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Post by Isabella "Issie" Alice Weberg on Feb 13, 2009 17:39:58 GMT -4
Issie sat under a large tree near a pond. The water nymphs looked up at her, and above her a blue fairy sat among the trees branches. She looked at her reflection in the water, and scowled. She hated her hair, her freakishly pale skin, every thing. She especially hated the accursed birthmark running from her left shoulder down to her hand, as if god himself had decided that having red hair that frizzed up so badly it looked like a small animal was trying to eat her head wasn’t enough, she also needed this ugly mark as well.
Issie closed her eyes, letting her mind drift off into a different world, a world made of memories. Her mother and fathers faces smiled at her in her minds eye. Her baby sister laughing was another image. This last one almost brought her to tears. Her sister had been so young, had had so much life ahead of her. Still in Issie’s mind she could live on, as a memory, but only that. And still the stronger memories was the one that now floated into Issie's mind like a poisonous gas, killing all happiness that she might have felt, spreading threw her mind, the sound of screaming, the smell of fire. Issie opened her mind forcing the images away. She couldn’t stand it. To think about it made it seem like it was happening again. How could any human live threw that twice? Yet still she had seen it in her dreams so many times, it was torture! The piper was dead and still that man had been so evil that he still caused pain from beyond the grave!
That man? What are you talking about stupid girl? People in general are mean selfish and cause pain to anyone but themselves. They don’t care about anyone, why would they. Lets face it life is one never ending fight to stay alive! She thought bitterly to herself. If they don’t care about anyone then neither should I!
If Issie’s mother had heard her thinking like that she would have be surprised to say the least. Her mother had been a great humanitarian and strongly believed that there was a little bit of good in every person.
My mother was a fool. Issie thought in the same bitter tone. There was no good in the adderhead, no good in the piper, and no good in any one! Why should there be?! Why would you care about any one other then your self?!
Still a different voice seemed to take root in Issie’s mind, one that thought differently, and spoke in the voice of her mother. You wish you could not care don’t you? You wish you could shut off these feeling, forget the past, move one? But we both know you cant, you can’t turn your back on your family. This is good, the fact that you feel is what makes you who you are!
Then I want to be someone different! , Said the angry bitter part of Issie. Issie couldn’t take it any more. She shook her head as if she was going insane, she needed to distract her self. Again she closed her eyes and leaned her head back. But this time she opened her mouth, and out of it came a beautiful sound, one that seemed to speak of a million emotions at once.
“My grandma use to say to me, when I was vary small, that she remembered well the day; she went to her first ball…” Issie sang. She sang very well, her voice moving with the rhythm, ebbing and flowing, telling the story of the song. Every song told a story, every singer was a story teller. But among all of the story tellers Issie was one of the best. Her voice sang pure and true, and captured every emotion. Her songs seemed to come from the heart as well as the voice; she poured herself, her sole, into every one of her songs. In the streets it was hard not to notice her; it was equally hard to ignore her.
“For grandpapa and grandmamma had never even met; when grandpapa asked grandmamma for the second minuet.”
As the last line of her song dwindled into nothingness Issie smiled. When she sang she was happy, which to her was a rare feeling. She only smiled when she sang. She couldn’t help it; the smile just appeared on her lips. Still now the memories threatened to return. She needed a song; she searched her mind for one.
“Come and find me no matter how late long before the years run out I’m waiting with a candle No wind could blow out.”
This song always made Issie want to laugh, mainly because the writer tried to rhyme out, with out. Apparently he wasn’t good. Still Issie kept her eyes closed, allowing her mind to fly with the music. The music took her places, places where no one could get to her, could hurt her, in the music she was safe. She didn’t know what it was about music that made her this way, but whatever it was, she liked it. Even this song, which was in assents sad, took her to a happier world.
“I can’t wait forever, and the years are running out”
Once again the phrase seemed to linger on the air as the song ended.
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Post by thebookbinder on Feb 27, 2009 19:06:07 GMT -4
Mortimer was becoming an old man and he had to tend to his wife’s call at all hours of the day. It was a bit maddening. He loved his wife, he really did, but sometimes she just got on his nerves. She always made the biggest deals out of the smallest things. Had she always been like that? Or had nine years without her family changed her so drastically that she was a new person? It even could have been that now she was half bird. Now she was a bit peckish (pun intended). Then there was the matter of having a new child in the family. Day after day he grew to look more and more like Mortimer, but he had the habits and most of his mother’s personalities. This made him just as irritable as Resa. You could never have Resa without her son only a few steps behind. Not to mention Meggie now had Doria and she was always off with him, laughing and having good times like he and she used to have such a long time ago. To be honest, Mortimer was a bit jealous. No…he wasn’t a little jealous, he was extremely jealous! Yet he couldn’t find himself to separate the two, after all they were in love. If he broke them up he would be as heartless as the Adderhead. The name still burned his tongue and his thoughts whenever it popped up.
Some days, Mortimer wished he could travel back in time. To the night where Dustfinger came back into his life to tell him of what was happening. He wished he could have shooed him away and taken Meggie somewhere far away to exotic books. She would have really loved that! He’d have a nice job and his daughter and he would still be as close as ever. Then there was another part of him that was glad that they now resided in a story. The massive beauty of the Inkword was breathtaking! He loved walking about, taking mental pictures for other days. He loved describing the places he saw, and letting Meggie write them down. Sometimes the two of them could just spend hours talking and having Meggie writing things down. At first the idea of writing anything about Inkheart revolted Mo. Now, since he was trapped in the pages of the book, he learned to welcome the idea with open arms.
There he was, walking the Wayless woods alone. Anger flowed through him like it always had when he and his wife got into yet another argument. This time it had been about carrying a knife on his person at all time. He had carelessly cut open a sliver of his pants when he was sitting down, the blade gleamed in the light and Resa knew right away what it was. Mortimer was just trying to keep both himself and his family safe. Thieves roamed this land like it was their own. They stole every day, and just because he was once the Bluejay didn’t mean he was going to be safe from his ‘fellow thieves’. On the contrary they’d probably slice him and his family up with a smile on his face. This fight was one of his last straws. He couldn’t stand her anymore! It was just nag after nag, fight after fight and want after want! He couldn’t take it anymore! He almost liked the idea of being the insane Bluejay more than being just plain old Mo!
The Bluejay...He was locked away deep inside the confides of Mo’s mind. Every once in a while, while he sat in his workshop looking down at the unfinished book before him Mo couldn’t help but let his mind wander to the months of his thieving some nine years ago. He missed the adrenaline rush he felt when dodging swords beside the Black Prince. He missed the power of thrusting his sword into another man. Though now the idea disgusted him. The Bluejay had no limits, unlike Mo. Mo, however, was afraid to let the Bluejay loose. He wasn’t sure if letting him loose would cause him his sanity, or his family. He couldn’t bare to lose either. But who knew, maybe the Bluejay was strong enough to ward off Orpheus’ words? Nonsense! That wasn’t possible! If he couldn’t do it, neither could the Bluejay. They were one in the same person; they had the same strength, the same mind, the same body.
But would having the adventure of the Bluejay once more make him happy or was staying with his family and dealing with all the problems a better idea? Either side had its ups and its down. A decision as big as that shouldn’t be thought about while walking the forest alone, trying to cool himself off. No.
His feet moved one in front of the other, longing to find something to walk to, but there was nothing but tress and fairies all around him. Then the sound of a sweet voice singing filled his ears. He spun quickly, looking for the source of the noise Someone signing? This far in the forest? Mo quickened his pace, heading closer and closer to the sweet melody. He knew it was dwindling down into nothingness. He needed to find it before it ended completely. He was curious to see who this beautiful voice belonged to. Rough hands pushed away branches and fairies as his feet moved quickly, jumping over moldy logs and thwarting away branches that threatened to prick him. The song ended, but it still rung throughout the forest. He was close for sure.
That was when his hands brushed away the last of the trees and he was standing, awkwardly, by the tree line, looking down at the small pond. He looked from side to side with careful, and tired, eyes. His eyes rested on the singer with the red hair of a beast. Her hair reminded him of Dustfinger, but at least his was tame. Mo cleared his throat, and took a few steps away from the forest behind him. This quiet little pond was peaceful and very beautiful. The brightest greens and blues lingered around the plants and the water. He hadn’t seen this part of the forest before, he was glad that he followed this women’s voice or he wouldn’t have a place to describe to Meggie when he got back home. “Hello there.” His voice was soft, calm and compelling. “You…have a very lovely voice.” He made no indication of advancing towards the women.
OOC;; I hope this is okay. I'm at a loss for words today.
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Post by Isabella "Issie" Alice Weberg on Feb 27, 2009 22:17:44 GMT -4
Issie jumped at the sound of a voice, for a moment certain that her sanity had finally left her, leavening in its place voices. But as her eyes snapped open she saw an old man standing near the pond.
At his words she both swelled with pried, and recoiled in shock. Part of her detested anything human, including herself. Humans caused pain, humans killed, yet another part of her had an ego, and loved being told that she had a beautiful voice. Still, she didn’t trust this man, she didn’t trust any one. Why should she.
Now she entered a battle within herself. Either she spoke to this man or she didn’t. She was shy by nature, but she highly doubted that he would leave her alone if she didn’t speak. Finally she decided what to say.
“Thank you” she said coldly.
So it wasn’t a fine speech, but talking wasn’t one of her strong points. After a few seconds she looked back at the man.
“Who are you anyway?” She asked
She had never been polite, even when she was a kid. The death of her parents and little sibling did nothing to help. If any thing it made it worse. For example the look she was giving the man right now would make any week man shake in fear. It was full of hatred and anger, even though she had never met the man. Then again she gave everyone that glare. It was a habit of hers, a bad one, one of the many.
Issie ran her fingers threw her hair, making it stick up even more. She looked down at her hand, the almost translucent skin, surrounding the dark mark of a birth mark. She hated that birth mark; she wished she could get rid of it. She hated her freckles; she hated everything about her appearance. Yet at the same time she loved it, she loved sticking out in a crowed, she loved that in her mind she was unique to everyone, different to everyone. Still she would give it all up, to look pretty. She was sure that she was ugly, ugly and stupid, Ugly stupid and worthless, completely and utterly worthless. As you can probably tell Issie doesn’t have the highest self esteem.
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Post by thebookbinder on Feb 28, 2009 14:03:42 GMT -4
From the look the red head gave him, Mo felt that maybe coming out to complement the young women wasn’t the smartest of ideas. The wild look she gave him made it seem like she wasn’t all there, so to speak. Mo knew only so well to why she would give him such a look. He had dealt with not trusting a soul around him, not even his family could gain his trust. But that was long ago and over with. That man, The Bluejay, was gone. Now the only people he didn’t trust were thieves and the snobby royals who ruled the land. Other than that, gaining Mo’s trust wasn’t that hard. After all he was a kind man by nature, a little gullible too.
A smile stayed spread on the bookbinder’s lip as the girl debated with her mentally. He wasn’t going to leave, that was for sure. He spent a lot of energy just to find where the singing had come from and he wasn’t going to leave now. He wasn’t going to say a word to her, after all she looked like she was in deep concentration and he knew it was rude to awake her from her thoughts. Mo nodded pleasantly at her reply even though it was hard and a bit threatening. “Mortimer Folchart.” was his reply to her. He wasn’t going to let himself be introduced as The Bluejay any longer, even if people still had a tendency to call him that. “But people tend to call me Mo for short. You are welcome to do so.” Mo didn’t find anything wrong with getting a little deep and personal with people he didn’t know. He liked his nickname Mo a bit more than his real and old sounding name Mortimer. He didn’t care if she judged him for being friendly or open. After all, people loved that about Mo. “And who would you be?” he inquired, his brows rose with curiosity.
From the look the girl gave him, Mo decided it was best not to stare at her too long. Mo, unlike most men, should have trembled at the look she gave him, but he had given worse looks to people. He wasn’t proud of them, but giving mean looks got people nowhere. Just like her. He guessed she wasn’t a very social person, and maybe didn’t have any companions because of the coldness she gave towards people. Maybe Mo would be able to warm up to her. He always made people feel more open and comfortable because that was how he acted with people. Mo averted his eyes from the female some few yards away from him and started to observe the scenery before him. This was a breathtaking place. He wished he could bring Resa here to sketch a few flowers or any of the other plants that lingered on the forest floor. Maybe doing something like that would ease the tension between the two? Mo turned to look at the water nymph whose eyes barley floated above the surface. He always found water nymphs to be one of the most fascinating creatures in the Inkworld. They were silent observers who were always a bit devious when it came to humans. He remembered one time when they had pulled him in when he went to study them up close. Meggie and Resa laughed at him for hours on the long walk home. He was soaked to the bone, he had murky residue all over his body and he looked like a wet rat. He learned to never come close to them or they’d make a joke out of you.
He had to look away from the water nymph; he was on the verge of breaking off into chuckles. Even though it was humiliating, he always thought it was funny that he fell in. He granted himself a glance at the girl, and she was looking at herself with disgust. So she was anti-social, cold, rude, and had horrible self-esteem? Something was fishy about her. Usually when children acted in such a way, it was a cry for help. He guessed she had parental issues. But it was only a guess. He’d have to pry on this, he was much to curious. “You’ve chosen a beautiful spot to sing.” Maybe this would break the ice? Or make her less likely to talk to you, Mortimer. At least he was attempting.
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Post by Isabella "Issie" Alice Weberg on Feb 28, 2009 14:40:59 GMT -4
Issie looked at Mo. He was kind, as far as she was concerned that was a sign of weakness. Why did he talk to her, she didn’t want him to. She wanted to be alone, she always wanted that. But he didn’t seem to be afraid of her looks. She felt a small amount of respect for him. Her gaze softened a bit, but it was still cold.
“My names Issie.” She said. She looked around where she had chosen to sing. It was beautiful a world of colors. The fairies were coming out of their nest. Issie couldn’t help but smile at them. She loved fairies.
“It is beautiful isn’t it?” she said.
She was not use to someone taking so much interest in her. No one ever cared, why would they care, she was just a random singer. To young and at the same time to old to attracted any ones attention. People didn’t care about you if you were too young to marry and to old to be cute. If you were little you got a lot of attention. People saw you and felt sorry for you. If you were old enough, you might get lucky; some guy might take interest in you. If you were somewhere in the middle, you were out of luck. This was why she hated being a strolling player, this and the simple fact that she was always on the move. She missed her parents her sister the life she had, before the piper, that thief that not only took her parents and sister from her, but along with that stole her childhood, it was his fault! His fault she was so sad, so angry so anti social. She wanted her life back! She wanted to be happy, to smile again, to see her family! Why did this have to happen to her! She didn’t deserve this, she didn’t deserve to have to hear her parents scream. She forced the memory back. She didn’t want to remember it.
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Post by thebookbinder on Feb 28, 2009 15:44:00 GMT -4
Being kind was both a weakness and a strong point of Mo’s. Sometimes people took his kindness for granted, even his wife had. Being kind was something Mo had known all his life. Mo, himself, never thought of kindness as a weakness. He knew that sometimes people used him for it, but he never saw it as disadvantaging. He was always a humble soul, even if people weren’t kind back. He didn’t believe in Karma, but he did believe that good things happened to good people. For the most part, good things happened to him, even if they seemed bad. Sometimes he used his kindness against people. He looked like a trustworthy person because he was always kind. That wasn’t the case with the Adderhead. The Adderhead was stupid enough to believe that Mo would just make him a book because he risked his life for others. He didn’t even think of the possibility of him tampering with the book. Mo had the last laugh there.
Mortimer guessed the girl’s nickname was either short of Elizabeth or Isabella (/e). Mo followed her gaze around the pond area, and then up to the fairies. They were beautiful and devious creatures, just like the water nymphs. They liked to steal hair, and it hurt when they did. He hated to hear Meggie scream whenever they stole a precious lock of her blonde hair. Meggie…This girl reminded her a bit of Meggie when she was that age. She too hated being in the middle of a child and an adult. The years of adolescent…He missed them. It was especially hard for young girls, from what he knew. They had many more problems them young men. He didn’t even want to think on the subject. He left that all up to Resa. He was thankful that she was there for most of it. Mo looked back down at the girl. She was warming up to him after all, even if she did still look like she wanted him gone. He was right when he said it was beautiful, and he was glad that she agreed with him. This small place was much more beautiful than some other places he had seen. It was almost as pretty as the meadow his daughter had shown him. From what she said it was the first place she stepped foot in when she arrived in the Inkworld. He wished he had the same luxury as that. His first steps included Capricorn’s run down castle and a bullet wound to the chest. His hand instinctively moved to the spot where the bullet pierced his chest. Bittersweet memories clouded his vision. At that moment in time, Mortimer wanted to die, but no one would let him.
He still remembered the yearning for the white women. He shook his head as he was shaking the memories away from him. He couldn’t stand to think of them for another second. He had spent the last ten years dwelling with them. It was time he moved on, but every time he looked at one of his two children or his wife they resurfaced. He let his hand drop back down to his side limply and he turned back towards the girl. She seemed a bit surprised that he was taking interest in her. He hated to see a child who didn’t have any one to take interest in them. That was why he was a good father to his kids; he cared more for them than anyone else in the world. He protected them, nourished them, he loved them unconditionally, he did just about everything for them. He finally broke the silence between the two of them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Issie.” His voice was sincere, like he meant it and he did.
He took another sweep around the pond with his eyes. “It seems you share the same love for nature as I do?” he inquired, that sweet smile curved his lips. “I could spend days at a time exploring the forest for the most beautiful of places. My wife draws them for me and then I tell my daughter about them, and she writes them down. She loves to write.” he was getting lost in his memories. He thought maybe opening up to the girl would help her open up as well. He looked distant, like he was lost in another land.
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Post by Isabella "Issie" Alice Weberg on Mar 3, 2009 18:55:34 GMT -4
Issie couldn’t help but smile back at this man, it was a reaction. He had a kind look about him. But her smile left her face, vanished as if scared away. Issie didn’t like people seeing a softer side of her. She turned her head away from the man. After a few minuets she talked again. “I like it here because its quiet, no one ever looks here for me. Then again, no one looks for me.” She said. The other strolling players didn’t really notice her for anything but her voice. Why would they? She never talked to them, except to hear stories of dust finger, the black prince, and several other thieves who have earned the right to be made into legends. Yet Issie felt no need to be made into a ledged she felt no need to be remembered. She just wanted to live, she didn’t have a vary good chance of that. Now were hard times. People were holding on to their money, not giving them to the strolling players.
Issie thought about this man, he had a daughter, who liked to write. “I can’t write. No one taught me.” She said absent mindedly. Her mother had been trying to teach her when she was little. “I can read music.” She added. That had come naturally to her. It was as if she just knew. Her mother had made her an interment out of wires. It was amazing. She remembered plucking at it as a little girl. She remembered playing easy songs on it. She could remember so much. Yet she wished she couldn’t. It was bitter sweet to remember such things. She missed her family so much. “My mom taught me to read music.” she said. “It was the first thing she taught me.”
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Post by thebookbinder on Mar 4, 2009 23:45:40 GMT -4
Mo could tell that he was getting to the young girl before him. She actually smiled at he rattled on about his own family. He knew getting personal with someone could open them up, even if just a little. Mo felt the smallest of sighs leave his lips as she turned away from his, the smile on her face washed away with fright. There was nothing to sweat over just yet. He believed that he could get her to soften up to her. Such a young girl as herself should be so cold and emotionless towards the world. He could bear to see it. A frown overtook his lips at the words that came out of the younger’s mouth. no one ever looks for me. She was alone, that he was positive. Being alone was the worst thing for a young person. He had gone through it, in a way. He kept to his books and cared for no person with living flesh and blood. Books were the only thing that mattered. He didn’t want to see another lonely person, especially not this little girl. “Why is that?” his voice was barely above a whisper. It felt like there was a knot in his throat.
Mo was wondering about where this girl lived, or who she lived with. It seemed like she had no family, because of the tone in her voice. Was she a strolling player? He bet she was a singer. Her beautiful voice was enough evidence for that. She must have been protected by his good friend The Black Prince. How he missed his friend. Him and that bear of his. He was just as fond of them as they were of him. Even though they had created The Bluejay, they had also made him a better person inside. Hell he was even a stronger person because of all of this strolling players. He owed them many thanks, but he couldn’t give them it when he was just Mortimer the bookbinder. More thoughts of the Bluejay ran through his mind. Did he really want to become that masked and horrible man once again? He wasn’t sure. Did he want to risk his sanity? Never! Did he miss the excitement? He missed nothing more than that adrenaline rush. Stop! No more, Mortimer. The Bluejay is long lost…for now at least.
There was no one Mo loved more than Meggie, he even loved her more than Resa. The two of them were inseparable. He was the book binder and she was the one who filled his books with beautiful words. Even before Inkheart ruined his life, the two of them were inseparable. They traveled all of Europe never leaving each other’s side. “That’s tragic.” his voice was a mumble; it was very likely that the young girl couldn’t hear it. The binder’s mind couldn’t even imagine not having the ability to read or write. He’d simply die without those two necessities. Mo’s smile was back on his face as she got personal with him, telling him a bit about her past. Her mother sounded like she had the same passion that she had.
Mo wasn’t sure what to say back to her. There were a hundred different things that he could say. He needed to find the right words, she was softening up to him. Maybe she didn’t realize it herself, but he saw it. Maybe she wanted to open up to him completely, but she wanted to keep her emotionless exterior. With the right words he’d be able to change that. “She must have loved you very much…and you both must have had the same passion for music.” The words seemed pretty good, but he hadn’t given himself enough time to think them over. “You know, learning to read and write isn’t that hard. I could teach you. The thought of teaching someone to read and write, other than his son, made Mo feel good inside. In this world it was an honor to give the gift of literacy to someone else. Even if there wasn’t many books to read, there were still other worlds people could dive into and that wasn’t meant to be taken literally! Mo now used that phrase with caution. “It’s very exhilarating.” he added, his voice sounded a bit excited.
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Post by Isabella "Issie" Alice Weberg on Mar 5, 2009 18:48:10 GMT -4
Issie kept her face turned away from the man. She didn’t want to show any soft side of herself, ever. And right now she had what might be considered the saddest look ever. “No one looks because no one cares.” She said bluntly. She didn’t care if anyone cared about her, she didn’t want them to. Everyone who did died. It was safer for everyone if she was just ignored. And yet…….and yet here was this man, who seemed to be caring about her. Still to have someone else was worrying about her, someone besides her felt…….not good, but not bad, just different.
Then he mentioned her mother. Issie felt tears spring up in her eyes. “We did like music; she had a beautiful voice to.” She said. She now made sure that the man couldn’t see her face. She hated being caught crying. Stop crying, stop it NOW! Your so pathetic, you act tough like you can take anything yet all it takes is a single mention of your mom or dad or sister and you start crying like a little baby! Suck it UP! They're gone, and they're not coming back. And no amount of crying on your part will make them come back.
This was how Issie’s in mind conversations usually worked. She wanted nothing more then to shut up her voice in her head. She hated how it felt to be yelled out by her own mind. Issie closed her eyes and leaned her head back. ”You could try to teach me, but I don’t stay in one place for vary long, that’s part of the whole strolling players thing.” she said. She was the youngest working strolling player. The little kids just short of begged. She had never approved of begging, especially when she could sing and get money. But there was another thing. Issie was sure that she was to dumb to learn how to read. Reading was for smart people, not her. She wasn’t smart. She just had a voice, that was the only reason she had lived as long as she had. If she hadnt she would have been reduced to begging, and that would be worse then death for her. she hated being ruduced to begging. She would be a tarribal one anyway. she would have curssed at the people who didnt give her money. How had she learned to cuss? it must have been when she joined the strolling players. Her mother never cursed, her father had never cursed, and she had vary rarely left her home.
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Post by thebookbinder on Mar 6, 2009 23:43:22 GMT -4
A sigh left his lips, this girl was just so certain that no one cared for her and on top of it she wasn’t willing to loosen up to him. “And how do you know no one cares?” the question was made for her to think about it. He was there, curious about her. That had to count for something in her book. It was so sad to see what happened to children when they lost their mothers, fathers and siblings. He wasn’t quite sure if she had lost everyone, but he could tell that she was at least missing one of her parental units. He knew how tough it was to miss someone from your family. Meggie didn’t have the opportunity to get to know her mother growing up, all because of the place he lived in now. Meggie had to deal with only having a male influence in the house and Mo was sorry for that. He was also the reason why she never lived a normal life, always roaming from place to place, house to house, and making less friends every time.
Mo took a few steps closer to the girl and cautiously lowered himself to the forest floor. He made sure he was a few feet away from her, as not to frighten her. Tired legs crossed over into an Indian styled sitting position. He knew she was crying but he made no attempt to make her feel better. It was always best to let children cry themselves out, it was better for the heart. “You must miss her dearly.” he whispered. Not a smart move, Mortimer. She’s already crying as it is, which is your fault to begin with. His fists tightened into a ball, he was probably making the situation even worse by opening his big mouth.
Seeing the girl cry only made him think of Meggie even more. He remembered holding his dear precious girl in his arms as she cried against his chest, whispering the pain and anguish to him like just saying the words would make them vanish. Most times, it did work. Mo was always so good at cheering people up, especially his little Meggie. Mo? Thank you for always being there. Meggie was always telling him that and he always smiled at it. You are always welcome, Meggie. He’d reply with a wink, taking his girl into his arms so he could embrace her. “I remember when my daughter was your age…” he began, a prideful smile curved onto his lips. “She was a handful.” A pale hand ran through his hair. Just thinking of Meggie at fifteen frightened him. She was all hormonal…oh dear god! He didn’t want to even think about her mood swings or how she oozed over Doria.
The Strolling players…. She was one of them at such a young age? He knew she had the voice that attracted peoples wallets, but being a little girl traveling with lairs and thieves? That was un acceptable. His head shook from side to side as another side, one of disappointment, left his lips. “I travel sometimes myself.” and he’d travel more if he left the Bluejay out. The Bluejay..do you want to come out? No answer. Have you lost your mind? Unknown. Resa doesn’t want you…neither does Meggie…but do I? He didn’t know the answer. He didn’t know if he wanted that kind of adventure anymore. He was getting older. He was forty-two now. He had been in his thirties when he pranced about as the Bluejay. Enough! Now was not the time to think about what he had once been. He needed to stay in the present more often, instead of dwelling with the past.
“I’m good friends with a few of the strolling players…The Black Prince in particular. He’s a great man.” He looked over at her, a carefree smile on that handsome face of his. “Actually for a while, everyone considered me as one of them.” a shrug ended the statement. He wasn’t proud of technically being a strolling player. He hated his hands. He looked down at them. Blood used to drip off them as he held his blade in his hand. The blood…the lives lost. He couldn’t let the Bluejay out. “I…wasn’t meant for that life, however.” he spoke hesitantly, like he wasn’t exactly all there. He was still lost in his thoughts.
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Post by Isabella "Issie" Alice Weberg on Mar 8, 2009 16:12:08 GMT -4
How did she know no one cared? What kind of stupid question was that? She knew because no one ever bothered to ask her what was wrong on those knights when she woke up in a cold sweat. She knew because no one offered to help her those times she lost her voice and couldn’t sing. She knew because no one ever acted like they had. Yes she was under the black princes protection, but she never actually talked to him. Then again she never talked to any one. She was to anti social for that. Why did this man care any way, why did he care about her? She was just some random person he met. Why did her care?
Issie heard him move closer and instinctively moved away. Then he mentioned her mother. This time she turned so that she had her back to him. She did miss her mother, and father, and sister. But there was more, she missed being happy, she missed staying in the same place. She missed seeing the strolling players as a child and not as one of them. Most of all she missed her childhood. She had to grow up so fast; she missed believing in fairy tales. She could still remember her favorite one. The one her father had told her and her mother had written a song to go with. It was about a green eyed dragon, and it might have been scary if her mother hadn’t sung it so fast that it was comical. Issie felt tears slid down her face. She rested her head in her knees like she did when she was little. There was still a part of her that reverted back to childhood. She wished her father was still there to hold her, and that her mother was still there to tell her every thing would be fine.
“Why do you care?” she asked the man out loud. “You just met me? Why are you even talking to me?” her voice was cold again, and at the same time was strained with the effort of talking without sobbing. She wondered why this pain in her heart didn’t go away. When would it go away? It felt like there was a hole in her heart. A large hole that would heal. It hurt, and it felt like no matter what she did it wouldn’t go away. She always felt it. It hurt with every beat of her heart. she wanted it to end, to go away. But it wouldn't, it just kept hurting, no matter what she did.
why did this have to happen to her. what had she done to diserve it? what had her parents done? what had her little sister who was just a baby done? why had god taken them from her? How was this fair?
"It dosnt make sense. No one cares about kids like me. why do you care?" she asked again.
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Post by thebookbinder on Mar 10, 2009 19:23:39 GMT -4
Mortimer never asked stupid questions, that he was sure of. It might have seemed like a stupid question to the young girl, who believed no one cared for her. Just because someone did ask others what was wrong, or offer help didn’t mean they didn’t care. If they didn’t care they wouldn’t have let her join their family nor would they have protected her. He knew that the black prince cared. He was a gentle and kind soul who cared more for everyone else than himself. From the look the girl first gave him, Mo knew that she wasn’t social. People who didn’t talk with others would start to get looked after a while. The people of the traveling players cared for Issie, they just got used to the fact that she didn’t want to talk with them. Mortimer wasn’t going to be like the strolling players, he wasn’t going to give in and stop showing affection for this small girl. Mo cared because he was a father, and he knew how young girls yearned love and affection. This girl didn’t have any…besides she reminded him a bit of Meggie. His daughter who was now a young adult, and she didn’t need him anymore either.
Mortimer let a sigh leave his lips as she moved away from him once he sat down. He let his rough hand run through his hair, moving it out of his face. Times like this made him wish that there was hair jell in this world. Mortimer looked up at the sky. The clouds were slowly moving past the treetops and blocking the sun. Noon was slowly fading, which meant night was only just beyond the corner. Would it be too weird to see if she wanted to come back to his home and meet his family? Would she want to meet his daughter, son and wife? Or maybe he could go back with her to the Strolling player’s camp? Then he’d be able to talk with his dear friends once again. Mortimer dazed back into a time when Meggie loved hearing him tell her stories about far off lands with princesses and dashing knights in armor. Mo shook his head, relieving his mind of the memories he wished were still happening in his life. Mo glanced over at her. He could tell that she was crying once again. His stupid words made her cry again. He huffed in frustration. It’s just better if I don’t try and pry about her history…or family life. he nodded to himself. Seemed like a plan. What to ask her then? That was a stumper.
Another smile played on Mo’s lips. “I care because I know how you feel…and because I’m a father.” Mo didn’t mind the coldness in her voice, she was just trying to act tough. He wasn’t going to give up on her. Mo wasn’t a quitter and he sure wasn’t going to start now with his girl. Mo readjusted himself so he was facing her, with some trouble. His joints aren’t what they used to be. Maybe if I worked out a bit more I wouldn’t be so stiff. the other thought in his head made him shudder. The Bluejay just wouldn’t leave his mind! What was wrong with him today? What’s wrong with me? You know Resa wouldn’t like that…and Meggie would fear you again…Do you want that Mortimer? There was a pause. No…
There were so many questions Mo wanted to ask, not just this girl but so many other people. Why couldn’t he go back home? Why couldn’t Fenoglio find the right words for the family to travel from this world to the other? Wasn’t there anything Mo would do to make the girl think differently? Could he once again become the Bluejay and not lose his mind? So many questions yet so little answers to those questions. “It does make sense…you just don’t want to see it. People do care about kids like you…you’re just one of the unlucky ones. I care because you can’t see what’s really there.” His voice was thoughtful but had a sharp tone in it. He wanted her to see the truth however possible.
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Post by Isabella "Issie" Alice Weberg on Mar 10, 2009 20:44:29 GMT -4
Issie looked at him. Several different thoughts ran threw her mind. One of them was how much she hated this man seeing her cry. An other was that maybe, maybe this guy did care. But why would he? Why would any one? She looked up at the sky and saw that it was getting dark. She knew she should head home, but she didn’t want to. She looked at the man. If she had a father, like him, she’d be heading home. She wouldn’t want to worry. She looked up at him. She debated what to say. A part of her, the part that sometimes sounded like her mother, wanted to tell him every thing. But still the angry part of her kept her from doing it. How could she trust him? How could she let him care about her? “If I were you I wouldn’t care, bad things happen to people who care about me.” She said sadly. It was a warning but not a threat. And there was so much sadness in her eyes. She wanted to be cared about but she was afraid that if she let any one care they’d die. Like her parents. She couldn’t take that. Not again. Not after seeing her parents and sister burn away from her. She could still remember they’re screams.
At this thought Issie stood up and walked a few feet away from the man. She had to collect her thoughts again. “Its better if you don’t care.” She said softly. She wrapped her arms around herself. “its better for every one.”
Look at what happened too my dad. she thought, Too my dad, too my mom, the only two people who cared. no one cares now, I'm alone. and its better that way. I cant take looseing some one ealse. I just cant bare it.
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Post by thebookbinder on Mar 11, 2009 18:27:37 GMT -4
Mo felt bad for watching her as she cried, he knew that most people were self conscious when they cried. Meggie was, but she also wanted him there whenever she let her emotions get the better of her. Mo was glad to be there and lull away all the hurt. Mo turned his head away from her again, giving her as much privacy as he could. Which wasn’t much, but he tried his best to act like he was oblivious to her sadness. It was hard. Mo was so used to just helping people when they were sad: a kiss on the forehead, a hug, messing up hair, and making a joke. Those were what he wanted to do for the little girl. He knew it was weird of him to want to do so but his fatherly instincts were getting the better of him. He nonchalantly glanced over at her. She looked like she was thinking something over. Was it something about him? Don’t be so nosey, Mortimer. Just leave her be. Let her come to you. It was a good idea. When she was ready, she’d talk.
A sad smile played over on Mortimer’s lips. He knew the feeling, slightly…when he was the Bluejay bad things happened to those around him. The image of Balbulus, the man who drew the most beautiful illustrations was now handless. It was his fault he could no longer make beautiful art for books. He shook his head. “The same…goes for me.” the sadness in his own voice was a slip up. He meant to hide it from her, but he had never been good with hiding his own emotion. “I’ve caused pain on many a people…” he sounded distant. He cleared his throat, making himself pay attention to the problem at hand “But that doesn’t mean I won’t care for you. I will and there isn’t anything you can say to stop me.” there was danger in his tone, but it was meant to be taken jokingly. Mortimer wasn’t going to give up on this girl. His mind was made up.
“I disagree. It’s not better if I don’t care. If I leave now…you’ll plague my thoughts and I’ll feel awful for not helping you out.” He decided to be completely truthful with her. If he left right now, and left her to cry he’d feel awful for months to come. She’d be in his thoughts whenever he looked at his two children…and he didn’t want to be guilt ridden when he held his children. That was an awful feeling and he didn’t want to feel such a thing ever again. Every time he held Meggie when she was small, and until Resa returned, he felt guilt for not telling her the truth. He was still trying to make up for all that confusion Meggie had as a small child. “Don’t let yourself believe that, Issie. Once you start believing yourself…you won’t let anyone in and you don’t want that.” his voice was thoughtful and sounded truly sincere. For a period in time Mortimer told himself that he was a murderer for letting Resa get sucked into Inkheart after a while he believed himself, and even know he still believed it.
She looks so sad… How he wished he could wrap his arms around her and whisper that everything was going to get better. Mortimer did think that things could get better for this girl, if she let him help her. Instead of hugging her, he only reached out and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry.” his voice was only a whisper. He kept his hand only gently on her, and didn’t dare to make any sudden movements. He needed to be careful with this. This after all was a big risk.
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Post by Isabella "Issie" Alice Weberg on Mar 11, 2009 19:01:04 GMT -4
Issie felt his hand on her shoulder and froze. She tried to remember the last time some one had made that short of gesture to her. When was the last time some one acted like they cared? It was a while ago. “I’m telling you, I’m bad luck. You shouldn’t care. It’s for your own good.” She said. But she didn’t move away from his hand. She stayed still. She still wouldn’t look at his face but she was listening to him now. Did she want any one to get in? That was a hard question to answer. She didn’t want to cause more pain; she didn’t want to feel any more pain. But….she wanted to be a kid again, to have some one, any one who cared. She didn’t want to have to worry about weather or not she’ll have enough to eat. Or weather she was going to freeze at night.
How can you think that! Said the same self hating voice in her head. Every one who ever cared about you died your bad luck. How can you risk this mans life! He has a family.
Issie truly believed she was bad luck. She felt guilty for her parents death. Even though there was nothing she could do. She was so little back then. What could she have possibly done? But Issie never saw it that way. She should have done something, not just stand there and watch. Watch as her father faught with the piper. watch as her mother tried to stop it. Watch as the piper caught the cottage on fire. Watch as her mother ran in. watch as her father fallowed. Watch for them to come out. Listened to thier screams. Stood there to tarrified to move, to think, to do anything besides listen to thier screams. Thier awful screams of pain. How could she have just stood there and watch as that happened! Why didnt she do any thing! What was wrong with her? As she watched her parents and sibling died, why didnt she do something! Anything! Any thing at all! Why didnt she run for help! why didnt she try to put the fire out! Why couldnt she move! Would it have been so hard to run and tell some one! But no she had just stood there and watched and listened. and now the screams stayed in her mind, along with the images. they stayed there like a song stuck in her head. A song that made her want to cry out in pain and sadness. And the worst part was believing that it was her fault.
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