March 18th - Guest Apartments - A Touch of Solace
ooc: Wasn't sure if Spike would still be resting on this day in the early afternoon or if he had other plans, but I figured it was worth a shot. If anything needs changing just let me know!
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A set of timid knocks echoed faintly through the hall as she tapped her knuckles across the guest room door. Brushing the dark hair back from her eyes, Arisa’s tail gave a flick, and she listened. A pause, and then..silence. She ran a quiet hand down the door’s frame, stark surface smooth against her fingertips as she grasped the knob. The scent of the room rushed over her as she crossed the threshold; Spike’s smell, familiar and comforting, mixed with that of blood, subtle but unmistakable.
It was dark, and the air had the sort of stale taste that came when the windows were never opened. Pausing to nudge the door shut behind her, the young mutant’s eyes wandered over the figure curled up in the bed.
Tired, he was tired again. Her mind conjured the word tired as a gentler substitute for incoherent, because as he lay, lost in his own world, that’s exactly what he was. He was awake, she knew because she saw him strain to listen as she moved into the room. He would know it was her. He knew her step, the way the feral naturally eased her feet down, so smoothly that they rarely made a sound, the way her slender frame would brush through the doorway after an unobtrusive knock. He would know it was her without ever lifting his gaze, because he could hear her heartbeat.
It told him that she had sunk down onto the corner of the bed, folding her legs up under her. His figure lay faced away, and though she could not see which expression formed the vampire’s gaunt features, his posture told her that he was lost among memories.
Tenderly her hand moved to touch his hairline, petting his short hair back from his face. She felt him stir under her, but not with discomfort. In a whisper, her voice left cerulean lips, softly shooing the silence,
Re: March 18th - Guest Apartments - A Touch of Solace
-pounces and squeals-
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There was someone there… or was there? Spike curled a little more on the covers of the bed, the blanket had been kicked off the first night they were here and there was no effort made to return it since Spike was content not having one. The constant kicking at night made it seem pointless anyway. It wasn’t often that Spike made a fuss at night, and even if his pain was silent, the fact he was back in the school brought him so close to Rogue and yet still there was such an indescribable distance between them, filled with angst and spite and Spike wasn’t sure why, what had caused it, he knew vaguely the problems.. he didn’t understand the reasons for such extremes reactions.
Being smothered was never good, and Spike was having his ups and downs, but at the moment h is down was more understandable, all the changes and the recovering from the recent events that plagued the vampire, it was reasonable that he just want to lock himself away. It was nice not having to move, nice to just hide away and let everything carrying on without him. Though on the same token, being away from others meant that the time was spent alone with his own mind, as shattered and torn up as it was, and that always seemed to be a painful challenge in itself.
Though in the last few days Spike was getting tired… not the normal tired he was used to, the tired where he seemed to lose concentration, where he started nodding off, where he was… sleepy? Vampires may lay to rest but that didn’t sleep like humans, they didn’t have things as bad, they got tired when pushed yes, but there was such a fine difference that though it was hard to explain Spike was feeling the distinction completely.
Cool fingers stroked the crinkled fabric of the bed sheets the now semi-mortal vampire laid upon, things weren’t so obvious yet, senses were still strong enough to be inhuman, strength and urges still very much that of the vampire he once was. But other things were changing, everything was changing, slowly but surely it was all fading… Should there be fear for this? A fear that he’ll not be able to protect Arisa, Rogue, himself? There should be…but there wasn’t… not entirely, guilt yes, but fear? He wasn’t sure… upset yes that he’d fail them, worried, fretful, but the idea of being human again… All the possibilities, the things he never really thought he wanted, it all became possible and so alluring, frightening in its own way, but alluring nonetheless. Though, even if he did become human, what then? Spike wouldn’t be able to be with the woman he desired the most, and he’d not be able to protect the girl he considered to be a singular part of his much needed idea of family.
Fingers continued to stroke the bed beside him, curled on his side with eyes distant and unfocused, all Spike could tell himself was that it wasn’t the cats fault… No, it was father’s. Getting the horse to trod over your own son because alcohol had polluted ones senses so terribly that the screams of the child couldn’t be heard.. it was sickening, constant as it was at the time it never made the ‘accident’ any easier to deal with, not when it effected William’s eyesight for the rest of his life.
This wasn’t helping… and Spike closed his eyes in concentration, listening to the footfalls of the light female as she moved across the room they shared. None of it mattered really, the scent that wafted from her ocean blue form, the rhythms of movement that were just as uniquely hers, the very essence of *something* that passed into her from Arlen, it was all there, but none of it mattered… not like the rhythms of her heart, the way it sang it’s melodic songs, and expressed her inner emotions, her inner thoughts… it screamed for attention and remained calmed at the same time. What was on her mind? What did most people think about? How did most people go through their days? All those centuries in the hell dimensions, Dru’s little playtime pranks, it made remembering his life so hard, while in this world he was only born in the 1800’s, in reality Spike was over a thousand years old, almost a thousand and a half, though he’d have trouble trying to pinpoint a better guess then a thousand…
Warm tips of Arisa’s fingers brushed tenderly against the fringe that seemed slightly stiff from the gel he didn’t wash out the day before, his hair having curled slightly in an untidy swirl during his restless time in bed. Even when Spike didn’t toss and turn, there were moments where even his silent stares could be seen as a form of restlessness, his unsettled eyes staring out emptily ahead of him… flashes of inner thoughts, haunting memories, reflecting across their hollow gaze.
"..need anything, pet?” Need anything? he needed everything. The blonde slowly shifted more onto his back, his arms forcing themselves to support his weight as the vampire sat up, leaving his back against the wall once he settled into an upright position. Bright blue crystal eyes stared at her, though the hue of the colour didn't shine, not as his eyes could, not like when he smiled or found something to chuckle about.. Not that Spike seemed able to chuckle a lot, not after he'd found such a sense of peace with Rogue and it was all so suddenly torn from him. First he was confused and at a lost as to why no one was calling him about her condition, then he was heartbroken as she arrives just to dump him and move on with her life.
"What was she like? The mother that raised you?" Was she just like any other mother? Was she just as good as any other woman who might have given birth to a child? Did blood really matter? Did the child really care if they were raised by a parent who gave birth to them, or by a parent who took them in and loved them as any other parent would? In the end did it even matter? What was it like for Arisa? To have one mother that couldn't be there as she grew up, and another mother who was snatched away? Spike didn't know a lot, but he knew something of it, too little to put together an idea on Arisa's feelings over it all though... The vampires eyes seemed to move off to stare towards the corner of their room, eyeing something.. or likely someone.. that as so often only he could see.
Re: March 18th - Guest Apartments - A Touch of Solace
The blonde, unkempt head moved out from beneath her fingertips, the vampire raising himself languidly against the wall. Crystal eyes fixed on her, listless and dull, with all the hollowness of one who wasn’t truly seeing; and his face revealed to her the secret of his lethargy. He was lost in memories; the kind that pressed down upon him with such weight that he could do little more than lay flat against the sheets, heavy thoughts stifling him.
With affection in her eye she turned so that their bodies were parallel, facing one another, and rested her hands against her folded legs. She knew better than most what it meant to be haunted by the past, and yet she had experienced little in comparison to her ancient companion. She could only imagine what things chased him in his dreams..
"What was she like? The mother that raised you?"
His abrupt questions did little to faze her anymore, and she settled down into the concept without enquiry. Mystique crossed her mind, long enough to cast a brief shadow over her features. Her eyes wandered to the wall beside him, gaze tracing along knicks in the paint. It was not Mystique that Spike meant, she had no more been raised by Mystique than Spike had. Leaving a child in the hospital room did not win her the title of mother. She was Arisa’s blood mother, but not her mother. There was a world of difference.
She paused, her tail curling among the bed sheets behind her. She knew who he meant, and the woman’s memory softened Arisa’s expression and smoothed her tone,
"I can’t remember much, I was so young..but I remember she had a gentle voice.”
The words left her slowly, and she was surprised at how easily they flowed from her. A slight smile tilted her lips at thoughts of Michelle, the mother of her half-siblings. She was first woman who separated Arisa from the act that created her, who saw her as a person. She filled Arisa’s youngest years with the sort of unconditional love only a mother could give, never blaming the child for the pain her birth had caused.
"She was warm and soft, and she smelled of something I liked. I think she had certain perfume, like some kind of flower..but it wasn’t too sweet like perfumes tend to be, and it was never too strong. She smelled like spring, even in the winter.”
One of her first memories was curling up in Michelle’s lap by the window in the evening, and pressing her cheek to Michelle’s. Her’s was a face Arisa wished so desperately to remember, but like all images long past, it was only a blur; it was only when she looked into photographs that she could see her features vividly.
”She was patient with me, always..and with us when we would accidentally break things, which happened a lot between the three of us.” A smile played her lips, mind’s eye running over all the times that claws had jutted out from unsuspecting hands in the middle of some innocent act. Broken porcelain, tattered clothing, damaged walls and horrified tears; these things were every mother’s worst nightmare, yet she never yelled. She knew the accidents were not their fault, she understood. “She took good care of us..especially me. I was the youngest, and I needed the most care.” Before she had learned to dull the sensitivity in her ears, she had been unable to move comfortably through a crowd, the volume was too much for her. Yelling was something that not only terrified her, but was painful. Michelle was constantly attentive to Arisa’s volume sensitivity, and always took care to speak softly, a practice that endeared her even further to the child, if that was possible. “I wish you could have met her, Spike…I think you would have liked her.”
Re: March 18th - Guest Apartments - A Touch of Solace "I can’t remember much, I was so young..but I remember she had a gentle voice.” The voice.. Katherine's voice had been gentle too, almost in a modest way, everything abuot her, so inward and shy, save ofr when it came to telling her son how special he was. While Spike wasn't told a lot about Arisa's mother, he had managed to figure it out enough when there were referrences between her mother and her brothers mother, so obviously they hadn't shared birth mother. Fathers on the other hand.. the very knowledge that Wolverine was her father was almost intimidating. The guy was unkillable, a wrath of vengence and destruction, at least in Spike's world, and the Logan Spike knew had two children that ran a group of rebels. The boy was viciuos, the girl however.. she was far more thoughtful, proud and able to stand her ground, destructive as her father and her brother, but far more personal towards her group.
The way Arisa talked of her siblings though it seemed almost the exact opposite of what he knew. Save for her father. Wild and dangerous, as ever and always, and his children also.. though Spike knew Arisa had the traits inside of her, she'd never harmed the vampire, or talked down to him, so there was little more thought other then concern and affection towards Logan's youngest daughter.
"She was warm and soft, and she smelled of something I liked. I think she had certain perfume, like some kind of flower..but it wasn’t too sweet like perfumes tend to be, and it was never too strong. She smelled like spring, even in the winter.” A smell? She remembered a smell? Did he remember how his own mother smelt? Blue eyes stared over at the figure his mind conjured up, as if drilling his gaze hard enough within her might unlock all the secrets he had forgotten.
”She was patient with me, always..and with us when we would accidentally break things, which happened a lot between the three of us.” So few could be as patient as a caring mother, and Spike almost found a smile curve his lips at the thought. Even his mother had been kind, patient.. even when it seemed he was nothing more then a handicap to her life.. and in the end the reason for her death. He really was the end of her.. and in the end that hurt the most, that the only person in his 'life' that had put up with him for all those years ended up being the first person he had hurt and cursed to eternal damnation. It wasn't like he could say 'well she's dead now, all's good' because it wasn't, her soul had been ripped away from her hallow form and then in turn was condemned.
“She took good care of us..especially me. I was the youngest, and I needed the most care.” At least Arisa remembered.. that was something special, and if she remembered, then her mother will always live. And unlike they vampire's own mother, Michelle's soul would always be safe. “I wish you could have met her, Spike…I think you would have liked her.” ... Met her? The blue eyes turned their attention away from the ghost that sat occupied in the corner, knitting needles busily working away at a green scarf.. No one would offer to take him home to their parents, hell, even Rogue hadn't offered that.. though, come to think of it, the southern belle hadn't mentioned her family at all.
"No one ever wanted t'meet my mother." There was an almost distant air to Spike's softly spoken words, his eyes though looking towards Arisa's own, seemed to also stare right through her. "Jus' coz she was my mother.. mother o'William the Bloody... bloody aweful poet." Part of Spike knew they just didn't understand they way he spoke at times or the words he used to express himself, but at the same time.. they were all so educated and snobby.. surely they couldn't all be so clueless on their english! "Butcherer o'th'English language they'd say." There a pause for a moment, his eyes turning back to the ghostly figure that seemed all too faint and yet all too real at the same time.
"She always listened though.. never complained, never said she was too busy.." Tired eyes closed for a moment, a moment too long it seemed, though he proved he'd not drifted off by leaning forward with a slight groan. One hand reached out to support his weight as he shifted position, his other hand pressing against his stomach. It ached.. but it always seemed to ache, he would drink.. but just enough blood to take away the urge to feed and nothing anywhere near sustaining. It wasn't only that Spike just didn't feel like feeding.. he almost got sick by it too, as if there was something just as distasting in the life giving liquid as there was empowering.
Moving his left hand away from the aching stomach, Spike reached beneath his pillow, pulling out folded note paper that had reletively neat italic writing running accurately across the pale lines of the dull lightly tanned hue paper and holding it against his chest as the vampire carefully laid his form down beside Arisa.
"I changed it," Spike explained as he laid down, his body awkwardly rolling onto his back as he spoke, his eyes looking up at Arisa once he was settled. "But it's still the same.." Editing it slightly here and there was rather an understatement but Spike blinked his thoughts away almost sleepily. "Can you jus'tell me.. is it the words, or were they really that bad? He was always sayin' how he wished she'd not encourage me.." A moment Spike's eyes seemed to close again, his chest still and his expression still gaunt and exhausted from when they first arrived. "I want to make it better.. can you make it better fo'me? I can't make it any better..then we can read it to her when it's better." His words seemed even softer then before, his voice dropped near to that of a whisper as his hands held the papers more firmly, only slowly allowing the paper to be lifted away moments later and offered to Arisa. Heavy eyes looking up at her, a single finger pressing itself against his lips in a typical 'sshh' gesture, "don't let him hear you, he gets angry when he's drunk.. and he's always drunk.. and he hates 'sissy' poems. I changed it.. old English with a bit o;everythin'.. or something at least.. I dont know.." A macho brute, was there anything worse? It didn't help that as the young William, still alive and still very much a living man, he still never managed to get a girlfriend, and his father always blamed William's pancy poems for putting them off... and Cecily helped only to prove that just might have been the case. Who knows? Spike didn't.. and even as the years pass he'll never be able to just accept that people hated him that much for something he'd scribbled down in a moment of insperation. "I like the last sentence.. they never stay for the last sentence.. butcherer of words.."
Written on the paper is the poem as follows;
So full my thoughts are of thee, that I swear
All else seems hateful to my troubl'd soul;
How thou hast o'er me gain'd such vast controul,
Howsooth'd my tortured spirit is most rare.
Sure thou hast mingl'd philtres in my bowl!
Or what thine high enchanted arts declare
Fearless of blame--for truth I will not care,
So charms the witchery, whether fair or foul.
Yet well my love-sick mind thine arts can tell;
No magic potions gav'st thou, save what I
Drank from those lustrous eyes when they did dwell
With dying fondness on me--or thy sigh
Which sent its perfum'd poison to my brain.
Thus known thy spells, thou bland seducer, see--
Come practice them again, and oh! again;
Spell-boundI am--and spell-boundwishto be.
Re: March 18th - Guest Apartments - A Touch of Solace
ooc: Argh..my new side pic isn't working. -_- I'll come back and fiddle with it tomorrow.
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"No one ever wanted t'meet my mother. Jus' coz she was my mother.. mother o'William the Bloody... bloody aweful poet." Brow furrowing, a subtle frown formed the feral’s lips. "Butcherer o'th'English language they'd say." His eyes were flashing around again, seeking out some spirit in the dark, "She always listened though.. never complained, never said she was too busy.." Arisa’s gaze traveled along his gaunt features as his eyes drooped shut, and for a brief moment she thought he had drifted off. Groaning back into consciousness the vampire shifted himself to lay down beside her, producing a folded piece of paper.
"I changed it, but it's still the same. Can you jus'tell me..is it the words, or were they really that bad? He was always sayin' how he wished she'd not encourage me.. I want to make it better, can you make it better fo'me? I can't make it any better..then we can read it to her when it's better.." Her gaze followed his expressions quietly, watching his eyes open and close, his voice drop, his finger press shyly to his lips. He was only half here, half in the past. The demons that haunted him were lingering at his side, a drunken father, heartless women..if they were but tangible. If she could only reach out and grab them, she would teach them a thing or two about manners.
Arisa had assumed at first that the ‘her’ they were going to read it to was his mother, but as she took a glance the words etched onto the sheet, she realized it was a love poem. And as much as some nonsensical, tiny little part of her might have liked to believe, even for a second, that it was written for her, she knew better. The only part of her that Spike had every longed for was her blood.
"Don't let him hear you, he gets angry when he's drunk.." His soft tone led her eyes back up to his, pale blue, lit with fear.. "and he's always drunk..and he hates 'sissy' poems. I changed it..old English with a bit o;everythin'..or something at least..I dont know Whatever distaste Arisa had for her father it was times like these that she realized just how much worse it could have been. She was willing to bet Spike would have taken an absent father over a cruel one. “I like the last sentence.. they never stay for the last sentence.. butcherer of words.."
Reaching one hand over to stroke over his hairline, the shapeshifter lowered her gaze to the gracefully scrolling letters and read,
So full my thoughts are of thee, that I swear
All else seems hateful to my troubl'd soul;
How thou hast o'er me gain'd such vast controul,
How sooth'd my tortured spirit is most rare.
Sure thou hast mingl'd philtres in my bowl!
Or what thine high enchanted arts declare
Fearless of blame--for truth I will not care,
So charms the witchery, whether fair or foul.
Yet well my love-sick mind thine arts can tell;
No magic potions gav'st thou, save what I
Drank from those lustrous eyes when they did dwell
With dying fondness on me--or thy sigh
Which sent its perfum'd poison to my brain.
Thus known thy spells, thou bland seducer, see--
Come practice them again, and oh! again;
Spell-bound I am --and spell-bound wish to be.
She paused, and then her gaze was on him again, his ivory skin and blue, brilliant eyes..such a beautiful creature. A beautiful creature wheeling beautiful words. Words that were, of course, not for her.
But he had shared them with her, though they were written for a woman who would probably never read them nor appreciate them as Arisa now did..but still he had shared them with her. That was enough to leave a smile on her lips. “Spike..” Her soft hand cupped his chin and turned his face gently towards her. She wanted him to hear what she was saying, to leave his daydream for just a moment, “This..is beautiful.”
Her hand slid away from him and rested back in her lap, her eyes lowering back down to the pages she held. No matter who the words were meant for, she would always stay for the last sentence. Always.
Re: March 18th - Guest Apartments - A Touch of Solace "Spike.. " Hands, gentle but not those of his former lovers, compassionate and kind like so few before had been, brushed lightly against the paled skin of the vampires chin, taking it within her hold and guiding Spike’s eyes to meet her own. "This..is beautiful." Regardless of Arisa’s gaze dropping away, Spike’s own remained focused on her eyes, watching as once again they drifted over the words which he had written, Beautiful, Bright eyes shut tightly, the vampire’s face turning away with an air of pain upon his features, a slight tension in the muscles of his arms and jaw, the rest remained hidden under the clothes he wore. Images flashed, distant echoes of whispers and screams touched the very depths of Spike’s consciousness, intrusive memories forced to rekindle within his mind by the poisonous snare of Willow’s wiccan touch.
"Everything’s beautiful" The vampire stated, "The way the sky catches fire at sunset or sunrise," he continued, with an air of wistful memories drifting within the distant gaze, "the way life just seems to glow inside of good people, when children laugh, as the bird just sores as if freedom itself just lifts them high, shivers under ones touch as fingers trace the body’s curves…" There was a slight trail of Spike’s voice as he looked down at his fingers, which curled slightly before focus was given to Arisa once more as Spike let his eyes settle upon her.
"It feels wrong that after all th’things I’ve done, my hands can still create somethin’ you consider beautiful," A moment of sadness shadowed Spike’s features, only the soft curve of his lips shinning through, the brilliance of his penetrating blue eyes staring into her eyes, staring deeper, farther into her then she ever cared to look it seemed, "Sometimes… I think you were sent t’me," Strong arms reached out, a tired breath slowly drew itself into his useless lungs, gentle hands resting against either side of the feral’s head, "Sometimes… I think you’re th’soul inside o’me," It was whispered, as if a secret being shared, a fragile connection, so power and yet so vulnerable; people took advantage of ones weakness, and Arisa had fast grown into it greatest strength, and most vulnerable weakness.
Re: March 18th - Guest Apartments - A Touch of Solace "Everything’s beautiful" Arisa’s eyes tore away from the page hesitantly, only to find Spike’s gaunt features wandering into a familiar expression of pain. A soft blue hand reached out to touch his lightly, and sympathy tugged at her heartstrings as she found that once again, he was lost in a dream. "The way the sky catches fire at sunset or sunrise, the way life just seems to glow inside of good people, when children laugh, as the bird just sores as if freedom itself just lifts them high,” At least, she mused, this dream was a pleasant one, “shivers under ones touch as fingers trace the body’s curves…" Maybe more pleasant than she should be imagining. Her eyes shied away, watching the vampire’s fingers curl faintly against the sheets.
"It feels wrong that after all th’things I’ve done, my hands can still create somethin’ you consider beautiful," A light smile tugged at the corner of her lips, shadowing the shape her gaze found on his face; but a foreign timidity overcame her at the intensity in his eyes. He was staring, it seemed, right into her, through fur and skin and flesh and bone; and all the while his eyes shone brilliantly.
Brilliant, and blue. The sincerity in his gaze gave him a sort of momentary purity, and radiated an almost innocent, childlike trust. It was the kind of look that made it impossible to imagine, to believe, the horrific things he had done in his unlife.
"Sometimes… I think you were sent t’me," His fingers were cold, and the unexpected contact spilled an oddly agreeable tension into her neck. Soft hands held either side of the feral’s head tenderly, a tangible expression of the connection his voice was intensifying with every word,"Sometimes… I think you’re th’soul inside o’me."
As he breathed unnecessarily, her breath caught in her throat; and through the hint of water creeping to her eyes she could still see his blue gaze shining brilliantly.
Somewhere in the following minutes her cheek found his shoulder, hiding the moisture that had begun to brim in her eyes as it leaked out onto his sleeve, her arms curling fervently in around him.
She needed him, and what it meant that even without her blood he needed her for something so much more, it was immeasurable.
Re: March 18th - Guest Apartments - A Touch of Solace
It wasn’t rare in the vampire’s unlife that he had driven young girls to tears, young, old, man or woman, everyone could cry once you stripped them of everything. And yet there wasn’t the pain or fear or pitiful whimpers, there was nothing that showed he’d hurt her and nothing to say he was a monster, she didn’t beg or scream. And for a moment Spike sat motionless, unsure, his head tilting down to stare at the top of her head as the blue furred arms snaked about him and her face lay buried against the vampire’s shoulder. The warm tears stained his fabric, their salty scent catching in his senses, and though he tried Spike could not remember a moment before or after death in which anyone had ever clung to him in such a manner. Even his mother, in all her pain, through all his twenty-six years, she only ever comforted him, never did she let herself burden William with the chore of being her strength, even when her son tried ever so hard to lend her that support, she brushed away with an air of strength and love. Maybe he wouldn’t have felt so helpless if only she had permitted him to be strong for her, as she always had seemed to be for him.
A hand pressed lightly against the back of Arisa’s head, resting over the dark blond silk of hair. Sometimes Arisa reminded him of his mother, in the sense that she was so strong, though coping with her pain was near on unbearable she never crumbled at someone’s door… never seek help for her own distress and worries. When Katherine, the woman who had borne William into this world, grew weary and aged, tired from a hard and frightened life, her body seemed to will her into an early grave. Coughing and meek, it hadn’t been hard to see her fading, her white little hankies stained and smeared in red after coughing fits, and never once did she consent to seeing their doctor, never once did she permit her son to help her in her illness.
Would Arisa doom herself to such a path? So alone in her grief and misery that it grew to a point where her own suffering meant nothing, as he had long since done himself? To say the soulled undead was not fearful for Arisa’s future would be a lie, and yet he was hopeful for it as well, she had so much to give, so many around her with offers of love and support, all she had to do was open up and trust them. And this time Spike would help, he would offer and she would take, even if he had to drag her into locked rooms with these people and tell her to play nice, for once in his existence, he would do something right. For once, he would be strong, he had to be strong, he had to stop letting himself falter and trip over his own misdoings and past errors. At least he had to try.
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