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Scarlet
Sept 22, 2012 22:35:33 GMT -5
Post by Cheyenne on Sept 22, 2012 22:35:33 GMT -5
Backstory It was genocide. There was no other word for it. The order and sentiment of mass extermination had infiltrated the minds and souls of not only the general populace, but its leaders as well. It was not unforeseen. Unfortunately, the prospect of such a large-scale slaughter had been becoming more realistic as the years progressed. The target of the genocide was a race of people know as “Scarlets.” An average race, to some extent, but in other ways, it was far from average. They did not possess inherent powers, as many other races did, though some were gifted, and those who were gifted to a great extent. What made them deviants was not their race, but their customs. Their practices were...unorthodox, and many were disturbed by this. Their unusual nature and power had acquired a watchful public eye and much scrutiny. They were the subjects of awe, reverence, love, envy, hatred, and fear. As the new Emperor ascended his throne, his distaste for the Scarlets followed him. Shortly after his rise to power, the Empire engaged in many wars. They were successful, but their heavy conflicts left them wounded, in more ways than one. Outsiders began to slowly infiltrate the Empire. Crime abounded. The Emperor’s son was killed. His son had been beloved by not only his father, but the rest of the Empire as well. He had been a kind man, generous in nature, and slow to anger. His future subjects loved him. He was found in his room, dead. He had been stabbed multiple times and his blood stained the floor. The only one in his room was the son’s friend. A Scarlet, who was covered with his dead companion’s blood and found with a dagger in his hand. After that, the hidden distaste for the strange culture of the Scarlet people developed into a fiery hatred. The Emperor declared that they be put to death; they were sub-human, to be killed and hunted like wild animals, if necessary. His subjects were only too willing to do so. The body count was outstanding. Now, a kingdom murders its own people. A part of the population lives in hiding and fear. And as this evil occurs, a far darker, more sinister power is making its way into the region, right under the noses of its bloodthirsty inhabitants. Setting This takes place on another, unnamed world/realm. The Empire has a variety of habitats and land formations. It is a fantasy realm, and so there are naturally otherworldly creatures and peoples that make their way about it. Right now, the role play is taking place in the west part of the Empire, in a highly forested region not far from the sea. Going further west is the ocean, and going east is more farmland passed the woodlands. It is the end of summer, nearing harvest time. The Emperor’s edict is in full swing. Information about the Scarlet people:- The race has no particularly common features that unite its people, so that many would seem completely unrelated. - All members of the race have a peculiar brown-red (like henna) marking on their chests that they are born with. This marking disturbs many non-Scarlet people, and is also used to identify someone definitely as a Scarlet. The marking looks like this, but it is longer and less cute/pudgy looking: - In the Empire, looking into someone's eyes is very rude and irreverent. It is believed that doing so looks into the soul and desecrates the sacred being of their person. However, Scarlets do not believe this, and look into each other's eyes as a sign of respect, recognition, conversation, openness, and communion. They also have a gaze that other cultures are unnerved by, as it seems that they are looking through the person rather at them. No disrespect is obviously intended here, but these things are great evils among the other cultures. - Much of the society revolves around the numbers three and seven, as they are considered especially important numbers. This can be seen in the format of their art, literature, and traditions (councils and local governments are delegated by a group of seven, for example). - Words are very important to the Scarlets, because they are viewed as the expression of things unseen or far greater. (Example: "Anger" represents an unseen, but great and fiery emotion.) - Many people believe the Scarlets are savage and frightful because of their attire. Lions are very important, special animals to the Scarlets, and as a result, much attire, jewelry, weaponry, and other items are made from the bodies of lions. This is intimidating and unnerving to other cultures. - Lambs are also important to the Scarlets, and sheep are one of their biggest food sources along with fish. So much food and other resources also comes from here. - Genealogy is very important, as many customs, traditions, accomplishments, and gifts are traced back via family tree. Otherwise, Scarlets can be as embellished or ordinary as their creator wants. Other notes: Characters can be of any race, they do not have to be Scarlets. They don't even have to be human.
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Scarlet
Sept 22, 2012 22:38:31 GMT -5
Post by Cheyenne on Sept 22, 2012 22:38:31 GMT -5
The boy stood in the center of a growing crowd. He was scrawny, and at fifteen, he looked even younger. His skin seemed stretched taught over the bones therein, and it only appeared tighter around his wrists and hands, where he gripped a short sword. Him holding the weapon made for an incongruous picture, which did not go unnoticed by the crowd about him. He licked his lips. A bead of sweat streaked down his temple and over his cheek. His hand shook, but he held the recently acquired blade level with the merchant who had so forcefully torn at his shirt. Even now, the cloth that had once covered his chest fluttered limply to the side. The gap revealed a striking mark on his dark chest, and all eyes were drawn to it. The boy perspired under the heat of their gazes. Their was no sympathy here, and the only sort of salvation they would offer him might be death. “Boy!” The gruff voice resonated off the closely constructed building around him.Startled, the boy whipped his head in the direction of the speaker. His wide eyes searched the crowd with ever increasing anxiety. To the left of the crowd stood a soldier, his hand already reaching for his sword. There would be no salvation there either. “Sir,” the boy nodded. He managed not to stammer over his words, but the fear in them could not be concealed. His knees shook beneath him. He tried not to turn too much toward the man; the young fellow was not sure that the soldier had seen the mark on his chest. The longer he could conceal the fact, the better his chances were at escaping. He needed all the chances he could get. “Put down the weapon! What is the meaning of this?” the soldier demanded. The boy looked at the soldier and then at the crowd. No, he would not be putting the sword down any time soon. But before he could even answer, the crowd did it for him. All at once, their stunned silence from the initial moment he had grabbed the sword dissolved. They began to shout, only bits of phrases distinguishable between their own cacophony of voices. However, one phrase stood out above the rest: “The boy is Scarlet! Just look at his chest!” Well, there went his chance. The boy winced and sighed, cursing the circumstances around him. The soldier’s eyes went wide, and then hard like stones. No sympathy there, either. Fortunately, the boy was not expecting any, so at the very least, he was not disappointed. He also did not expect the soldier to move to quickly. Within an instant, the grown man had parted the crowd and was making his way toward the younger of the two. The crowd did not do this for the boy. In fact, he was forced forward, lest the suddenly ravenously outstretched hands were to capture him. His eyes darted back and forth, looking for an escape; there wasn’t one. He did not want to fight, but at the moment, there seemed to be no other alternative. His eyes dared to linger on the soldier once more. The distance was almost closed now. Within a few steps, there would be no avoiding confrontation. The boy’s gaze lingered again. There was no way out now. Or was there? His eyes took in the warrior’s position. His legs were readying; soon they would be wide open. Seconds ticked by like minutes. The soldier swung, his arm and blade slicing through the air as if cutting the wind itself. The boy was in striking distance and the blade neared his neck like a peregrine falcon nears its prey. The boy ducked. It was a desperate move. The sword just barely missed him, taking with it a parting clump of now-sheared hair. The boy was glad it was just his hair. Continuing with one swift motion, he dove in between the soldier’s legs, his skinny, fragile form passing through easily. Before the soldier had time to bring the sword completely down again, the boy was up and running. However, he did not fail to notice the blade cutting into his shirt and ripping the article down the middle in the back. Now, this time, the boy swung. It was a wild, inexperienced, and absolutely reckless motion - but it got the crowd out of the way. A stupid move was a stupid move, but if close enough it could be a fatal one, and few were willing to face that. Those that were left and had yet to move aside, the boy rammed into as hard as his undersized little body could manage. He had the element of surprise on his side, and so it worked. The boy ran, now free from the crowd. He flung the sword to the ground, not caring where it landed. His legs burned him and his feet pounded so forcefully against the street that it was painful. Every inhalation was like a gasp for air, and his lungs felt much like his legs did. He focused on running. Faster, faster, always faster. He needed to get away. People faded from his peripheral vision in the time it took him to blink. They avoided him at first, confounded as to who this strange boy was, and why he was running like a loon. This soon changed, however, as cries of “Scarlet! Scarlet!” rang out behind him. Then the spectators stirred to life and, with angry cries of their own, they joined the chase for his blood. The lad felt desperation clawing at his heart and helplessness beginning to well up after it. His lungs were burning; his stamina was leaving him. His legs hurt. He could not keep this up forever. But hope sparked in him soon after. Over the modest houses, towering trees came into view. He was nearing the forest. He grimaced and let out a whimper. If only he could make it there, he would be safe. There, amongst the trees and foliage, he could hide. He could find shelter and hidden places where no one would find him. All he had to do was make it there. He pumped his legs even harder, feeling as if they were collapse beneath him. He just had to get to the woods. then he would be safe. The trees were speeding closer, and he could see the beginning of the forest mere yards away. He was getting close. Then closer. And even closer still. He could make it. He was going to make it. Only a few more yards to freedom. It felt like he was hit by a warhorse. The boy was knocked to the ground and the wind from his lungs. He was dazed and for a moment, his vision did not seem right. Confusion overtook his brain, his mind feeling as if gnats were swarming it in a dry summer’s heat. What had just happened? Slowly, his brain cleared. Someone had tackled him, he realized. Dread flourished in the pit of his stomach. The force that had tackled him was lifted, but rough hands grabbed at him, pulling him to his feet for a moment, but shoving him to his knees the next. Someone grabbed his hair and wrenched it back. His head followed and he let out a sharp cry. Something cold was shoved against his throat. He recognized the sharp edge of the dagger almost immediately. Dread filled him. This was it, wasn’t it?
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Deleted
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Scarlet
Sept 25, 2012 19:10:12 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Sept 25, 2012 19:10:12 GMT -5
Miss Hunter: Here
A mist swarms our world. A mist that chokes our old and plagues our youth. A mist that suffocates and strangles. We are surrounded by this mist.
There were so many of them around whether anyone noticed or not; there were more than any of the normal believed. No, they were not abundant by any means, but they were there. She had seen two throughout the day, which was more than anyone believed. In this crowd, she had seen one and knew there had to at least be another. They had become very good at hiding since the massive genocide has taken its toll. Some even tried to melt into the normal world. That would never work for her; she could never be normal. In her own home she was not normal. Normal. What was it like really to be normal? Her coat tail clapped down on her let's as she swiftly maneuvered herself through the sea of individuals. Other than the occasional brush against another, she touched and was seen by no one. Years of practice gliding through tight places with the genocide came in handing and she knew it well. She was the wind: quick and invisible. So many years of isolation and here she was in the middle of everything and everyone. She was so very much surrounded. If ever there was a time to be claustrophobic, it would have been the.. maybe she did have some luck after all; she hated the people but loved the crowd. In a crowd, there were only bodies, and she could be lost in the middle. With many, she did not exist and that was how she liked it. Before her mother died, she had told her to listen to her father. "He has good words. Remember them." So she did. She remembered everything that her father had to say whether it be simple things like, "I do not like the color orange." Everything had an underlying meaning, and if she learned them then, there was a better chance she would do better in her life to come, for she knew it was going to be worse than it had been before; she could see the turmoil rise in the people. The most important thing that her father taught her was to ask questions. Not necessarily out loud but always to herself. Always figure everything out first. Always know everything. Who am I? Hunter. Who are you really? Hunted. Where are you? I don't know. She turned in circles. Where was she? A crowd. Why was she in a crowd? She could not remember. There was bound to be a reason. Just, what was that reason? There was a reason, but it was stuck in her head; jammed between two things that would not let it budge. This happened too often now. Ever since they killed her father and left her with no one, she was so absent from the world. This had to end. She just was not sure how she was going to stop it. She shook her head and moves forward through the crowd looking for something to jog her memory. Nothing. Nothing dislodged it. Nothing helped her remember. If only could just remember things. Her eyes flitted across the crowd searching for some time before she saw the crowd start to get antsy. She made her way through the maze of people until she could see what all the commotion was about. There was a man holding onto a boy by the hair with one hand and a knife to his throat. There were several more men around them. She edged through the crowd so she has a better view of the boy in question. He looked fairly normal for the most part but there was something about him. Yes, there it was. Just barely, she could see the mark on his chest. He was a Scarlet. She walked around the crowd and into the parted area behind the man who held the boy. In one swift motion, she grabbed her knives, thrust one into the side of the man’s lower back and swiped her other knife into the soldier closest. She hooked her arm under the boys and yanked him up slicing at the arm of the next soldier. She pulled the boy quickly away as the soldiers were in shock still. She glared out into the crowd her knife up so as to make sure people moved out of her way; she was going to get out of there before the soldiers could come after them. At a respectable distance, she put her knives away, though loose enough for her to grab if needed, and tried to blend into the crowd as she was so good at doing.
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Scarlet
Sept 25, 2012 21:56:08 GMT -5
Post by Cheyenne on Sept 25, 2012 21:56:08 GMT -5
Benjamin felt the cold steel against his throat. It began to warm with his own body heat, the frigid blade's cold shock dulling against his hot skin. His pulse beat through his neck, shoving itself agains the sharp edge of the dagger. The seconds ticked by. Benjamin closed his eyes and grimaced. His eyes were shut so tight that it almost hurt him. He waited. And waited. The moments ticked by even slower now. After some time, Benjamin opened his eyes and looked up. The leering face of a soldier snickered down at him. Then he understood; the man was doing this for effect. This death of his would be a slow one. The rumblings of the crowd dimly registered in his ears. Was that cheering? He could hear voices crying out; men, women, and - children? Yes, children too. He could hear their little voices, almost as if they rose above the others, squealing, "Kill the Scarlet!" He blinked back tears as a sudden despair consumed him. Was society really this far gone? These people - good people - crying out for his innocent blood when he had done nothing wrong and nothing worthy of the punishment he was being given. Then again, they were all innocent. He was one Scarlet among many who would die in vain, for no reason other that mindless hatred and a thirst for blood. But that was what the Empire wanted; the head of every Scarlet, cut clean, on a platter. Benjamin watched with dimly-seeing eyes. He saw the world around him, but he could hardly take it in. He blinked. The soldier met his gaze once more and the man's lips curled into a crude, crooked smile. So this was how it was going to be, then.
Suddenly, the soldier's face contorted in shock, and then great pain. There was a choking, guttural sound and then a gurgling that emanated from the man’s throat. He groaned and then toppled, a fallen metal tower that would never rise again. Blood flowed freely from a wound on the man’s lower back. Benjamin stared in shock as the first soldier fell, and then a second. He did not know what was going on. Surely, none of the crowd would have done that - not when they were cheering for his blood in the first place. The person who had done this - were they then a Scarlet too? What happened next was a blur. One instant, he was on the floor, and the next, he was being pulled to his feet.The hands pulling him were swift, nimble, and strong. Even in the flurry of events that followed, his mind held on to those palms and those fingers. They were not the large, abrasive hands of a man, but the smaller, feminine hands of a woman. And they were warm. One looked confirmed this hunch. She was a fierce woman. Like a lion. The thought was a fleeting one, and Benjamin almost smiled in spite of the situation they were in. Her knife was extended in her hands and Benjamin thought that it looked more natural there than the sword had felt in his own. The crowd stood at a distance, not daring to approach the deadly woman who had killed two soldiers and wounded another, with mere knives. Then, as quickly as it happened, it seemed, it was over.The woman was back to weaving through the crowded streets like an expert, and he struggled to keep up with her. She was both agile and composed, and Benjamin was feeling like neither of those things for the time being. Next to her, he stood out, and the fact struck him with a white hot flash of fear and a sudden feeling of awkwardness. It seemed rude to leave the woman who had taken the time and trouble to save him from that crowd, but at the same time, he stood out like a red flag. Sure, the lady could hide herself well among the crowds of people, but there was no hiding him. The rip through the back of his shirt fluttered in the breeze, as if to notify the whole world of who he was. Even now, Benjamin clutched the ripped pieces of the front of his shirt together over his chest. If his mark remained unhidden, the two of them would surely be even greater targets than they were now. Benjamin nervously thought of how he looked. Perhaps he could pass for a drunk, although anyone from the previous crowd would know him for sure. In silence, he pondered these things, every so often looking up nervously at the woman who had saved his life, and the woman he was putting in danger with his inability to camouflage. He didn’t know what to do, or what to say. But, in the end, he found that there were two very simple, very appropriate words: “Thank you.” he said quietly, his gaze anxious as he looked up at her.
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Scarlet
Sept 27, 2012 17:21:33 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Sept 27, 2012 17:21:33 GMT -5
Her father had always been a wise man. Despite how much she did not get along with her father, she knew that what he said was worth listening to. Sometimes, she wondered if maybe he could have been a teacher with all the information he had to share with others. One person once suggested philosopher, but she knew that would never happen; he did not care about humans as populace in the slightest. After a while, her teacher idea began to dwindle down into the nothingness that was her true vision of her father. He was a mystery she would never be able to solve. “Blend.” They had been outside and soldiers had come running for them. He looked her sternly in the eyes and ordered, “You must blend like your life depends on, because it will. You must blend.” She nodded looking hesitantly at the approaching guards then back to her father who was waving her on. She bit her lower lip, nodded once again, swiveled around on her heels and dashed away from her father and the soldiers. Even in running, she only it made it so far that her father’s screams were only subdued to her ears. So blend she would do. She learned very quickly that you could be in a sea of black and be red and still be able to blend. Quiet. She would not speak unless necessary, her feet would be silent, and her movements would be swift. She would wear darker colors for most occasions. Her clothes would not be too conspicuous; nothing so unordinary that everyone would turn to look at her. That would defeat the purpose of blending. It was an art that she had worked so hard and so long to master. She could blend in so many places now. But this boy could not. This boy stood out. This boy was drawing attention to them. Hunter wondered if maybe he had never had to hide before. Was he one of the lucky ones that had lived in a community where they either did not notice or did not care? Was there even such a place anymore? She had been so isolated from the world, she was not entirely sure how it was everywhere. She just knew that there was no way this boy could have lived a life quite like hers. If it had come anywhere near the like of hers, he would not have been so easily caught by the soldiers. There had to be a better reason than just his incompetence. Yes, there most definitely had to be a reason. This reason did not matter. What mattered was that he could not fit into this crowd without drawing attention to them, and that was what they wanted the least at the moment. There had to be something that she could do to get them away from all the people around them. There had to be a place that was not so crowded so that she could at least get her bearings of their surroundings. Somewhere around them was the answer to all their problems, and she just had to find it. An opening. Hunter guided the boy through the people towards the small opening that looked like less people occupied than others. She expertly maneuvered her way through pulling the boy along in her footsteps. No need to have someone step between and separate them; that would cause more messes than she wanted. If they stepped between them, she would have to get him back, and that could lead to another bloody mess, which would come with the inevitable and dreaded attention of everyone around them. It would also get back to the soldiers who would then have a viable trail of bodies to follow to them. She had never been so sloppy and refused to start then. This boy was not worth a sloppy mess than could endanger her life. Then why was she even bothering to look after him in the first place? He would have proved to be the perfect distraction; the soldiers would have been occupied, and she could have just slipped right by everyone without even a thought. Granted, she could have done that anyway, but she always ran at least a little risk of being noticed; with the boy preoccupying them, she would have had a totally open passageway to get through. But she would never be able to justify leaving the boy to die such a humiliating and public death like that. All these people lived by the motto of “no man left behind.” She was taught the same. No man left behind. No scarlet left behind. Save your own people. If she had left him back there to die, she would have been killing him. She would have killed him. She heard his words. Of course he was thanking her; she had just saved his life. She pulled him into the small opening and examined him quickly. Young, tall, small, darker skinned, hungry. He had to be hungry being that small. Maybe he had come from somewhere awful and managed to escape. Did he not know how to protect himself? Probably not. He had probably never been taught or told anything. This was not good for either of them. It was quite bad actually. She frowned at her new discoveries and peered around them once over then back at the boy. “Don’t thank me,” she said simply. Her voice was deep and rough, almost scratchy. It was obvious that she did not talk much, and when she did, it was certainly not a lot nor was it loud. Being such a forcefully secretive person, it was not a shock to anyone who knew what it was like, but she could see how it might have shocked someone else who had not had to lead a life as she did.
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Scarlet
Sept 27, 2012 18:31:05 GMT -5
Post by Cheyenne on Sept 27, 2012 18:31:05 GMT -5
Benjamin did not feel uneasy in the silence, though he knew that he probably should have. The woman was quiet, and it was clear that he posed an obvious problem. Whereas she maneuvered through the crowd like an expert, he stumbled clumsily beside her, standing out so much that Hunter was having to manage both his movements and her own. She was not his mother, and yet she was having to lead him around like she was. In retrospect, he realized that he should have darted off when the woman had given him the chance. He felt his cheeks heat warm at the realization, though the color showed little through his dark skin. It probably would have been a better idea than sticking around and drawing attention to them both. That was the last thing they needed, actually. She blended, but his standing out brought the spotlight on the both of them by default. What if someone took notice? What if someone was suspicious? They probably were already, and the hand that clutched his breast made it obvious that there was a lot of credibility in those suspicions. He could only imagine what would happen if it was revealed that there were two Scarlets, completely unrelated to each other, in the same city. They would die for sure, and the proverbial witch that would ensue would be brutal. Yes, he realized, he definitely should have separated from her.
"Well, it's too late for that, seeing as I already did and all." Benjamin responded, finding himself puzzled at Hunter’s reply. She did not talk very much. That much was evident from her voice, as it seemed her vocal cords were almost protesting their use. It occurred to him that he and the woman were very different. She was street savvy, and he was from the mountains where there was one road in and one road out, and both of those roads happened to be the same. She was quiet - probably more thoughtful than talkative - and he enjoyed frequent discourse. She was a fighter, that much had been seen with the knives she wielded; he was not, and the only weapon he was comfortable with was a shepherd’s staff. She was clever, and he was lucky. Indeed, he wondered if it was possible for them have been more different. “I’m sorry.” he said instead, noting her glance. “I’m causing you a lot of trouble. If you could just show me an alley I could take out of the city or something, that would probably be the best for the both of us.” He nodded, looking into her eyes. His gaze bled Scarlet, seeming not only to look at her, but into and through her. Yet, there was an unusual transparency in it also; an innocence that should never have made it past the age of thirteen, and yet, by some miracle, it had. He smiled up at her, in a friendly, though sheepish, apologetic way. In an instant, he looked down at her cheekbones and mouth, adopting the substantially less expressive stare of the rest of the Empire’s people. He would go where she told him to - it would be better that way, he thought.
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Scarlet
Sept 28, 2012 16:40:49 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Sept 28, 2012 16:40:49 GMT -5
A childish response. Only children even retorted as this boy just did. Children liked to pretend to be smart by outwitting and showing up those they spoke to, but all thy ever accomplished was bringing about he annoyance of their companions. Did this boy not realize how childish he sounded speaking such ways? Of course he had already said it; she had been there to hear him. It was because she had heard him that she responded in the first place. Maybe it was the fact that he was so immature to the world that he sounded as such. May he knew not the better. If that was the case, she was going to have to rethink what they were going to do. This boy was not going to be able to make it on this world the way he was. That much was obvious by his ignorance to how to even survive in this world. I she let him go right then, there was absolutely no way he would last that long. There was bound to be a loop hole somewhere. She looked over him once again. He was too small to be terrible strong. Food clearly was not of the abundance for him. She doubted he could yield a glad of any kind and use it well. He has gotten himself in what could have been a bloody mess back there and most definitely would not have lived had it not been for her. No, he would not last long at all if she cut h loose right then and there. No, she could not do that. No, she would not kill this boy. "Do not be sorry." To be sorry was to be weak. Only be sorry for the right reasons. Speaking was not the right reason. If anything, speaking was the wrong reason. Speaking was simply words put together to form a phrase with the desire of a purpose, though that purpose is not always seen. Words could be fixed; countered with other words. Words were not the right reasons to be sorry. It occurred to her that this was the second time she had told him what not to do. Was she now acting as a mother would? Don't do that. Don't do this. Only mothers should order their children around. She was not how mother, and he was the at the age of decision for himself, or at least she thought he was. He looked about the age one would be to start thinking for oneself. Then again, what did she know? She had never been in a community of people. She only knew a life of hiding and survival. A good man could take care of himself by the age of twelve; a good woman at thirteen. Men were stronger earlier. Being a man or a woman meant a person could survive on his or her own. You could not be children. You could never be a child; only a man or a woman. She has only ever been a woman who could only survive in the wilderness that was the world. Never live in it, just around it. Should she consider telling him the best way out? She knew the way they would need to go on order to get there. He probably would not make it there alone. She would have to get him out. Was that worth it? What else did she need to do? Her soul purpose in life was to simply survive. She had no greater purpose; no greater meaning to this sad story that was her life. She could help him out with no cost of her own. But what would happen to him after that? "Can you survive on your own?" Hunter asked wondering if maybe she should not show him out. Maybe she should try and at least help him get through the world first. She would not send such an endangered individual into a sword fight without even a shield.
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Scarlet
Oct 8, 2012 18:37:36 GMT -5
Post by Cheyenne on Oct 8, 2012 18:37:36 GMT -5
Benjamin smiled and met her eyes again. He suppressed a laugh, wondering if it might offend her if he did not. She really did remind him of someone’s mother. Certainly not his own mother, but someone’s mother nonetheless. He could not help but wonder if she was normally like this. She seemed to be a quiet person; could it be that she had companions, but rarely spoke with them? Or maybe she was just quiet outside of them. Benjamin thought about it. Perhaps that was the case. It was not as if the people of the town were quite so welcoming to their kind. On the other hand, maybe she did not have anyone. Benjamin almost shuddered as he wondered if this was the case. It was true that he, for quite a few years now, had been on his own. However, at the very least, he always had some sort of companionship, even if they were not Scarlet, or could never understand him like one of his own could. They had still been friends, and often the closest he had to family throughout his recent years. He shared so many experiences with them, and while they did not know what he was or where he came from, they knew many things about who he was, and vise versa. His friendships and bloodless familial ties were invaluable. He could not imagine living life without them, or at least someone around. Did this woman in front of him live that way? He hoped not. He studied her as she fussed, thought, and spoke. He wondered if he should ask the question that pressed on his mind. Should he say something? No. Not yet anyway. Maybe as they walked. Right now, it would be too abrupt, too personal, and certainly offensive. If he asked her anything, she might not even tell him the truth. He figured if he was the average Scarlet, or even just the average person, he might be hesitant to answer questions from someone so quickly. No, he would ask later, if possible. As they walked.
When Hunter asked the question, Benjamin looked at her, simply puzzled. He tilted his head down, but his eyes up. He studied her. She definitely reminded him of a mother. Not only for her concern, but for the way she, too, was studying him. He knew that look.“Yes.” he replied slowly. Then, returning to his former expression and prior tone, “Why do you ask?” He did not take offense to the question, and it seemed that he was simply curious as to why she asked it. However, what first seemed odd suddenly began to make sense. He blinked again and looked down. He was skinnier than he last remembered. How long had it been since he had last seen his reflection? It had been a while. The last time he had been near enough to a lake to notice it. That had been before he looked so frail and malnourished, if he remembered correctly. He was probably even smaller than he appeared from his vantage point. While looking down, he also could not help but notice his torn shirt, nor could he stop himself from remembering the fight that had erupted from it, and his near-subsequent death. And a death that she had prevented, no less. How he must have looked! He could only imagine. Beggars probably bested him in appearance. He almost chuckled at the thought. Come to think of it, they may have more fat to their bones, and maybe even more belongings to their names than he did at the moment. After all, he was just a dirty, scrawny, beat-up little Scarlet teenager who barely had the clothes on his back. That was probably why she asked. Benjamin looked up, the tinge of a blush on his cheeks. He smiled sheepishly. “Never mind, I understand.” He nodded again in any case. “But I can survive - this isn’t normally how I look. Thank you for your concern though.” His expressed gratitude seemed truly genuine.
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