Callandra
Rogue Werewolf
Freelance Graphics Designer
Posts: 132
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Post by Callandra on May 7, 2007 16:44:46 GMT
“Of course we should,” Calla told him softly, meeting his gaze. “It doesn’t matter who we’re fighting or what our odds of winning are, we can’t simply step back. We always have to try.” Calla had always responded to Trent’s rather seemingly random comments the best way she knew how and now was no different. A fight, who or whatever the enemy was, had to be fought. They had to try, no matter what.
“Who or what is the fight against? And why will it be lost? We can fight as long as we need to.” She had found that asking such questions could sometimes help to ease him out of these moods and if it didn’t, well, she already blamed herself for making Trent this way, so if things got worse, she could blame herself for that as well and do all she could to undo whatever damage might come from having asked the questions.
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Trent
Rogue Werewolf
Violinist
Posts: 132
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Post by Trent on May 8, 2007 3:58:44 GMT
“The fight is ever lasting and eventually everyone tires. The fight against ourselves, against the... the… the impulses… the leaves that fall from the tree but they don’t fall far. No prevailing wind. No help and they decompose, all decompose… bad decomp. And it melts into the earth unseen by all but little worms. Sneaky little worms.” Trent giggled lightly, reaching out with one hand and squashing a couple of imaginary earthworms between his index finger and thumb.
“The badness gets sucked back up into the roots, changed, dark. Festering…” the giggle had come with a light smile but that was gone now, a dark scowl on his face instead. “Festering in the dark places, places that become dark because of the festering.”
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Callandra
Rogue Werewolf
Freelance Graphics Designer
Posts: 132
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Post by Callandra on May 10, 2007 16:58:46 GMT
“We may not be able to completely overcome the impulses, but we can keep them in check and so long as we do, then we won’t lose.” She had to see if she could make him see that, hoping that if she did, then she would be able to help him back to a more stable state. If she could get him past this, then there was a chance that she could get him grounded again, which would therefore make things a lot easer, at least for a little while.
“It’s all like a game, Trent. A battle of wills and stamina, ongoing and yet not impossible to come out ahead. Fighting is what we’re made for and if we can’t at least come to a truce with ourselves, then there’s no point in trying to fight what else is out there, waiting for us to fail and fall into their grasp.”
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Trent
Rogue Werewolf
Violinist
Posts: 132
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Post by Trent on May 13, 2007 19:50:48 GMT
“Nobody can fight the good fight for ever. Tiredness creeps into the bones,” Trent announced with a grim kind of fatality. He rested both palms flat against the ground and shook his head, long and unruly hair falling into his eyes and obscuring his vision slightly. “Too early for thoughts on self and death. Too early, not awake, mind lost in the land of slumber,”
“Food?” he asked timidly, using his palms to fully push himself up, out of Calla’s embrace and using himself to keep his body upright. Trent wasn’t normal, wasn’t anywhere near it. But he was better than moments before, better enough to realise his stomach was talking to him.
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Callandra
Rogue Werewolf
Freelance Graphics Designer
Posts: 132
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Post by Callandra on May 14, 2007 19:37:32 GMT
“Food sounds perfect,” Calla agreed, getting slowly to her feet. All of the talk of an impossible to win fight was beginning to get to her. In his own way, Trent made a point that she didn’t want to think about- couldn’t if she wanted to continue to remain as strong as possible for him. She did what she could, but every now and again, she wondered how long she herself could hang on.
I have to hang on, she told herself viciously. He needs me too. And that was more than enough reason for Calla to fight away whatever doubt she might have in herself and offer Trent a gentle smile. “Would you like to come to the kitchen and see what we have that you might like to eat?”
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Trent
Rogue Werewolf
Violinist
Posts: 132
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Post by Trent on May 21, 2007 10:46:06 GMT
He clambered to his feet as well, shifting nervously from one foot to another. A transformation of a sort had swept over the male werewolf, his whole posture and body language changing to that of a small child. Such shifts were sadly only too common for him however. “Everything is ash and dust, removed from the earth it becomes the earth,” Trent muttered quietly to himself, words not actually aimed at Calla.
Trent nodded slowly at her offer, returning the gentle smile with an uncertain one of his own. Seeing what they had sounded like a good idea and he knew Calla could cook just about anything. He was just worried that it would taste like ash in his mouth. “Do we have gingerbread? Not to eat now, but do we have it? The man, he runs as fast as he can, says we can’t catch him, he’s the gingerbread man. But we can. We can.”
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Callandra
Rogue Werewolf
Freelance Graphics Designer
Posts: 132
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Post by Callandra on May 25, 2007 18:12:18 GMT
Some might have said that Calla had the patience of a saint for being able to tolerate Trent’s changes as she did, but they would have been wrong there. That sort of patience was for mate and him alone; everyone else was on their own. She did [i[not[/i] have that sort of patience for others.
“I’m fairly certain that we do,” she said in response to the question about gingerbread. Calla personally had a great fondness for the stuff and usually made sure that there was some around, just in case. If Trent actually wanted some later, she would dig it out of the cabinet she had put it in. It wasn’t that she was trying to hide it, it was just that she was almost positive that it had gotten shoved behind some other things.
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Trent
Rogue Werewolf
Violinist
Posts: 132
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Post by Trent on Jun 1, 2007 14:55:04 GMT
A bright smile appeared on Trent’s face at her words, the child like mood he was in meaning it was very easy to please him. He could also be distracted by the smallest things, just the mention that they might possibly have gingerbread being enough to drive all thoughts of ash and dirt from his mind. Instantly, he felt better in his mind, moving towards the door that led out of the bedroom. A nagging feeling refused to leave him however and his shoulder’s slumped, good mood fading.
“Someday,” he said with a sigh, glancing over to Calla with bright and remarkably clear eyes, the clarity of his thoughts showing through, if only for a moment. “Maybe someday I’ll get better.”
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Callandra
Rogue Werewolf
Freelance Graphics Designer
Posts: 132
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Post by Callandra on Jun 4, 2007 17:08:58 GMT
Though she wished that Trent didn’t have to deal with the constantly shifting moods and other things that he had to deal with on a day to day basis, she couldn’t help but enjoy seeing him when he was happy over something- anything. When his shoulders slumped and the mood faded, she felt her heart drop for him. She hated it when those good moods faded.
At his words, she moved over to his and stroked his face gently, catching his gaze. “You will.” She sounded more confident than she felt, but she wanted to believe that so badly for him. “I know you will. You’ve just got to believe that. I love you just the way you are, but I know that you’ll be happier when you’re better and that’s what I want for you… happiness.”
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Trent
Rogue Werewolf
Violinist
Posts: 132
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Post by Trent on Jun 17, 2007 18:44:44 GMT
“Happiness is just an imbalance of chemicals, little jolts and rushes through the brain. Squishy grey matter that turns to jelly when it falls out of the head,” he announced, smiling at her and at the feel of her hands on his face. “Silly little humans, all so weak in shells that fade so easily. Little broken bodies… fixed minds… it’s not fair. It’s not fair…”
Trent fell silent for a moment, considering that everything felt was just chemical imbalances, sorrow, joy, grief, even love. He couldn’t believe that it was nothing more than a mixing of chemicals that explained the feelings he held for his angel, the feelings he had held without fail for hundreds of years and couldn’t see them ever changing. He reached up, hands brushing against her own.
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Callandra
Rogue Werewolf
Freelance Graphics Designer
Posts: 132
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Post by Callandra on Jun 19, 2007 18:49:49 GMT
“Very little is fair.” She hated that that was the truth because if things were fair, then Trent would be whole, his mind complete and he would always be happy. That was what would have been fair to her. So long as he was happy, then that was what she wanted, chemical imbalances or not. She had never been much for the science side of things; feelings, she believed, ran far deeper than what science could ever say.
Kissing his cheek lightly, she said, “Why don’t we go make you something for breakfast and we’ll see how you’re feeling after you’ve had something to eat?”
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Trent
Rogue Werewolf
Violinist
Posts: 132
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Post by Trent on Jun 27, 2007 14:14:10 GMT
“Mmm, food,” he agreed softly, bobbing his head up and down for a moment. Trent fingered the hem of his long black shirt for a few moments longer, shifting uncertainly from one foot to another before turning away from Calla and moving into the kitchen. Food was good, food meant proteins and nutrients and energy.
Food meant watching Calla cook and she looked so elegant, so at ease with the work as if she belonged there, as if she could belong anywhere she wanted to. Trent knew she could. He slipped into one of the seats in the kitchen, fingers lightly tapping out a tune on his thigh.
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Callandra
Rogue Werewolf
Freelance Graphics Designer
Posts: 132
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Post by Callandra on Jun 28, 2007 15:15:24 GMT
Moving to the refrigerator, Calla pulled it open and studied the contents. There was hardly space to spare, she had it so well stocked, but the question came down to just what to fix. There were numerous possibilities and, if she was honest, she didn’t know what she actually wanted. Plus, there was stuff in the cabinets and pantry that she could make as well, making the choice even harder.
“I could make pancakes… With sausage and eggs. Or maybe omelets.” She was talking to Trent as well as herself, hoping to hit on something that sounded good. “French toast, maybe, or we could have turnovers.” She narrowed her eyes slightly, still studying the contents of the refrigerator. Honestly, there were too many choices, but better there be too many than too few.
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Trent
Rogue Werewolf
Violinist
Posts: 132
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Post by Trent on Jul 13, 2007 16:11:14 GMT
Trent continued to beat out the tune on his leg, fingers drumming endlessly against himself as the cord of music ran around and around his mind in a constant and almost hypnotising way. He could hear it, he could hear all the music in the world and sometimes it was hard to understand that the compelling music wasn’t really there and it wasn’t something other people could hear. It was his and his alone, a gift and a punishment.
“… French toast…” he murmured, gaze distant, the music increasing in tempo, swirling around in his mind and becoming the words or perhaps it was the other way around, perhaps it was the words fading away into the music. All Trent knew was that when Calla had said those two words it was as if she was singing the tune in his mind.
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Callandra
Rogue Werewolf
Freelance Graphics Designer
Posts: 132
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Post by Callandra on Jul 18, 2007 14:47:32 GMT
Calla glanced to Trent and gave a little nod as she went about gathering what she would need. “French toast it is then.” Since she had no preferences this morning, she would gladly make what Trent had expressed interest in, but since she would have done that anyway, that really wasn’t saying much. He was the only she had ever met that she would happily cater to as she did. She wanted to, which was something that she had, at one point, thought that she would never do.
As she went about fixing their breakfast, she started thinking about what they were going to do. If Trent got past this episode and it seemed as if he could hold out for a while, she would take him to the music store like she had said she would. If he didn’t, then they would stay home and she would spend the day with him. Work could hold off for another day.
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