Guest
Unsorted
Prefect
Posts: 53
|
Post by Guest on Feb 21, 2008 20:07:24 GMT -5
(Don't ask about the title. We're reading Romeo and Juliet in English and the line, 'Starcrossed Lovers' just came to mind. Curse addictive Shakespear. >>)
It was a tiny pub, not much bigger than one of those average houses seen today. It didn't need to be big, since it was out here in the country-side where no one but a couple of recluses dwelled. In fact, the tavern was owned by one of them. Though it seemed large from the inside, being it was not crowded at all.
Upon entering was this spectacle. A huge dusty wine rack covered the far right end, just behind a wooden desk. Placed at the front of the desk were old little stools, probably made by the owner in his spare time. Scattered around the room were a few lonely tables for the drinkers who wished to sit in private, or in a private group. In the very middle was a dance floor, yet one could see it was not used regulary. It barely had any scuffs or scratches on it. Perhaps that was because the owner kept it well clean, though it was unlikely since everything else was in need of a good fix up.
A man, a little under twenty five years old, sat at one of the bar stools, the tips of his fingers touching the lip of his glass of wine. It was not the best wine he had even drinken. It was warm and flat, and so incredibly bitter than most. It was not to his liking at all, but he did not complain. The man simply was not in the mood to weep over the taste of his drink, only needing the company of it's after-effects.
To more describe this man, his build is as such. His waist was narrow, and his arms were twigs, yet the muscles underneath the skin rippled with power. His hair was a lush chocolate brown, short yet spikey. His clothing was ragged and untucked with earthy colors that complimented his hair. The man's pants were held up by a thick rope, and he walked around barefoot. In his earlobe was a tiny silver loop.
Though his eyes were his most outstanding feature.
Like the most of him, they were a nice brown tone, but they seemed to not fit in. They sparkled as he thought to himself, like diamonds in a dirty earth.
As he sat alone in the bar, he made up a conversation with himself, for mere entertainment. His thin pink lips parted and whispered softly, '... Calisto, ..." and trailed off. Sighing, he put his fingers on the wooden bar table and clicked his nails against it in a rythm. What another long, lonesome day was about to unfold?
|
|
|
Post by Ridley on Feb 21, 2008 21:21:38 GMT -5
she gathered the days and the nights that we spent; she's holding them in her hands How long had it been since it was this familliar dirt beneath her horse's hooves? She'd been so long from home it was as if she didn't know the lands at all. Then again, she really didn't know the lands. She'd long since navigated with a friend, and still this friend flew ahead, her remarkablely well trained horse following the raven which guided her down the sloping hills and into the tiny village. It was quaint, and the picture she imagined in her head did it far more justice than reality. Alas, she would never truely know that and perhaps it was for al lthe better.
Her steed moved through the night, its light sandy color contrasted with deep chesnut hues in its pelt. As its muscles extended and contracted, the moon seemed to make the two hues dance along the horse's fur, and made its name all the more suiting: Walter, or Waltz for short. His mane flew with the wind, and its chocolate tassels were interwined within a girl's fingers. Her skin was fair, a beautiful pale, which seemed to shine with the same mystic quality of the moon. Her cheeks were splashed with a rosy red, and her lips full. The smile on her faced was breath taking, yet it seemed reserved, as if she'd a kiss waiting on her lips, yet no man could ever take the magic of it; as if she'd been saving it for a certain someone all these long years.
The raven cawed over head, as it began circling over the only place with a light still on: the tavern. The horse slowed to a stop, and bobbed its head, telling the rider all was well. The girl, she could be no more than a day over 19, slid gracefully from the horse. She had a shawl wrapped around her head, concealing the lower half of her face, that secret kiss which no one could ever take. Only her eyes could be seen, and what a sight they were: they were the loveliest shade of blue, her irises. Clear like a crisp winter day, but hued like tranquil pools of blue nestled far away in forrests barely walked. But her pupils, like the frozen surface of a lake; clouded and fogged over, distant and umoving; she was blind.
Her sleeves were a light cream, full, and puffed with air as they drapped around her, a dark purple vest clad over the undershirt, and a long, thick, black skirt which dropped to her ankles. THe bottom of her skirt was licked with mud, suggesting walking was not beneath her. She was humble, looking like that of a gypsy woman with her bird and her horse and blind, never seeing eyes. Her hair, although currently tucked away, was the most beautiful shade of bronze, which seemed like the sun itself when heaven's golden rays shined upon at noon. Alas, now, only the moon lit her with its eerie glow, and her eyes were lit with all its radiance.
Her hands felt their way along the horses neck, slender fingers looking elegant as they stroked the soft fur. Her voice was that of an angel's as she cooed softly, and her raven landed upon the animal's back. The girl smiled, her arm extended as the raven landed happily upon it, and issued quiet signs, leading the blind girl to the door of the pub. She felt for the handle, and pushed the door open, and her leather boots--hidden under her skirt--made a muffled thudding sound that was barely audible. She clicked the door shut, and stood in the dull glow of the room, looking quite out of place in the unkempt tavern. She herself was no master peice, but the part of her face which showed dared prove otherwise.
Her hand found the tips of the shawl, and unwound it. The crimson scarf fell gracefully around her head to reveal the waves of her bronze hair, as her head turned towards the man sitting alone. The raven cawed softly, leading her a few steps foward until she stood in the middle of the dance floor. For a very long time, she stood alone, until she shooed the raven to a chair back, so the her arms could rest by her side.
Silence drifted around her like music, and as her hands felt for a pouch around her waist, her head remained forward, and eyes fixed on no particular point. When at last her slender hand slipped in the leather pouch, she pulled fourth somethings which glinted in the dim lighting. Her arm extended expectantly, and she let the chain slide out to its full length; a wooden heart, though a secret locket, dangled at the end of leather twine, as her voice, like that of a cooing dove, spoke so tenderly it would make even the angels of heaven weep.
"I promised I would come back some day...and all this time i've kept your heart. Take it back, Dear One, for I've long had something which belongs to you."
these are the things that I should've said but I'll never know, so I'll sing them instead
|
|
Guest
Unsorted
Prefect
Posts: 53
|
Post by Guest on Feb 21, 2008 22:29:45 GMT -5
The man, or Conan, as he was named, did not hear the girl enter. He had been lost in thought about her. It was a pleasant daydream, one that he thought never would come true. It was about his maiden, a young girl with wind that danced in the wind and shined in the moon. Her sightless eyes were jewels to him, and everytime he gazed into them he considered it a deadly sin. No man ever deserved diamonds as such as those. And her lips! Conan could go on forever about those large red lips that he never dared taste, no matter how much he longed to. Besides, she made her intentions clear on about who she gave her lips too, by wrapping a scarf around them, only to unwrap the cloth to the man she loved.
Nights had long passed since he had last seen his treasure. That parting had been a difficult one for him to accept, and spent days wallowing in pity afterwords. He had almost forgotten the soft feel of her lovely pale skin in his arms. He tried to cling on to every memory, every past sensation, lest she ever leave him forever. He had curled away in the woods to simply hang on to those thoughts. At least he had been able to climb out of his depression and into a wine bottle. It was much better there. Or at least more comforting.
That’s why he had come here, finding it to be the closet tavern nearby to where she told him to wait.
As she walked closer to him, Conan still did not seem to notice her. He was staring down at his reflection in the red whine that was still in the bottom of his glass. She moved so delicately it wasn’t until his own horse, Strider, gave a cry.
The black stallion had noticed as Waltz was haltered nearby by the mare’s owner. The skittish equine had stayed silent at first, curious, for he recognized Waltz’s scent. He tapped the ground gently with his hoof and chewed on his bit. Finally, after a moment Strider had finally tried to gain the attention of the mare by calling out to her. That’s the cry that Conan heard that caused him to look up.
Calisto was standing there, her pursing lips speaking like the angels in heaven, and getting himself lost in her hazy eyes. As she held out the wooden heart to him, Conan gasped deeply. Cautiously he lifted his hand and reached over to touch the necklace. His fingers gently grabbed it, but his grip was firm.
“Your heart, … I’ll never give it away,” his deep voice sounded full of desire. He held out his palm now, waiting for her to drop it into his hand. “I didn’t think you would come back.”
|
|
|
Post by Ridley on Feb 21, 2008 22:50:30 GMT -5
She gave a kind smile, and felt a gentle tug. She knew he had it now, and released it into his palm. When they'd first met, Conan had given her the small wooden heart; he'd made it himself, whittled from a tree he cut down. Calisto had promised, upon leaving him so many years ago, that'd she'd return someday. He'd given her heart to her, and she vowed she'd come back to ensure that he would have heart again; that he would love and live once more.
Her eyes, although hazed and distant, were somehow kind. She held out her hand, feeling for a chair, and seating herself down as soon as she ofund one. She traced her lips a moment, before letting her hands still calmly in her lap, and she spoke once more, in that cooing voice of hers. "I left as a servant to a Prince, once...and now I return still a servent, but the Prince is no longer. I've long since held my vow, and tonight it is proven; honestly, i never thought you'd still be waiting. It's cold here, now...I can feel the emptiness, and I wonder, is this the place I called home? I do not need eyes to tell it is in ruin..."
She frowned slightly. Her journey had been for nothing, it seemed. She left long ago on a mission; gain alliances, someone to protect an arising kingdom, yet when she returned she found only this pitiful village. Yet, she had remained unchanged, despite everywhere she'd been. Still, although her lips had touched many loves, still there held that unattianble joy; that small kiss in the corner of her mouth, giving her such an elegent, mysterious beauty. Something just about the way she smiled, it inflamed many a breast of many men around the world; the world she'd traveled.
She blinked, and held a hand our, plam upturned as if expecting something, though she stated not what. "What has happened? You have changed...I can hear it, and smell it on your breath. Did you not trust me, Conan? Had I not proven myself to you time and time again? Woe to the fool who cross me, Fallen Prince. What has happened in my abscence? There should be only glory here now, not misery."
|
|
Guest
Unsorted
Prefect
Posts: 53
|
Post by Guest on Feb 23, 2008 17:39:57 GMT -5
Conan held tight to the small, wooden heart, like it was made out of the purest gold. And to him, it was. Nothing but her was more precious than this necklace. Not even his own life. Carefully he took the string and wrapped it tight around his neck to ensure it would never fall off. The pendent fell top his breast, where it would be closest to his true heart. It was a most special place for this most prized object.
He stared at it as he listened carefully to her words. As they came off her tongue, Conan could easily imagine her as the most magnifienct angel in heaven, no matter how bleak the actual words meant to sound. As the maiden finished her explanation, Conan lifted the glass off the table top and pressed it to his mouth. He took a moment to take a long drink, guessing that after Calisto had heard how much he had been taking in, would deny him any affections if he continued.
“I knew you would return, somewhere deep down in my soul I could feel you coming back to me with each passing moment. Yet after the first year it began to seem bleak, …” he began, placing his drink down again. Now that the glass was empty, he had nothing to distract himself with. This very moment was the one in which he needed to explain everything to her. “… The kingdom, as you have said, is in despair. Destruction by force did not take it, rather more like an emotional blow. The trust that held it together, as you say, weakened its sturdy foundations and before I could recover it, the towers fell out from underneath itself.”
He was speaking of the little valley not to far from here, where Conan had spent the days building a ‘castle’, though it was no more than a cottage. It was their dream to live there when Calisto finally returned. For many moons he worked at it, remembering her, and taking great care to etch their burning passion into every little detail. Finally, after the second year, it had been halfway through completion. That’s also the time when Conan had lost faith in her returning. If she wasn’t going to come back, then why keep building? That’s why one evening the man torched it to cinders and ash, trying to forget her. He may have been able to leave the castle, but he never lost her in his heart. That’s why he could never go far from that place, in case she truly did return.
And here she was, asking what disaster had occurred. The guilt he felt was strong, yet he continued to explain.
“My breath smells of the bitterest of drinks. Ever since the castle had vanished I found my way into this tavern. I lost myself in the company of wine, and been stuck here ever since.”
|
|
|
Post by Ridley on Feb 23, 2008 18:00:09 GMT -5
Her eyes fell to the floor, away from the creature that sat before her. Calisto had been young, once, a girl of no more than 15, and she'd been in love with an idea. Her town--their town--knew no end to war and famine and disease. Someone had to lift it from the rubble, and she'd seen the passion in Conan's eye as he ranted to an empty clearing. She didn't know why he spoke so fervantly when no one was there to listen, but if that was his passion with no one to back him, then could he bring revolution if someone should give him the chance?
She fell in love with the idea, not the man; Conan had never learned that secret. All this time he thought it was him, but only Calisto knew the truth. She'd served him so loyally, rallying the people, and making him advancements, and pulling all the strings, where as Conan only needed to be the figure head. Then, she'd left tp journey the neighboring kingdoms. She'd left to gather money, make alliances, encourage people to travel and live in this new city of hope.
And it nearly left her heartbroken, sitting in that chair, knowing the valley just beyond was nothing but rubble. No great kingdom or castle or even thriving villiage; it was nothing. Her eyes were locked emotionlessly on the ground, and she could not feel the tears which pooled around them. She blinked, sending them over head, and at last Calisto could feel the hot sting as the rolled down her cheek. The raven cawed at her mistress' misery, but a wave of the hand silenced the creature. Those hazey blue eyes fixed on no point once more, as her voice was hollow and quiet.
"The kingdom did not destroy itself, Conan...it could not have done such a thing. You know that it was up to you to make it thrive. I supported you, i helped you, i gave you power when no one else would even stay long enough to hear your thoughts of revolution. I gave you everything...and you've left me nothing. People, Conan, think this is a place of hope and prosperity. They're migrating here, do you know that? They're expecting white walls, and blue flags and towers teetering high above their homes, watching the horizon's to ensure protection. And this empty valley is all they'll find...and then their lives will be worth nothing."
She moved her head, so very used to zeroing in on a sound, and making her eyes connect to that point. She found where he sat, and let her dead gaze stare unblinking at him. "They've given up all the had for a new life. You've not only disappointed me, but you've damned thousands to poverty."
Her last words rung, though she'd only more than whispered them, her tone so stern that it would've been nicer if she yelled. There were glistening streaks, barely highlighted from the candlelight, but still present upon her pale cheeks. Her hair tumbled around her, still in graceful waves, as she thumbed at the sleeve of her long-sleeved undershirt. Calisto's stare was broken, as she blinked, her head turning away, as she stood. She crossed the room, hovering near its entrance as if she was ebbing for the door. Her raven, Domino, hopped from chair to chair, until it was to the one closest to her mistress, and fatherst from Conan. Still, Calisto's mouth open as if to speak, but no words would come, and she simple closed it, and rested her head against the wall with a heavy sigh escaping her lungs.
|
|