Post by carcinoGeneticist on Aug 26, 2009 1:20:50 GMT -5
Changes (will look up prompt number later)
Words: 898
Characters: GUESS GUYS I AM IN FACT THAT PREDICTABLE P:
I have a lot of free time between some of my classes, so I've taken to whipping out the good old prompt table. Of course, nothing happens then, so I just kinda stare at it then give up and go do something else. Like draw boobies. Heeee, boobies.
Then, while I'm walking to class, BAM. INSPIRATION. While I can do nothing about it.
I feel like a tard for all of the Pale-spam, but he's a loud and pushy muse who demands a lot of my attention. I promise, for realsies, that I am working on things that don't involve him at all. It just tends to get pushed aside in all of his "PAY ATTENTION TO MEEEEE".
When Rhiannon completed her King quest and recieved her increase in rank under Xiven, she was nineteen years old.
The first time she saw her Pale one, in a dream, she couldn't decide his age. He was intangible, almost everything about him impossible to put into words. The only thing about him that seemed to be set in stone was the whiteness of his skin, his eyes vivid in all of that pale space.
It took several months before the rest of him took shape in her mind, filling in the blank areas of her mental image of him. She knew from what Bernard had told her that he formed as she saw him, the appearance falling into place around the personality like a shell. He had the comfortable air of one who was through their teenaged years, but he didn't seem much older than her, and he carried himself with a self-assured cockiness that she associated with men in their early twenties. With that simple thought, his presence twisted, and there was no longer any question.
Apocalypse was twenty.
It wasn't something she'd put very much thought into, simply that it was the age her mind had fixated on, much as it had determined his other attributes. She understood, on some level, that he was ageless. He didn't have that appearance because of the amount of time he'd existed, he looked that way because she'd decided he would. He would never change now that he'd "settled", and so there was no reason for her to pay too much attention.
When she was twenty-two, Rhiannon went to Bernard and asked for his assistance in bringing her Weapon onto the physical plane as more than the weapon she could so effortlessly call to herself. Her "uncle" had obliged her, providing her with something she'd longed for her entire life. He was exactly as she'd always imagined him, long and lean, a lazy expression on his smooth face, and an air of youth - the perfect picture of a twenty-year-old man in peak condition. She still knew what she'd always known, that he would never change, but they were young together, and youth had a way of distracting from the truth.
It just seemed unimportant in the face of everything else. Life had too much to offer for either of them to be troubled by the tiny issue of Apocalypse's seeming immortality.
Years passed and Rhiannon grew older. It happened in small ways, ways that she would normally be completely unaware of, but next to Apocalypse... They stuck out like a sore thumb in her mind. She was twenty-five now, and he hadn't changed a bit from the first time she'd seen him in a dream so long ago. He would be twenty for their collective lives. She would be an old woman in deathbead, fur white and gray from age, and he would maintain the youthful charm that had always been a part of him. In some ways, it annoyed her. In others, it delighted her. After all, he still loved her, still thought she was gorgeous, and would continue to do so until she died and he simply vanished. It was a comforting thought, for all that she realized it was rather morbid on some level.
At twenty-six, the court collapsed in more ways than one and Rhiannon finally snapped.
She left the Court, left her lover, her family, and her Apocalypse. He watched her retreating form through the eyes of a twenty-year old, waited with all the grace one would expect of a person his age. When he left to get her, he had all the energy and determination he'd had from the first time his feet had touched the physical ground.
That was when everything had changed. They traded places in a way no one had dreamed would be possible.
With the first beat of his living heart, a clock started to tick and Apocalypse began to age. He didn't ever think about it, didn't even fully comprehend it. After all, he'd existed as a twenty-year-old for as long as he'd been capable of conscious thought - almost seven years. He felt the same as he ever had, and it wasn't as if he could feel his body aging. When he looked at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth and cleaned his face, it was the same face it had always been. Then, one morning, he rolled over and found a card sitting on the table beside him, propped up so that it would be the first thing he saw. There was writing on the outside, his name scrawled in Xiven's delicate penmanship. On the inside was an equally simple message.
Happy Birthday, Pale
It had been a year since he'd left to bring Rhiannon home and found himself thrust into a living body. He stared at the card, turning it over in his hands, considering what this meant. When he crawled out of bed and looked into the mirror, he inspected himself closely, blinking at the utter sameness he felt. He yawned widely and stretched his arms out behind him, laughing to himself.
Really, twenty-one didn't feel any different from twenty.
Words: 898
Characters: GUESS GUYS I AM IN FACT THAT PREDICTABLE P:
I have a lot of free time between some of my classes, so I've taken to whipping out the good old prompt table. Of course, nothing happens then, so I just kinda stare at it then give up and go do something else. Like draw boobies. Heeee, boobies.
Then, while I'm walking to class, BAM. INSPIRATION. While I can do nothing about it.
I feel like a tard for all of the Pale-spam, but he's a loud and pushy muse who demands a lot of my attention. I promise, for realsies, that I am working on things that don't involve him at all. It just tends to get pushed aside in all of his "PAY ATTENTION TO MEEEEE".
When Rhiannon completed her King quest and recieved her increase in rank under Xiven, she was nineteen years old.
The first time she saw her Pale one, in a dream, she couldn't decide his age. He was intangible, almost everything about him impossible to put into words. The only thing about him that seemed to be set in stone was the whiteness of his skin, his eyes vivid in all of that pale space.
It took several months before the rest of him took shape in her mind, filling in the blank areas of her mental image of him. She knew from what Bernard had told her that he formed as she saw him, the appearance falling into place around the personality like a shell. He had the comfortable air of one who was through their teenaged years, but he didn't seem much older than her, and he carried himself with a self-assured cockiness that she associated with men in their early twenties. With that simple thought, his presence twisted, and there was no longer any question.
Apocalypse was twenty.
It wasn't something she'd put very much thought into, simply that it was the age her mind had fixated on, much as it had determined his other attributes. She understood, on some level, that he was ageless. He didn't have that appearance because of the amount of time he'd existed, he looked that way because she'd decided he would. He would never change now that he'd "settled", and so there was no reason for her to pay too much attention.
When she was twenty-two, Rhiannon went to Bernard and asked for his assistance in bringing her Weapon onto the physical plane as more than the weapon she could so effortlessly call to herself. Her "uncle" had obliged her, providing her with something she'd longed for her entire life. He was exactly as she'd always imagined him, long and lean, a lazy expression on his smooth face, and an air of youth - the perfect picture of a twenty-year-old man in peak condition. She still knew what she'd always known, that he would never change, but they were young together, and youth had a way of distracting from the truth.
It just seemed unimportant in the face of everything else. Life had too much to offer for either of them to be troubled by the tiny issue of Apocalypse's seeming immortality.
Years passed and Rhiannon grew older. It happened in small ways, ways that she would normally be completely unaware of, but next to Apocalypse... They stuck out like a sore thumb in her mind. She was twenty-five now, and he hadn't changed a bit from the first time she'd seen him in a dream so long ago. He would be twenty for their collective lives. She would be an old woman in deathbead, fur white and gray from age, and he would maintain the youthful charm that had always been a part of him. In some ways, it annoyed her. In others, it delighted her. After all, he still loved her, still thought she was gorgeous, and would continue to do so until she died and he simply vanished. It was a comforting thought, for all that she realized it was rather morbid on some level.
At twenty-six, the court collapsed in more ways than one and Rhiannon finally snapped.
She left the Court, left her lover, her family, and her Apocalypse. He watched her retreating form through the eyes of a twenty-year old, waited with all the grace one would expect of a person his age. When he left to get her, he had all the energy and determination he'd had from the first time his feet had touched the physical ground.
That was when everything had changed. They traded places in a way no one had dreamed would be possible.
With the first beat of his living heart, a clock started to tick and Apocalypse began to age. He didn't ever think about it, didn't even fully comprehend it. After all, he'd existed as a twenty-year-old for as long as he'd been capable of conscious thought - almost seven years. He felt the same as he ever had, and it wasn't as if he could feel his body aging. When he looked at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth and cleaned his face, it was the same face it had always been. Then, one morning, he rolled over and found a card sitting on the table beside him, propped up so that it would be the first thing he saw. There was writing on the outside, his name scrawled in Xiven's delicate penmanship. On the inside was an equally simple message.
Happy Birthday, Pale
It had been a year since he'd left to bring Rhiannon home and found himself thrust into a living body. He stared at the card, turning it over in his hands, considering what this meant. When he crawled out of bed and looked into the mirror, he inspected himself closely, blinking at the utter sameness he felt. He yawned widely and stretched his arms out behind him, laughing to himself.
Really, twenty-one didn't feel any different from twenty.
