[open] pages and sages

[HECATE HELLFYR]

AS WAVES OF PLASTIC FLAME GO OUTTA FASHION
YOU'RE GOING OUT, GOING OUT

[/color]DANCINGINYOURDUST
"Hello, my freaky darlings"[/font]
[/center]

Hecate was not much for the nightlife lately, as walking out your own front door at night had an ever-increasing likeliness of getting you killed, transformed into an unknown race, brutally scarred, scared the shit out of, or recruited by one side or another. It was the latter she feared most, actually; she did not yet deem herself knowledgeable enough to take any sides (though her dear ol' dad Molochret advised her against having anything to do with that "upstart uprising vampiric rabblerouser what's-its-face".) Therefore, it was halfheartedly and out of a twisted sense of duty or out of a direly pressing need that she step outside her door at all during the night. Exactly, precisely why, then, did she choose to do so this time? What was the dire pressing need?

Well, she needed milk.

However, being herself and therefore unable to resist the calling of books, in any form, Heckie was distracted by the charms of the very large "BARNES & NOBLE" logo on top of a large, square-ish building, glowing in white light like some sort of beacon from the media gods. Reminding herself to give thanks later, she parked her black Vespa and dismounted. Withdrawing the silver key from the ignition, the curly-haired girl stalked inside, already idly fiddling with her battered threefold leather wallet. On a whim, she went straight to the "ARTS" section, perousing the shelves for a glimmer of interesting literature. Good books always seemed to have a certain "look" or "aura" about them. However, it had nothing to do with any of that New Age rigamarole; avid bookreading through nineteen years had taught her a sort of instinct. Like any good bookworm, she knew a piece of literature when she saw one. The lithe girl sauntered through the shelves, examining a paperback on Michaelangelo's life and times. She brushed a bit of dust of the cover-the poor thing must'v ebeen there a while-and replaced it upon the shelf, nudging it with her fingertip into its former spot.

Hecate exited the "Arts" section and wandered over to the "Fiction" area, her own personal holy grail. Of late, she'd fancied historical fiction, particularly that involving sea voyages or anything bloody. One would be surprised how many novels there seemed to be along those lines, and unpleasantly alarmed upon being informed of the quality of a good half of hem (which was something less than decent.) She'd read a rather amusing, if hefty, paperback whose title was something along the lines of "The Northern Lords", and mostly consisted of bloody swordfights, marvelous narration, and Saxons and Danes insulting one another's mothers. This had set her standards rather high and started off her current fetish. "What to read, what to read?" she mused, running her eyes over several rather unpromising selections. A novel about the early settlement of Salem, Massachusetts, caught her eye, but she put it back down when she realized from the back cover reviews that it was more about the romance between a Puritan leader and an Indian than anything truly substantial. However, like all serious trips, Hecate's "book high" wasn't a total loss. At the back she found a rather intriguing hardcover, something about Victorian England, a ghost, a will, and a nice amount of murder, Jack the Ripper style. Sure, Heckie came off as a literary highbrow-er, but she was not above guilty pleasures. On top of that, life was too taxing of late to read anything just because it would look impressive on her bookshelf. And as she looked down at the book, weighing it in her hand-a hefty thing it was, for a novel of a genre that was usually associated with other things two steps above trash, like Stephanie Meyer novels-Hecate felt almost certain that this would be an interesting read. Inevitably the book had charmed her. It was a ridiculous urge, a sort of twisted siren song, albeit less dangerous in this situation; she wanted to sit down and read it now. This happened all the time to her-it was a little foolish, but that was what boks were supposed to do, wasn't it? Draw you in? Well, Heckie thought so, anyway. In order not to be tempted to read the book while making dinner and thus burn the house down, she just might lounge around here a while, she thought, and forget whatever it was she stepped outside of her hidey-hole to do. Well, not entirely, though, that was probably a bad idea. She withdrew a pen from her pocket-she always seemed to have writing utensils around-and scribbled on her the back of her hand, in large capital letters, "MILK!!!" Satisfied that she would not forget now, she sat primly down in one of the many comfortable chairs scattered around the store. Hecate opened the book, skipped the obligatory introduction of the author (apparently it was a debut novel) and started off reading the Victorian thriller.

It was not long before she was lost to the world.

tags&;; None, hop on in!
muse&;; Uh, is running low at this point.
music&;; AFI's album "Sing the Sorrow". They were so good before the fangirls got to them...
credit&;; Lyrics credit to AFI from their song "Paper Airplanes (Makeshift Wings)". Template credit to myself, Boudica.
notes&;; Sorry to any Twilight fans, but... the books and movie sucked. ^^ Oh, and do jump on in, I'm pretty open to whatever happens in this thread...

[MARIUS PHOENIX]

I Don't Care What the |F u t u r e| Holds
'Cause I'm Right in Your Arms Today

[/color][/size][/center]



Marius had seen the news—or, more accurately, read the newspaper, as he desired to keep that particular custom alive—and knew what the leaders of the city, state, and even country were advising people to do: stay indoors after dark, preferably with your presence concealed if you lived in a less safe neighborhood. But Marius had already been indoors, all day, in fact, grading papers. He was feeling very much like a caged bird—and yes, he did comprehend the aptness of the term, thank you. Regardless, when you’ve spent an entire day reading mediocre writing and far-fetched “reasoning,” what’s the best solution? Go to the bookstore and look for something well-written and logical! Sure, some other form of entertainment like a movie might have been better for his eyes, but he’d already seen every decent movie that was playing in theaters—thanks to Ally, the cinemaphile—and honestly didn’t have the resourcefulness (nor the will, to be honest) to think of anything else on such short notice. He, unlike others, didn’t have too much to fear from being outdoors after sunset—for one, it was part of his job—and he had a very safe method of transportation, what with it being a cloudy night. He discreetly made his way to the roof of his building and, just as discreetly, changed into a giant red and orange bird.

He stuck to the clouds and flew the most normal way that he could think of, though he guessed if anyone could see him, he probably looked like a big eagle. But really, the world was getting to the point where what he was might not be a problem, which was more than exciting, and flying was a privilege he didn’t often allow himself, so he decided to just enjoy it. He quickly reached his destination, lighted in a nearby alleyway, and strolled casually into the store.

The general atmosphere of Barnes and Noble was a pleasant, calming one that seemed to make you feel more intellectual the moment you stepped inside. And Marius loved every bit of it. He of course went straight for the general fiction to examine the offerings for today. Sure, it was usually a hunt, what with the category being so broad, but he could always find something.

He spotted an ornate but grim-looking spine and was hooked. He pulled it off the shelf and read the summary.

Ooh, the Victorian era. One of his favorites; everything and everyone had always been so prim and proper—that is, unless you stumbled into the wrong side of town, then it was the exact opposite. The duality had always been intriguing. And Marius had infinite admiration for all the historians who had worked so hard to preserve every little detail about life back then so that people could write books like this accurately. He’d never been able to go into the field himself, for fear of giving himself away, but he certainly enjoyed it in a casual sense.

Which meant that he was definitely interested in this book. But of course he had to sample the author’s writing style before he purchased it, so he whisked it away to a more comfortable location where they could get to know each other better. There was already another person in the closest seating area, a young curly-haired woman, but there were still three empty seats and it wasn’t as if he was going to be a nuisance, so he placed himself in the chair across from hers. It was as he was seating himself that he noticed the book in her hands was the same as the one in his own.

“Oh, you too?” he blurted happily before he recalled the Ultimate Bookworm Rule: don’t disturb the reading! His eyes went a bit wide and he placed a hand over his mouth briefly. “Oh, terribly sorry for interrupting…” he trailed off as she glanced up, and decided to just go with it; he’d already broken the glass anyway. “I just couldn’t help but notice we’d picked out the same book…” for unnecessary emphasis, he pointed vaguely to both covers, which were, of course, the same.



Word Count: 696
Status: closed, for Hecate
Comments: yay for dorks! and don’t worry, I agree about the Twilight thing. definitely.

[HECATE HELLFYR]

AS WAVES OF PLASTIC FLAME GO OUTTA FASHION
YOU'RE GOING OUT, GOING OUT

[/color]DANCINGINYOURDUST
"Hello, my freaky darlings"[/font]
[/center]

Hecate was rather absorbed in the book, so when a smooth voice inserted itself into her head, it took her a few seconds to tear herself away from the unnamed murderer's knife glinting in the lamplight as he (or, possibly, "she", the book had mentioned, if fleetingly, a bodice, and the victim was a male) When she did look up, she spotted a vaguely scholarly man, holding the exact same book as she was: the white Victorian home on the background of a stormy sky, with light "blood spatter" across the cover. Admittedly, until her brain actually processed what the man had said, Hecate was a bit annoyed that this man, who, from his look and air of academia should know better than to interrupt a reading person. However, when she realized that the man had said something along the lines of, "Terribly sorry for interrupting... I just couldn't help but notice, we'd picked out the same book," she felt the same little thrill that she always did, when realizing there was someone in the very same room that shared her literary taste. People seemed to gravitate more towards the Enquirer and US Weekly than anything of actual substance these days. It was sad, really, akin to the dying off of local papers, and Hecate felt that she should respond.


"Oh! So we have!"Hecate agreed, looking from book cover to book cover as if to confirm her own statement. "I rather thought I was the only one who read Victorian thrillers anymore," she joked, nodding her head to the section where both of them had assumedly acquired the books. There were only three or four dents in the rows of paper twins, and the rest stared out with a rather forlorn manner to them, or at least Hecate thought. She'd be depressed too, sitting up there like that the whole time, possibly for months, with a lot of people toting around Starbucks coffees coming to look at her and her various twins, then toddling off to go pick up a copy of the latest Entertainment Weekly or whatever people read these days. In her amusement, she made what was probably a mistake, in a bookstore, what with billions and billions of pages carefully kept dry. "Most people don't see any use for historical novels these days but to set fire to them. Immediately she cursed herself; had she not learned from the imploding lampshade and the flaming TV set that saying "fire," "blazes," "infernal," or anything else that hinted of the element was lately probably a bad idea?

Her suspicions were confirmed when there was a tiny bit of smoke, like dragon's breath or a baby curl, wispy and fragrant, that came curling up to her nose. Oh, God. Under her breath, she muttered a few unsavory words and blew on the page, smothering the flame with her breath. Now she would absolutely have to buy the book, poor thing. The page was singed halfway through the corner, the newly fashioned brown edges cutting off a few letters. Luckily, the book had been facing towards her, so she probably hadn't inadvertently revealed herself to a human. She did note to herself that she'd probably to write down a few more things on her hand: "WORDS NOT TO SAY." She straightened her jacket and brushed a stray curl out of her face, looking over at the man to see if he would respond. Then, realizing in a flash that she had been utterly rude, forsaking society's norms for the rules of the Bookworm Society, she hastily extended a hand to the man. "I'm so sorry, how rude of me. I'm Hecate Hellfyr."


tags&;; Marius
muse&;; Uh, is running low at this point.
music&;; AFI's album "Sing the Sorrow". Again. A little Breaknig Benjamin.
credit&;; Lyrics credit to AFI from their song "Paper Airplanes (Makeshift Wings)". Template credit to myself, Boudica.
notes&;; Phew. I was a little worried...
words&;; 610.

[MARIUS PHOENIX]

I Don't Care What the |F u t u r e| Holds
'Cause I'm Right in Your Arms Today

[/color][/size][/center]


Oh, good. Marius sagged a bit with relief when she smiled instead of scowling. And she was a rather normal-looking sort, no scales or fangs, which was also good. A bit young for him, at least with his current form’s age, but nothing wrong with discussing books casually, regardless of age! He smiled warmly in return. Marius was skilled at warm smiles.

“I don’t know about you, but I just can’t help myself when it comes to anything about the Victorian era. And I’ve spent all day grading papers, so it’d be nice if I could find something that actually grabbed my attention instead of just swiping at it half-heartedly.” As a man accustomed to assisting his speech with his hands, he made a few feeble swipes at the air in front of him to demonstrate his already-made point.

And it was shortly after this that the book in the young woman’s hands caught fire. Or at least, it certainly smelled like burning paper, and smoke was usually a good indicator of such an event. Obviously, Marius’s face revealed his shock, though it was for a different reason than most other people’s.

“Oh my! Is… Was that… Did that…” He was suddenly overcome with paranoia. Had flying here sapped some of his control over his forms? He could only summon and control fire when in his natural form. Wait! He quickly checked himself for feathers. None visible, good. But that didn’t mean he was in the clear. He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Sorry, did I do that?”

Sure, such a comment was more obvious about his powers than he usually was—far more, in fact—but a book had just caught fire for no reason, and this young woman, rather than panic and wonder what was going on, simply put it out and tried to keep it quiet. She was obviously used to odd things happening around her.

….Which probably meant she did it herself, genius. Great. Now he’d given both of them away. He just hoped she wasn’t the violently secretive type…

But he, too, tried to shrug it off, at least for manners’ sake, and took her hand for a moment. “Not rude at all. I’m Marius… Phoenix…” he offered sheepishly. Great, now his name was less of a joke and more of a neon sign. But he perked up externally: “And your name is fascinating! The Mistress of Magic and fire of Hell; could it get any better?” he asked with a good-hearted laugh.

Maybe that meant she was a demon? Oh, rats. Marius had no knack for identifying species whatsoever. He couldn’t smell as well as, say, a vampire, nor could he read minds or energies. He was practically a human in that respect; thus, he’d have to go at it the human way: ask. Or somehow wheedle it out of her. Whatever she was, she most likely wasn’t a bad one of them, or she’d have better things to do than read historical fiction in the middle of a bookstore.



Word Count: 507
Status: closed, for Hecate
Comments: I promise he’s not always an idiot...

[HECATE HELLFYR]

AS WAVES OF PLASTIC FLAME GO OUTTA FASHION
YOU'RE GOING OUT, GOING OUT

[/color]DANCINGINYOURDUST
"Hello, my freaky darlings"[/font]
[/center]

Hecate noticed a bit of his relaxation when she replied amiably. She couldn't really blame him; some hardcore readers were known to bite people's heads off. Well, usually she was one of them, but today was her exception... or perhaps her atonement for past sins. It was not often, however, that one came across people willing to discuss literature anymore, despite their age.

"I have a hard time resisting all things Victorian as well, but only when they're well written. There's an awful lot of bodice-ripping trash out there, as you know. She tilted her head and examined the man once more, pleased that her assessment of him had been correct: judging by his reference to grading papers, he was definitely an academic. With a chuckle at his gesticulation, Hecate replied, "I feel so lucky; I run an alternative medicine clinic. I don't have to look at grammar errors and errant punctuation all day, that'd just about kill me. If you don't mind my asking, what do you teach?" She did have a bit of a thing for making sure everything was properly spelled. That every sentence had a period, question mark, or exclamation point, and commas went where they should. It made her quite the nuisance sometimes.

And then the book had caught flame. Her eyes kept darting from the page to the door, hoping that it could provide an emergency exit if need be-she'd buy the book later. And it appeared it would indeed be needed-a few exclamations came from his area. Obviously, the man had seen it-but he seemed more distressed than alarmed, which was rather unusual. And, oddly enough, he leaned in so as not to be overheard and asked her, "Did I do that?

Oh. So that put this whole thing in a completely different perspective. Was he a demon? Or perhaps a fire elemental with little control over his abilities, similar to Hecate's issues? "Well, no, you didn't, actually. I'm terribly sorry for giving you a start; I did," she admitted, looking down at the poor book. So he was "something else" as well. How curious. More and more of them seemed to be flocking to Los Angeles. She did terribly hope that, if the man didn't try to recruit her, he'd tell her something of what was going on. Hecate supposed she'd have to choose a side eventually, but she really didn't want to right now. Not when business was going so well for the shop side of her business... with traffic from both sides flowing in.

However, for now, Hecate tried to put that subject behind them until an optimal time presented itself to explain that lately, spontaneous combustions happened around her at an ever-increasing rate."Marius Phoenix? What an interesting last name, a fire-bird that rises from its own ashes when it dies. Can't have a much luckier name than that. Doesn't 'Marius' mean 'sailor' or something like that?" Ah, he had mentioned the origins of her name. Well, there could be no time more "optimal" than now-and she knew he was curious; she could tell by the slightly anxious look on his face. Glancing around to make sure no errant patrons had entered, she said in a low voice, "Well, it's rather fitting, seeing as I'm half-demon and a witch to boot. My parents seem to have an uncanny clairvoyance when it comes naming their children. Don't worry," she added rather hastily, holding her hands-and the book-up in a gesture of "I mean you no harm", "I'm not on any side. Yet. In fact, no one has seen fit to inform me on precisely what is going on. What I know is essentially limited to 'there's a "good" side and a "bad" side'. I haven't decided for myself which is which yet." Her voice was perhaps the lowest of all on that last admittance, as if she didn't really want Marius to hear that. And really, who could blame her?


tags&;; Marius
credit&;; Lyrics credit to AFI from their song "Paper Airplanes (Makeshift Wings)". Template credit to myself, Boudica.
notes&;; That's fine. When one's not the other usually is.
words&;; 610.

[MARIUS PHOENIX]

I Don't Care What the |F u t u r e| Holds
'Cause I'm Right in Your Arms Today

[/color][/size][/center]



Marius grinned. "‘Bodice-ripping.’ I like that. So true, as well!” He supposed it didn’t necessarily apply to himself, but the meaning was conveyed very quaintly, and he appreciated that.

“Medicine! That’s wonderful!” She was immediately cast as some sort of heroine in his eyes, saving those who weren’t in a position to help themselves. “And I teach Mythology, so technically I’m not supposed to care how they write, which makes it even more difficult, really. But yes, I teach World Mythology and Classics. And I love every moment of it. Even grading is enjoyable in some sort of masochistic way. I mean, the papers that are well-written are certainly a joy to read, but they’re not all like that, sadly…” And, realizing he was babbling again, he decided to end it there.

Until she corrected him about the fire, which was both a relief and a shock, though he’d been expecting it a little. He gave her a sort of sheepish smile and decided not to hang on the topic; he’d let her tell him herself, if she felt comfortable enough to do it.

He of course couldn’t help but smile when she described his name. “A perfect summary, and an accurate statement; I do believe it’s served me well over the years. And yes! Marius can mean ‘sailor,’ or it can have something to do with Mars, Roman god of war. ‘Sailor’ fits me better, in my opinion, since I’m not particularly violent.”

The professor waited patiently, in the way that only experienced teachers can, while Hecate explained herself. And only after he was sure she was done did he begin speaking himself.

“Oh my. That’s… that’s remarkable!” I mean, not that I would remark about it, not to anyone except you, at least… But I admire what you’ve done with your gift, very highly. Me, all I’ve managed to do is teach a bunch of uncaring young adults!” He gave a short, slightly self-deprecating laugh and quickly got serious. He knew it was important that he sounded unbiased and non-coercive, so he decided to leave out which side he himself was on, even if it was probably apparent.

“It’s not vital that you choose one or the other, at least not at this stage, and if anyone in your position ever had freedom to choose, it would be you. But anyway, as it stands, the master vampire named Silas Metzger has amassed a band of mostly vampires, but some werewolves, demons, et cetera, and joined him as well. Their intent is to overthrow the humans that tried to suppress us non-humans—which, you may recall, was the United States government. And sources say that other governments, like the European Union, would have created the same or similar laws if Metzger and gang hadn’t started causing trouble. As of now, they’re waiting to see the outcome of this war before they make any moves.

“And it’s a war because of the Resistance. A powerful werewolf named Cassandra Valen and her followers have taken up arms against Metzger, and their intent is to defend the human race—and life as we know it—from the destruction that Metzger’s vampires seek. That’s not to say that they want to go back to the oppression that began the war, but they have faith that if they can prove to the humans that non-humans mean no harm, then we should be able to come to some sort of peaceful agreement.

“I suppose I’ve made it obvious which side I’m on,” he added with a small smile, “but I do hope you know that that doesn’t mean I’m forcing or even suggesting a particular one. Like so many other things, such as—such as which book you pick out of this store, it all depends on what your interests are.” He closed his little speech with another one of those warm, friendly smiles of his. Marius hoped his final statement was true, and that the fact that they’d picked the same book meant they would make similar choices about other things; she seemed like someone he would enjoy working—and fighting, unfortunately—alongside.



Word Count: 689
Status: closed, for Hecate
Comments: gaaaah. so very sorry.