Post by Shinigami on Aug 19, 2009 17:20:10 GMT -5
Character: Harlequinn
Warnings: Some angst?
Word Count: 883
The wonderful thing about Quinns was that Quinn was the only one.
Or at least, she was fairly sure that she was.
There was always her dearest Vessatha, her Obsession; and the kids too, who were very nice to have around at times, and a nuisance at others, but they were Life that had been created between her and Vessatha. And there were all the other Cards that she met and saw throughout her days, even if they didn’t have any idea whatsoever who she really was (though that was okay, because she wasn’t always entirely sure about who she was herself).
But they were all people of the Now. They didn’t belong to the Then, to the dark and the pain and the alone-ness that told her there would never be anyone exactly like her.
Oh, she’d seen some who were a little similar, who could change and be different people, but that was only similar in a few facts. There was no one at all from the Then.
Harlequinn never told anybody this, but she remembered being tiny once, as tiny as her children had been when they were born, with river mud stuffed up her nose because of how closely she was pressed to the bank and eyes that were dry but ached because she’d been crying before, and wet clay coating the back of her tongue from when she’d bitten the ground to make herself silent like one of the Then-people had told her.
She didn’t remember love, or sweet whispers and gentle cuddles, with soft fingers tickling the white fur of her belly and tracing over her unmarked chest with wonder. She had no recollection of a deep voice and bristly whiskers against her own, and a pair of long, lazy bodies showing her the best of the deep, warped Woods, one light and one dark.
She didn’t remember staring up at a mobile set with enchanted bells that only rang when she touched them, and rang at different pitches depending on what it was she needed at the time, anywhere from shrill and desperately wanting to low and content and happy.
Quinn didn’t remember screaming in terror and confusion as white forms darted, one after another, through her childhood home to rend the dark-form into stillness while the light-form wrapped her up in warm, strong hands and bore her far, far away.
All she remembered was being covered in river mud and barely able to breathe but not daring to move because she would only be safe if she stayed there, would only be safe if she did nothing but be where she was, simple bindings and fur coated with muck to make her look like just another part of the embankment while searching eyes overlooked her heedlessly, though she didn’t remember the part about searching eyes.
Clay and mud was hard, not like soft warm that was nice to knead against, nice to wiggle against and laugh with, even if she didn’t remember soft and warm at all.
Then again, Quinn didn’t remember growing up with unicorns and dragons or anything either, much less fighting off evil knights coming to slay her monster-friends, and she’d told her children those stories when they were growing up, not to mention everything else that she didn’t remember that she’d told other people, so maybe what she didn’t remember wasn’t all that important.
Despite all of that, she didn’t remember anyone at all in the dark of the Then, before the wandering and the searching for something to focus on, because focusing was something she had problems with some times. Maybe that was why some people had problems focusing on her too, though she’d learned how to take advantage of that unfocused nature for times when she was focused and use it on others who were focused to make it look like she wasn’t focused.
Then she had found her angel, her jewel, her diamond in the darkness of the Then to finally illuminate the Now and make it really the Now, instead of the blurry half-reality that it had been before, and so she’d taken her Obsession and made it hers, made Vessatha hers, refused to let what was hers go, ever.
They had even created Life together! Created it and made it and breathed and sexed and loved it into being, and she’d held each tiny piece of Life in her hands as they’d come into existence, tiny and squalling then. She still looked at her children and saw them as those tiny beings then, so fragile and beloved, and even though they yelled and protested she would still love them forever and ever. Her beautiful little ones, her reminder of the Now.
Quinn didn’t talk about the Then often, and usually made up stories that were so unbelievable that everyone knew she was lying. Even when she’d curled up with her Obsession and their Life so long ago while they were asleep, the story she’d whispered had had a mommy and a daddy and their sweet daughter who lived happily ever after, not a terrified night and mud on her tongue and the knowledge that she Must Not Move. No matter what.
Because the wonderful (the tragic) thing about Quinns, was that Quinn was the only one.
Warnings: Some angst?
Word Count: 883
The wonderful thing about Quinns was that Quinn was the only one.
Or at least, she was fairly sure that she was.
There was always her dearest Vessatha, her Obsession; and the kids too, who were very nice to have around at times, and a nuisance at others, but they were Life that had been created between her and Vessatha. And there were all the other Cards that she met and saw throughout her days, even if they didn’t have any idea whatsoever who she really was (though that was okay, because she wasn’t always entirely sure about who she was herself).
But they were all people of the Now. They didn’t belong to the Then, to the dark and the pain and the alone-ness that told her there would never be anyone exactly like her.
Oh, she’d seen some who were a little similar, who could change and be different people, but that was only similar in a few facts. There was no one at all from the Then.
Harlequinn never told anybody this, but she remembered being tiny once, as tiny as her children had been when they were born, with river mud stuffed up her nose because of how closely she was pressed to the bank and eyes that were dry but ached because she’d been crying before, and wet clay coating the back of her tongue from when she’d bitten the ground to make herself silent like one of the Then-people had told her.
She didn’t remember love, or sweet whispers and gentle cuddles, with soft fingers tickling the white fur of her belly and tracing over her unmarked chest with wonder. She had no recollection of a deep voice and bristly whiskers against her own, and a pair of long, lazy bodies showing her the best of the deep, warped Woods, one light and one dark.
She didn’t remember staring up at a mobile set with enchanted bells that only rang when she touched them, and rang at different pitches depending on what it was she needed at the time, anywhere from shrill and desperately wanting to low and content and happy.
Quinn didn’t remember screaming in terror and confusion as white forms darted, one after another, through her childhood home to rend the dark-form into stillness while the light-form wrapped her up in warm, strong hands and bore her far, far away.
All she remembered was being covered in river mud and barely able to breathe but not daring to move because she would only be safe if she stayed there, would only be safe if she did nothing but be where she was, simple bindings and fur coated with muck to make her look like just another part of the embankment while searching eyes overlooked her heedlessly, though she didn’t remember the part about searching eyes.
Clay and mud was hard, not like soft warm that was nice to knead against, nice to wiggle against and laugh with, even if she didn’t remember soft and warm at all.
Then again, Quinn didn’t remember growing up with unicorns and dragons or anything either, much less fighting off evil knights coming to slay her monster-friends, and she’d told her children those stories when they were growing up, not to mention everything else that she didn’t remember that she’d told other people, so maybe what she didn’t remember wasn’t all that important.
Despite all of that, she didn’t remember anyone at all in the dark of the Then, before the wandering and the searching for something to focus on, because focusing was something she had problems with some times. Maybe that was why some people had problems focusing on her too, though she’d learned how to take advantage of that unfocused nature for times when she was focused and use it on others who were focused to make it look like she wasn’t focused.
Then she had found her angel, her jewel, her diamond in the darkness of the Then to finally illuminate the Now and make it really the Now, instead of the blurry half-reality that it had been before, and so she’d taken her Obsession and made it hers, made Vessatha hers, refused to let what was hers go, ever.
They had even created Life together! Created it and made it and breathed and sexed and loved it into being, and she’d held each tiny piece of Life in her hands as they’d come into existence, tiny and squalling then. She still looked at her children and saw them as those tiny beings then, so fragile and beloved, and even though they yelled and protested she would still love them forever and ever. Her beautiful little ones, her reminder of the Now.
Quinn didn’t talk about the Then often, and usually made up stories that were so unbelievable that everyone knew she was lying. Even when she’d curled up with her Obsession and their Life so long ago while they were asleep, the story she’d whispered had had a mommy and a daddy and their sweet daughter who lived happily ever after, not a terrified night and mud on her tongue and the knowledge that she Must Not Move. No matter what.
Because the wonderful (the tragic) thing about Quinns, was that Quinn was the only one.
