dave spoke, the man behind the counter began to nod, completely agreeing with the bullshit that Dave was spouting. Dave continued, going on about the dollar was just a symbol, a picture, and any picture, worth a thousand words, could have more value than that unchanging dollar. “How about this? I will draw you a picture—something unique and separate from the monotony and bullshit of pennies and dimes, and then you can just give me the key.” He said. “Then I can give it back tomorrow, and there will be balance.” He suggested. It was difficult for Dave to act so laid-back regarding things, but he knew how to speak to someone on drugs, and he knew how to use them to get what he wanted. A minute later, Dave exited the office, room key in hand. He had no idea if it was a two-bedroom with rats, a one-bedroom, or what, and he didn’t much care. The churro-eating night clerk went back to the room playing Toto, cradling his doodle of a dinosaur like it was worth a million dollars.
Dave caught up with Bransen, and made his way to the room. Fortunately, the key had been labeled. “I have good news and bad news.” He said as he put the key in the door. “The bad news is that this room might have rats… The good news is that it was free.” He said, grinning as he opened the door to the motel room.
It actually…wasn’t nearly as bad as Dave had been expecting. He didn’t see any rodents scurrying away, or poop on the floor. Some parts of the room had a bit of dust on them, but it wasn’t disgusting by any means. “You know,” Dave said, turning on the lights as he walked in. “I think we should invest in some sleeping bags.” He said lightly. Dave had roughed it quite a few times, but since they were consistently staying in shitty dives, it might be nice to have a somewhat clean area in which they could sleep and feel like not everything was dirty and disgusting. Dave used the restroom, just washing up briefly before he sat on the edge of the bed, checking his own bandage. It wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t going to let it breathe for the night here. “How’s your foot?” He asked after putting a clean bandage on his own wound.
That's okay. I just want to let you know that I am really struggling with the game at the moment. I don't feel like I am doing enough to move things forward, and thus am not able to get enough in return to make things work. I am not sure why Erin didn't actually listen the first times he tried to explain his position, and I don't mind that she thinks he is an asshole, but it does leave me a bit stuck. I can do a whole post with him going to the lobby and trying to get people to pay attention to him, it is just going to be a bit boring to you, I imagine.
Anyway, I am going to sit on this tonight and try to figure out if I get inspired with anything different tomorrow.
Anyway, I am going to sit on this tonight and try to figure out if I get inspired with anything different tomorrow.
Kieran insisted. “No. I dragged you out here and talked your ear off a bit. Paying is the least I can do. Besides, I asked you to lunch, it is only gentlemanly for me to pay.” He explained. Kieran walked her back to his car, and considered her question as he got into the car. “It’s okay. It’s a good question.” He assured her. “Let me think for a moment…” He turned on the ignition and put in his seatbelt.
“I didn’t need to talk to you, but I wanted to ask for your help. People who use magic…” He paused, knowing that he couldn’t easily explain that there was a whole different world out there where they were being persecuted. It might be a bit too much. “Are fighting a war.” He said. “Most people around here choose to believe it doesn’t exist, and that is fine. However, some who do know about it think it is unnatural, that it is wrong. I am not fond of war, but I believe that everyone has the right to…what’s the American way, again? Ah… right, Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”
“Having someone around who could heal people would change the outcome of many fights. But please understand, Anabelle, I would never force you to aid our efforts. But… the people who hunt down magic users would want to use your abilities as well. You need to be prepared to defend yourself, to know what sort of threat is out there, whether you choose to join the fight, or run.” Had Kieran been one of the spirit mages who was helping the non-mages, Anabelle would be in a very different situation. They would have forced her to heal all of their injured, tipping the scales greatly. Hell, there were some mages who would force her to come back with them and heal the magic injured, but Kieran didn’t believe that force would ever yield the vision he saw.
The car pulled up in front of the hospital once more, and Kieran sighed. “I know that this is a lot to take in. If you have questions, let me give you my number.” He pulled out a pad of paper from the center console and jotted down the number for her. “Like I told you before, I am in and out of town, and we don’t have cell service where I live, so if I don’t get back to you right away, I’m not ignoring you at all.” He explained, giving her a small smile. He handed her the number, and took a deep breath. “Is there anything else I can do for you, any other questions I can try to answer?” He asked.
-.-
Devon’s family history was very different from Rhys. While Rhys had been the only one with magic, and living in a family where the people couldn’t understand what she did, Devon had not one but two parents who could use magic as well. He didn’t specify what exactly they could do, and Rhys didn’t ask. It must have been difficult to not know where they were. Rhys felt comfort in the fact that her family was most certainly at home, doing what they had always done. But for Devon, it had to be difficult to know that his parents were putting themselves in danger to protect themselves. Rhys gave a slight nod when Devon said that he believed they were fine. “You have a good point.” She said.
They continued to walk for a while longer, until Rhys found that her water was empty, and she was getting pretty tired. The hot sun certainly didn’t make trekking through the forest any easier. “Can we take a break, shortly?” Rhys requested in the middle of the afternoon. “There is a stream, up ahead a bit.” She pointed off in a vaguely straight and left direction, and then turned her gaze towards Devon, “I mean, I think there is…” She added.
True to her word, the pair was able to find water if they followed Rhys’ lead. When they got to the stream, Rhys was able to fill up her water once more, and then sit beneath a shady tree for a short while. “Are you hungry?” She asked, opening up her bag once more. Rhys wasn’t really used to set meals anymore. She ate when she was hungry, and she always ate a little less than what she wanted, to make sure she would have more for later.
“What do you know of… the fighting?” Rhys asked. “I’ve been trying to keep my head down, and I haven’t seen much of anything that’s been going on as of late…” She trailed off a little, unsure if Devon would be cross with her for nor taking an active role. She wasn’t in control of her abilities enough to be able to help, she didn’t have a clue where to even go, and she was terrified. They were all things that had kept her from getting involved thus far in the combat.
“I didn’t need to talk to you, but I wanted to ask for your help. People who use magic…” He paused, knowing that he couldn’t easily explain that there was a whole different world out there where they were being persecuted. It might be a bit too much. “Are fighting a war.” He said. “Most people around here choose to believe it doesn’t exist, and that is fine. However, some who do know about it think it is unnatural, that it is wrong. I am not fond of war, but I believe that everyone has the right to…what’s the American way, again? Ah… right, Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”
“Having someone around who could heal people would change the outcome of many fights. But please understand, Anabelle, I would never force you to aid our efforts. But… the people who hunt down magic users would want to use your abilities as well. You need to be prepared to defend yourself, to know what sort of threat is out there, whether you choose to join the fight, or run.” Had Kieran been one of the spirit mages who was helping the non-mages, Anabelle would be in a very different situation. They would have forced her to heal all of their injured, tipping the scales greatly. Hell, there were some mages who would force her to come back with them and heal the magic injured, but Kieran didn’t believe that force would ever yield the vision he saw.
The car pulled up in front of the hospital once more, and Kieran sighed. “I know that this is a lot to take in. If you have questions, let me give you my number.” He pulled out a pad of paper from the center console and jotted down the number for her. “Like I told you before, I am in and out of town, and we don’t have cell service where I live, so if I don’t get back to you right away, I’m not ignoring you at all.” He explained, giving her a small smile. He handed her the number, and took a deep breath. “Is there anything else I can do for you, any other questions I can try to answer?” He asked.
-.-
Devon’s family history was very different from Rhys. While Rhys had been the only one with magic, and living in a family where the people couldn’t understand what she did, Devon had not one but two parents who could use magic as well. He didn’t specify what exactly they could do, and Rhys didn’t ask. It must have been difficult to not know where they were. Rhys felt comfort in the fact that her family was most certainly at home, doing what they had always done. But for Devon, it had to be difficult to know that his parents were putting themselves in danger to protect themselves. Rhys gave a slight nod when Devon said that he believed they were fine. “You have a good point.” She said.
They continued to walk for a while longer, until Rhys found that her water was empty, and she was getting pretty tired. The hot sun certainly didn’t make trekking through the forest any easier. “Can we take a break, shortly?” Rhys requested in the middle of the afternoon. “There is a stream, up ahead a bit.” She pointed off in a vaguely straight and left direction, and then turned her gaze towards Devon, “I mean, I think there is…” She added.
True to her word, the pair was able to find water if they followed Rhys’ lead. When they got to the stream, Rhys was able to fill up her water once more, and then sit beneath a shady tree for a short while. “Are you hungry?” She asked, opening up her bag once more. Rhys wasn’t really used to set meals anymore. She ate when she was hungry, and she always ate a little less than what she wanted, to make sure she would have more for later.
“What do you know of… the fighting?” Rhys asked. “I’ve been trying to keep my head down, and I haven’t seen much of anything that’s been going on as of late…” She trailed off a little, unsure if Devon would be cross with her for nor taking an active role. She wasn’t in control of her abilities enough to be able to help, she didn’t have a clue where to even go, and she was terrified. They were all things that had kept her from getting involved thus far in the combat.
© 2007-2026