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| The Future Will Be Lonely; [CLOSED] | |
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| Topic Started: Mar 5 2009, 09:43 AM (169 Views) | |
| Maria Siegel | Mar 5 2009, 09:43 AM Post #1 |
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Time: Evening Date: Feb 14th Erebus had very few possession that meant something to her and that small collection was something she guarded fiercely, hidden in a small space which could be accessed only by those able to use Darkforce. Seated cross legged on the floor of her lavish living quarters, she held one of those possessions, a small leather bound book, in her hand, carefully turning the pages, tracing her finger over the illustrations and lines of text, remember how she had come to own this book. The action reminded of her of Longshot, when he read an items history through his touch. What could this book tell him? She was afraid to ask. She guarded the memory of it and the associated memories and thoughts more desperately than she guarded her small collection. It was during Max’s time away that Maria had silently removed herself from the Club for two days and disappeared to Italy, giving only Longshot the knowledge that she would be out of touch for that small space of time. It wasn’t hard to find out where the Alinari family lived. They were an old family who had lived in the same town for years. They owned a large area of fertile farming land which brought in money and a little old bookshop which was famous in that part of the country and passed down through the generations that had lived there. The current Alinari in possession of the land and the bookshop had six children, a seventh having died when she was younger, and was known for his quiet, generous ways. People in the town were willing to talk about the family, almost everyone knew them or knew of them, though they clucked their tongue in sympathy at the child they lost, sent away to America so she could have a better life, which had been cut sadly short. It didn’t take any of the abilities Maria had been trained in to find out information about them, people in this small corner of the world had no fear, no guard against the harmless curiosity of a visitor. This was not a world of lies and deceit. Maria had gone to the bookshop, slipping quietly in at the end of the day, when motes of dust were dancing in the syrupy light which fell in golden shafts through paned windows. The shop was small and full of twisting shelves and small staircases, books carefully, lovingly stacked. The air, lit by evening sunshine, smelt of dust and old paper, leather and the deep wood which lined the walls, formed the shelves and stairs. A lighter trace of warmed earth, starting to release the heat of the day, and fragrant flowers floated on a gentle breeze through an open window. Maria didn’t think she’d ever been somewhere so ridiculous idyllic or where a feeling of peace seemed to settle into her heart so immediately. A voice spoke, in Italian, asking her if she needed any help and she replied that she was fine, just browsing, her blue eyes falling on the speaker, a man seated behind a small desk, apparently mending the spine of the book. He was tall, almost seeming too tall for the shop, even sitting down that was obvious, and dark haired with distinguished streaks of grey in his hair and beard, with warm blue eyes and robust tawny skin. His hands were calloused, obviously an active man, and wrinkles had set in around his eyes and across his forehead. Maria had moved her eyes from him with an effort but he remained watching her, a quizzical expression on his face. She looked back at him, questioning, and he shook his head, apologising. I’m sorry, you just look so much like my youngest daughter. She’s eighteen, ready to head off the university. Maria smiled and asked where his daughter was going, and the conversation blossomed from there, through the rest of his family, what he was doing with the book, the nature of the town and back to his family again. He offered her tea and asked about her, what she was doing in the town; just passing through on the way to meet a friend, where she was from; America and, tentatively, her life in America, her family. Orphaned, no brothers or sisters, was all she replied and his eyes softened with sympathy, apologising for talking about his own so much. Maria had assured him that she didn’t mind, she enjoyed hearing people’s stories as she wished to be a writer. Once more the conversation turned to his family, and slowly she pried the information about his lost daughter out of him. She was the only one who had loved the bookshop as much as he did, begging to be allowed to go there every day. He would let her stay with him often and sometimes he would lose her in the bookshelves while he went about his work and find her curled up with a book. At the back of her mind, she had imagined telling him who she was, who she had been, but as he spoke of his daughter, his Natasha, with so much bitter sweet love in his eyes that foolish, self indulgent day dream melted away. It was better that he kept that memory of his little girl, chattering and dancing after her daddy all the way to the bookshop, undimmed and untainted forever, than see what had become of her. As the evening sun began to slip from the sky, she thanked him for the tea and conversation, and he apologised once more for keeping her so long, for talking so much, he wasn’t normally so forth coming. Maria simply smiled and stated that she had always been a good listener. Before she left he handed her the book he had been fixing, a small, worn book on Greek mythology, waving any offer of payment away with a large hand. She had slipped the book carefully into her bag and left the shop as quietly as she had come, heading back towards her rented car which would take her to the small private plane she had flown in, back to America and the Hellfire Club. Carefully, Maria closed the book and rose to her feet. She would have to join the hordes downstairs soon and she wasn’t dressed for it yet. Opening a portal of Darkforce, she hesitated and then stopped her action of putting it back. Instead she turned and walked into her sleeping quarters, laying the book carefully on her bedside table, the only adornment other than a lamp. Her finger tips brushed briefly over the cover, one more time, before she collected herself and went to summon a pawn to help her dress. Appearance and procedure had to be maintained. |
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8:14 AM Jul 11