Post by Sven Askeeson on Jul 5, 2017 4:09:30 GMT
“What does this even mean?” Sven spoke as if he were asking a question of the book itself. He knew it wouldn't respond but all the same the strange wording of the writing coupled with the certainty of the prose suggested what was written was, in no way, fictional. “How the hell am I su...” Sven trailed off, as he rolled over off his back and stood up. He closed the book around his thumb so he could track where he was and made his way into his kitchen. Grabbing a knife from the utensil drawer Sven left it between the pages, marking his place in the book so he could revisit it at some point in the near future. In the mean time, he rummaged through the fridge, noting that he had forgotten to go to the grocery or to class as he promised himself he would the night before.
For an instant Sven felt a violent surge of emotion threaten to sweep through him, but he put a clamp on it just before it hit. He refused to be turned into a blubbering mass of teenage angst and sorrow by his mother's diagnosis. She wouldn't have wanted that for him and if her, a woman dying as her own body failed to do it's job properly could stave off such outbursts surely he could. Or so he thought. Despite his best efforts, Sven felt a tear spill from his eye and he cursed as he felt another. He swiped viciously at his face but those first tears were soon replaced by others and soon he was cursing and curled up in a ball on the kitchen floor, no longer cursing his own weakness but the whole damned world for doing this to his family. For making him feel like less of a man just for being worried about someone he loved. For making him too weak and too stupid and too lazy and another thousand too's, an endless list that had him softly sobbing into the collar of his shirt, which he pressed to his face, as if he could hide from all of it.
An indeterminate amount of time later, Sven honestly couldn't tell if it had been a few minutes or maybe even a few hours, he rose and ventured into his room, remembering to grab his book before he did. Going through the process of getting dressed actually made him feel better, but he didn't bother to bask in the glow, instead, Sven made his way out of the condo and onto the street, pausing only to give a short greeting and bow to another resident of the building. For a moment, Sven simply stood outside the building an odd sense of vertigo rendering him immobile. He frowned and took stock; what in the world was making him feel this way? He ran slender fingers through tousled blonde hair and licked his lips. He felt....like he was on the verge of something enormous but he just couldn't put the right pieces together.
Then he saw one of those odd flashes and it all slid into place. Ever since he'd entered his teens Sven had seen these odd blurs and flashes, often at the edge of his vision or when he was turning. Sometimes the blurs looked humanoid or even fairly mundane, other times their outline suggested something monstrous, but always, Sven would only get a glimpse before closer inspection revealed nothing of the sort was there. But...it all made sense when you stopped viewing it through the lense of a madman or a fictional tale. The writer of the journals and books Sven had read on the 'Quincy' during his youth were had sounded far too lucid for a man suffering from delusions and the earlier journals had hinted at an odd mix of pagan and christian themes, so religious fervor seemed only vaguely possible. But when Sven considered the possibility that the 'hollows' his supposed ancestor spoke of were the same monstrous flashes that Sven often saw, it made so much more sense. Sven licked his lips again, ignoring the thin film of sweat that hung over his top lip.
“If....the hollows are the flashes then...” Sven stopped and raised his hand to eye level. It was summer and Japan was a fairly humid nation, even in late afternoon so Sven's heirloom bracelet was clearly visible. He had once worn it as a pin, but he wasn't a fan of having to take it off whatever shirt he was wearing that day, so he had since attached it to a thin chain and wore it more often as a bracelet. “..I'm supposed to turn this into a bow?”
Sven rummaged through his messenger bag before finally getting his hands on the journal and flipping to the page he had left off at, his right hand held out as if he were stopping someone from approaching him. The book was filled with flowery language but when boiled down to the basic message it advised him to gather the ambient 'Aether' and form it into a 'weapon' of his choosing to smite the horror before him. He wasn't entirely sure what most of that meant but he stared at his own hand, feeling the familiar weight of his bracelet once more.
Sven stared ignoring any feelings of foolishness and soon he felt...something. It was faint at first, and he actually dismissed it but as time wore on it became more and more distinct and he stopped to consider it. It was like he were at the beach, at the point where the water met the sand and he could feel the sensation of it slipping out from under his feet but in this case it was all over his body. Through his clothes and somehow on them as well. He could feel it and it made him feel odd and then Sven flinched because, for the first time, the blur he had seen could be seen in detail and he could not believe what was before him.
It was some sort of massive bat thing, with large leathery wings and it flapped through the air at terrible speed before suddenly diving out of side and behind a building, obviously chasing something. Sven could still feel the sand though...or Aether, as his ancestor had called it and he knew what he had to do. Focusing, Sven closed his left hand, feeling the sand over his palm stop slipping and hold firm. He then thrust it at his bracelet feeling the sand shaping, forming into something he could hold, something he could use. Holding that posture, one palm pressed against his bracelet the other gripping empty air. And then, in a flash of blue the air wasn't so empty and something came hurtling out of the indistinct mass that formed in Sven's hand.
Whatever it was smashed into a nearby shrub, tearing a chunk out of it. Sven was startled by what had happened and whatever he'd just made vanished, shattering into countless blue particles which swiftly faded from view.
“It's true...it's all fuckin' true”
Sven Askeeson © All rights reserved, 2015-2016.
For an instant Sven felt a violent surge of emotion threaten to sweep through him, but he put a clamp on it just before it hit. He refused to be turned into a blubbering mass of teenage angst and sorrow by his mother's diagnosis. She wouldn't have wanted that for him and if her, a woman dying as her own body failed to do it's job properly could stave off such outbursts surely he could. Or so he thought. Despite his best efforts, Sven felt a tear spill from his eye and he cursed as he felt another. He swiped viciously at his face but those first tears were soon replaced by others and soon he was cursing and curled up in a ball on the kitchen floor, no longer cursing his own weakness but the whole damned world for doing this to his family. For making him feel like less of a man just for being worried about someone he loved. For making him too weak and too stupid and too lazy and another thousand too's, an endless list that had him softly sobbing into the collar of his shirt, which he pressed to his face, as if he could hide from all of it.
An indeterminate amount of time later, Sven honestly couldn't tell if it had been a few minutes or maybe even a few hours, he rose and ventured into his room, remembering to grab his book before he did. Going through the process of getting dressed actually made him feel better, but he didn't bother to bask in the glow, instead, Sven made his way out of the condo and onto the street, pausing only to give a short greeting and bow to another resident of the building. For a moment, Sven simply stood outside the building an odd sense of vertigo rendering him immobile. He frowned and took stock; what in the world was making him feel this way? He ran slender fingers through tousled blonde hair and licked his lips. He felt....like he was on the verge of something enormous but he just couldn't put the right pieces together.
Then he saw one of those odd flashes and it all slid into place. Ever since he'd entered his teens Sven had seen these odd blurs and flashes, often at the edge of his vision or when he was turning. Sometimes the blurs looked humanoid or even fairly mundane, other times their outline suggested something monstrous, but always, Sven would only get a glimpse before closer inspection revealed nothing of the sort was there. But...it all made sense when you stopped viewing it through the lense of a madman or a fictional tale. The writer of the journals and books Sven had read on the 'Quincy' during his youth were had sounded far too lucid for a man suffering from delusions and the earlier journals had hinted at an odd mix of pagan and christian themes, so religious fervor seemed only vaguely possible. But when Sven considered the possibility that the 'hollows' his supposed ancestor spoke of were the same monstrous flashes that Sven often saw, it made so much more sense. Sven licked his lips again, ignoring the thin film of sweat that hung over his top lip.
“If....the hollows are the flashes then...” Sven stopped and raised his hand to eye level. It was summer and Japan was a fairly humid nation, even in late afternoon so Sven's heirloom bracelet was clearly visible. He had once worn it as a pin, but he wasn't a fan of having to take it off whatever shirt he was wearing that day, so he had since attached it to a thin chain and wore it more often as a bracelet. “..I'm supposed to turn this into a bow?”
Sven rummaged through his messenger bag before finally getting his hands on the journal and flipping to the page he had left off at, his right hand held out as if he were stopping someone from approaching him. The book was filled with flowery language but when boiled down to the basic message it advised him to gather the ambient 'Aether' and form it into a 'weapon' of his choosing to smite the horror before him. He wasn't entirely sure what most of that meant but he stared at his own hand, feeling the familiar weight of his bracelet once more.
Sven stared ignoring any feelings of foolishness and soon he felt...something. It was faint at first, and he actually dismissed it but as time wore on it became more and more distinct and he stopped to consider it. It was like he were at the beach, at the point where the water met the sand and he could feel the sensation of it slipping out from under his feet but in this case it was all over his body. Through his clothes and somehow on them as well. He could feel it and it made him feel odd and then Sven flinched because, for the first time, the blur he had seen could be seen in detail and he could not believe what was before him.
It was some sort of massive bat thing, with large leathery wings and it flapped through the air at terrible speed before suddenly diving out of side and behind a building, obviously chasing something. Sven could still feel the sand though...or Aether, as his ancestor had called it and he knew what he had to do. Focusing, Sven closed his left hand, feeling the sand over his palm stop slipping and hold firm. He then thrust it at his bracelet feeling the sand shaping, forming into something he could hold, something he could use. Holding that posture, one palm pressed against his bracelet the other gripping empty air. And then, in a flash of blue the air wasn't so empty and something came hurtling out of the indistinct mass that formed in Sven's hand.
Whatever it was smashed into a nearby shrub, tearing a chunk out of it. Sven was startled by what had happened and whatever he'd just made vanished, shattering into countless blue particles which swiftly faded from view.
“It's true...it's all fuckin' true”
