A Part of History (Decora)

Anywhere in the world, as long as they find themselves back in RavenBlack, City.

A Part of History (Decora)

Postby Nowlin » August 3rd, 2015, 4:39 pm

The scrambled egg vomit in the sink reminded him of roadkill. It was red from the salsa, and wet from the cranberry juice that followed it out. Nowlin hung his head over the bathroom sink. He had a weak stomach, brought up by a mix of nerves, stress and who-knew-what-else. Maybe he was dying. The thought would have surprised him, but he had thrown up since he could remember. Some food didn't settle right. Some drinks, too. He had to pick and choose his meals; often water, granola bars, oatmeal, and chips. Meat made him ill, and anything with grease — like the eggs — came back up as fast as it had gone down. Now he'd have to check eggs off the growing list of "do not" eats.

The bathroom was empty, which was usual this time of night. The library, unlike any he had attended before, stayed open throughout both day and night hours. He opted for the latter to attend, a time when the general public had gone; children in bed, students back to their dorms and the elder folk gone home for the evening.

The crowd was different at night. Quiet, reclusive. He washed down the sink, and returned to a table-desk sat amongst the history section. Old books brought comfort, but he had brought his laptop to catch up on late schoolwork instead. The overhead lights were dim, which he preferred. Even his laptop brightness was set to his lowest volume. He was sensitive to the light — bad eyes, his father said. He wore large, squared prescription glasses, black in frame. The eye place called them "dork" brand — who the fuck sells a pair of glasses named after an insult? — but then again, he was the general idea of a "dork." Nowlin liked school. He liked old movies, history, scifi, and had no girlfriend. He spent more time with his laptop than with friends, and spent more time at the library than at home. But unlike most "dorks," he thought, Nowlin had the advantage of an interesting job, travel perks, and, if he so dare added, was good looking.

Nowlin stared, dead-eyed, at his computer screen. It was a World Religions class, full online, and a full-on bore. He didn't want to read about religion — he wanted to witness it, speak with their priests, priestesses, pastors, and monks. He wanted to photograph their rituals, live through them first-hand, and see the reality behind the textbook questions. This wasn't learning, he thought. Memorizing what was what, which god's name meant what, which culture they were tied into, regions they were from, and pointless dates of start and finish.

...this religion was before this religion which was before this religion and this and this and this one happened at this time and they did this while these did this and this this this this this...

... Fuck, it was enough to drive anyone insane. He closed out the class, and shut the computer. He needed to read. Something, anything, of interest. Nowlin pulled random books off the library shelves, historical accountings of Ravenblack City. None looked all-that interesting, but there was no telling with old newspaper clippings, or personally penned histories. He favored autobiographies, and wished he had an interesting enough life to pen his own.

The last of three books he pulled caught his interest. Something purposely set out of reach, a top shelf, picked down by him with the use of a chair and table. No one had touched it in a long time, he saw. Dust covered the leatherbound cover and back. He wiped it off. No title, either. He opened the front. Yellowed pages, no author name. He set the large book on the table.

He opened the book. It almost looked ancient.

This would be good...

Page one.
Image
Nowlin
 
Posts: 37
Joined: July 23rd, 2015, 5:50 pm
Location: Ravenblack City
IGN: Nowlin

Re: A Part of History (Decora)

Postby Vetras » August 3rd, 2015, 5:49 pm

"So everything will die, Papa? Everything and everyone?"
"Yes, Decora. Everything has to die. Things die, so that other things can live. It is the way the world has and will always work. Everything cannot last forever."
"That means you will die. I will die. Tecla will die, too?"
"We will all die one day. Just remember something will live because you have died. So your death will always have meaning."

Yet here I am. I have cheated death for over half a millennium and my continuation is concrete. I don't talk about burying myself anymore, I have outright rejected death's proposal to have me.

Death cannot have me.

My father's words hang with me as I cross side streets, looking up at the signs to make sure I'm heading in the right direction. This is a death, in a way. I'm bothered by the fact that it isn't death in the sense I remembered it when I was a little girl. Vampires come back. Even if they bury, they have been known to break their caskets and tunnel their ways out with bloody knuckles. So does this mean that life doesn't echo from the night I was staked? I'm robbing the world of life, as I believe we all are by what Vittore Ennio Vetras told me the day we talked about dying. His face was hard but he's always looked worn to me. His skin was old leather that had soft patches where his work hadn't marred yet. Vittore was a physical contradiction, a man that provided for his family the best ways that he could, doing the hard labor of two men. We were poor even by the standards of that time period, however there was always food on the table, so by all accounts, we were lucky.

I don't often like to think about my past. I don't think that looking that far back has ever helped me. It has the opposite effect and it hinders any growth I desire to undergo. I regress and become that petulant, vindictive cunt I saw my mother as during my early teens. I am my mother. I am more of her than I am of him. That to me, is more depressing than anything else. It is also something I drive myself to overcome, because I don't always want to be that person.

The streets near my house are emptying out. Bodies clamor to enter the plethora of bars all advertising the same bullshit.

KARAOKE, FRIDAY NIGHTS 11PM-2AM.
10 CENT CHICKEN WINGS ON WEDNESDAY NIGHTS.
SCORPION BOWLS HALF PRICE ON LADIES' NIGHT!!


I walk a few more blocks down, turning my upper torso away from the neon lights. My jacket doesn't cover the wound left behind when Koz ripped out the stake. Not very well. I zip it up, slowing my stride (which I'm uncertain how I could go any fucking slower) at the doorway of less brimming library. I have eyes at the main counter, I nod when it's required of me to the woman towering over a hefty book. Her expression matches mine; neither one of us is looking for pleasantries and that suits me. I don't like idle conversations, small talk is hard for me to come up with. I end up coming off like an interrogator, pummeling my company with question after question. I deliver them aggressively, I don't relent until they leave more often than I let up willingly.

I came here for books, yes. Something to flex the muscles in my head while I rest, take it easy. While I'm not working. I recommend books to people but I don't think this is an age where people read all that much anymore. It's a wonder how libraries still stand in this modern world where you can download a digital copy of nearly any book and read it on your phone.

I spy through the shelves, I read the spines of books about anatomy and physiology.
Astronomy.
Ones about instruments.
Ones about psychology.

I stop, hunch down to pinch one of out line.

Behavioral Patterns, that's what the plain solid colored front says to me.

The binding crackles, the words all scattered.
I root to this spot, I hang my head and I begin to read.
Image
Vetras
 
Posts: 1022
Joined: March 6th, 2014, 12:16 pm
IGN: Vetras
Lineage: de Bouillon
OOC: Andréa

Re: A Part of History (Decora)

Postby Nowlin » August 4th, 2015, 11:21 am

I can't read the book.

It's obvious by the first time. It's some old language, maybe Latin. I hadn't progressed far enough in my studies yet to comprehend it. Latin was next year's course. I'd taken Spanish, done some private studies in French, neither which have helped me out in life. America was home, and the Spanish I'd learned was too formal for casual conversation with my fellow bilingual Americans. And the French, too, was too little to even attempt real conversation (although the women loved it).

I look through the pages. They're vague, with old text and black-ink drawings, nothing really understandable. People, places, ancient symbols. It looks like a religious text, though no religion I know of. Possibly occult. I'd have some awful dealings with the occult — full of threats, warnings, and alleged "curses" on me and my family if I dared publish any findings. People were sensitive to their truths being exposed. I liked to expose them. But nothing would be exposed here.

I set the text aside. It's heavy, and hard for me to carry. Never had I been physically strong. My talents were my mind, my speech, and my writings. I want a discovery. I want to learn new truths, study them, photograph, write, publish. But this holds nothing for me, so I search the shelves again, exploring outside the neighboring shelves to other ends of the library.

There's few people. They stay to themselves. The night was a time to be alone, and they choose their solitude with books. I take my things, find a new seat settled near an electrical socket. I reboot my computer, dim its settings, and people-watch.

A young woman, entrapped in a fantasy novel. An older gentleman with a newspaper, his body hunched over a dim lamp. There's a couple in the far corner, a darker corner, their focus on each other's mouths. Several others. I look from person to person. I type down descriptions. I try to journal, but there's a block on my mind. I can't write. I haven't wrote since I left Lawrence, and those poor, deranged people. I will return in the fall to do an update on the town. I wanted more pictures. I admittedly miss Esta, and Ulrich, and the other strange townsfolk. Maybe a certain someone had finally "woke" when I return. Doubtful. That'd be a hoot.

Someone new has joined our oddball group of late-night library lurkers. A woman. Her eyes on a book. I openly stare. She's closer to me than the others. More attractive, too.

I don't hide my stare. I'm not embarrassed to look. Sometimes, it spawned conversation. Other times, discomfort. I wait. My fingers pause over keyboard keys. I don't know how to describe her.

Something felt ... off.
Image
Nowlin
 
Posts: 37
Joined: July 23rd, 2015, 5:50 pm
Location: Ravenblack City
IGN: Nowlin

Re: A Part of History (Decora)

Postby Vetras » August 6th, 2015, 10:54 am

They talk about people's intuition. They talk about how everyone has a spec inside of them. The way you can predict a few seconds before the alarm clock chirps. Or the times you caught the microwave just as it starts beeping incessantly for your attention. They say you can sense when someone is looking for you sometimes. This is what is happening to me now. Since I have stopped moving, aside from turning a few pages, eyes have ceased to pinpoint me among the literature. I am now similar to a wallpaper. I am just a thing that's there, I am a decoration of some sort.

The nag burns to the nape of my neck. I feel targeted, honed in on. Although I do partake in staring myself, I don't enjoy when it's done to me. I hold a fear that people will see something I don't want them to. That they will see the soft person I still can be and they will use that. It's malleable enough. A fair amount of people know that the little girl I still carry with me is hidden underneath my bitter, hardened exterior. They try to coax it out but I've reinforced the box I put it in. I locked the box, because there's no place for the niceties and sensitivity here. That's something that's taken me nearly a decade to learn.

My eyes pick up from the text, and they slowly begin to focus on the humans around me. Most attended what they had prior to my arrival, so I go to the next and dismiss them as the reason I feel mildly uncomfortable. I stop at one face. It's one that's looking back at me. I'm not use to stare downs. I don't make eye contact to begin with all that much anymore. I use my eyes to emphasize my words. That's how I say to my company, "This is important as fuck, so listen."

The book that I cradle in my left closes when I push my fingers to either side. I hold it by the spine and let it hang to knock occasionally to the side of my leg when my arm drops. I advance, because I'm curious. I want to know why they are staring.

Nothing is said immediately. I stop just short of the side of his chair. I use the surface he set his computer device down on (I've only known desktops and I hardly use mine as it is, so laptops are bizarre to see) to alleviate the hefty volume from anchoring my arm and creating a fair amount of discomfort to my shoulder.

"You're watching me." I state this as a fact, rather than ask him why he is. I wait for him to answer, despite the multiplying inquiries I have filling up my head.

They can wait.
Image
Vetras
 
Posts: 1022
Joined: March 6th, 2014, 12:16 pm
IGN: Vetras
Lineage: de Bouillon
OOC: Andréa

Re: A Part of History (Decora)

Postby Nowlin » August 6th, 2015, 4:26 pm

"I'm watching you," is my immediate response. It isn't smart, but it's the first thing to pop into my head at her unexpected advance. I wouldn't doubt she could get me kicked out of the library for staring. She had a right to her comfort. And, unfortunately, it wouldn't be my first time asked to leave a library.

Right away, I add, "What are you reading?"

Conversation. Usually, I was decent at it. I had a "charm" to me, which only tended to work on the more simpler mind. I had a feeling she didn't fit into that category. I can't say feelings are always right, though. After all, I have never believed in the spiritual — in auras, energies, premonitions. I have an Atheistic mindset. I want to believe in God, or gods, but religions failed to spawn to me any real truths. Never had I witnessed miracles, nor have I ever seen valid results come from prayer. Medicine brought results. Science explained the once unexplainable. And yet I couldn't explain what I felt from her.

"That's heavy reading for a night owl," I quickly add. I shut my computer. I set it on the same table as the book, and silently hope she doesn't choose to knock it off the table.

She likely thinks I am a classic sexist, perverted late-night dweller at the library, spying on lonely girls to get my kicks. But I had looked at the others too — men, women, young and old; attractive, ugly, and those in-between. But she, undoubtedly, stands the most visibly attractive. I find myself giving her a single, quick look-over. I don't want to come off as creepy, although it was probably too late.

I finally let my eyes stay at her face only, and seek eye contact. My own are dark, and brown, and I know my expression is flat. I don't force emotion. I let it come naturally, and at that moment all I felt was unease.

Don't break my laptop, please.
Image
Nowlin
 
Posts: 37
Joined: July 23rd, 2015, 5:50 pm
Location: Ravenblack City
IGN: Nowlin

Re: A Part of History (Decora)

Postby Vetras » August 10th, 2015, 5:44 pm

His admittance comes as a curiosity to me. For a growing analytic mind, it flips a switch on. I begin to access his movements, compiling mental notes of his tells. We all have tics. They, on average, go unnoticed. I never wanted to pay attention to understand what these patterns could mean. I can't tell you when this change started. I know I have undergone some very significant ones. There are people who don't recognize me.

I don't play the games, I hardly contort my expression to provide any sort of welcome for anyone, and (for the most part) I quit drinking. I am callous, I am rude and I am mean. I provoke people with an ill-mannered delivery of my opinions.

Clear as a bell, I can hear those words again:

"You're still D'dary at heart, I see."

I don't know what I am in my heart yet.

This man, although blunt in answering my question holds back any elaboration as to why he has been looking at me --- watching me. Instead he deflects the attention off of himself, and onto the book I am set on checking out tonight.

Heavy reading? If he hasn't, he should try getting through Don Quioxte's endless text. If I'm not mistaken, my last attempt I got two thirds through it before launching it across the room. It sat on the floor across from my bed for a month before someone (because it sure as fuck wasn't me) put it back on the shelf. I haven't touched it since, either.

Some of the other humans pack their belongings and are moseying through the doors. It's the trickling effect beginning. I wonder if that means the library is closing soon. No part of me is ready to leave since coming up to confront this male. I'm staring at the corner of his table, more than at him. My eyes often avoid making any connection with others. That's never been a very dominant characteristic of mine. If anything, I sought out too much eye contact. I never grasped the in between, the 'just the right amount.' I can practice now. In torpor, I see it as a time to reflect and to become an improvement. It won't necessarily kill me either to do with the people I converse with frequently. They may think it's a nice adaptation.

"This is practical reading," I answer him but I understand I come off as constantly corrective of others. The pins that are my shrunken pupils align to bear down onto his. The irises I have have been leaking their color for a while. Gradually, the dark bogs they once were faded. They are a gray smeared with films of dirt and grass. The pigments remind me of a corpse in the weeds.

We are a pair of void expressions. I'm waiting for his mouth to motor. In my experience, when people are uncomfortable, it happens --- unfortunately it happens. This has spoiled a meal or two for me. The begging annoys me and I rethink my selection of prey, and I'll opt for something else. I choose something bulky, that way it silences the call for blood for a longer duration of time, and I have less of a headache.

"Are you familiar with...?" I reference the subject by tapping my index finger to the front title's embossed text.
Image
Vetras
 
Posts: 1022
Joined: March 6th, 2014, 12:16 pm
IGN: Vetras
Lineage: de Bouillon
OOC: Andréa

Re: A Part of History (Decora)

Postby Nowlin » August 13th, 2015, 1:58 pm

Something about her puts my entire body at unease. I don't know what causes it. People didn't bother me. I liked people — most people, that is. I like to learn about their cultures, their personalities, what they do, and like, and feel, and how they live. I want to live among people, but not be a person. Something is wrong.

"Practical reading," I repeat back at her.

What seemed practical to her looks like only a hassle to me. Although I liked to read, and always had, I didn't feel the need to bend over large texts and feed in the material. The world was evolving. Websites summarized what you needed to know. Audio books could be read through phone or connected car speakers. It had helped me tremendously, especially on long travels or studies either alone or with my father.

I wish I can translate all old books into online text. I see nothing wrong with creating ease in the world, to allow fast and quick searches of information. Evolution is a reality; we must adapt with the changing ways or else die out. Maybe I'll forget my school studies and be a typist for a living and scan all the books in. But then we wouldn't have the library, with the smell of old dusty pages and a place for the nighttime recluses to gather.

I wonder why she's here. I wonder if she's a student at one of the local universities, or if she's some sociologist on task. Maybe she's something else entirely. Usually, I can read people without problem. She is unreadable.

"I'm in Psychology for my minor," he answered. "Just a few classes on psychology and sociology. Nothing that major yet."

I debate conversation. I don't know how much longer the library will be open.

Finally, I say, "Are you a student?" Then add, "You can sit down over here, unless you plan to go. I know it's getting late."
Image
Nowlin
 
Posts: 37
Joined: July 23rd, 2015, 5:50 pm
Location: Ravenblack City
IGN: Nowlin


Return to Outside the limits

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest