[Elmonton] Home, Where The Story Began
Posted: Thu Nov 29, 2018 5:48 am
42nd Yaris, 2718
ELMONTON | AROUND MIDDAY
ELMONTON | AROUND MIDDAY
Elmonton.
It was a long trip to the farming town that Rhys had been born in, the place he’d lived out the first ten years of his life, but Charity hadn’t noticed. They’d cuddled together in the relative warmth of a small moa drawn carriage, finding comfort either in shared contemplative silence or in gentle discussion, their fields so belike that it felt naturally complete in their little nest. There was a lot to unravel, a lot to unpack and discuss. Since the 32nd of Yaris, Charity had seen nothing of the outside world, locked up in Rhy’s small apart in a welcome and strange sort of reprieve. She had hid in the soft covers of his bed during the times he was at work, afraid of every little sound outside the house, worried it was Damen or his men come to collect her up. When she slept the first night, she woke screaming, scrabbling at hands around her throat that faded as the nightmare dissipated. It felt so real.
But it never was, and on the 34th they departed for Elmonton.
As they rolled across the countryside, a weight lifted from the blonde, more and more the further they got from Vienda. The nightmares subsided, and she smiled more, and laughed. The yellow bruises on her face had faded by the time they reached the small township about a week later. As they approached the town proper, the galdor pulled the curtain aside to look over the quaint houses and sweeping fields of indigo.
“It’s so…small.” She said softly, almost unable to comprehend any place being so tiny. There were no soaring walls or grandiose tall buildings of brick and stone. There were no factories pumping smoke or churning through children like candy. It was small, and homely, and farmy. Her violet gaze swept across the fenced yard of what could have been a stock farm, gasping and looking back at Rhys with a grin that was almost bubbling with the trace of the young girl that had fallen in love with him so very long ago. She’d stopped the Crop completely, the withdrawals gone from her system, and it showed in her face. She looked healthier, felt healither. The world seemed more vibrant and wonderful, more than it had been in a long long time.
“Rhys look! Cows! There’s cows! Did you have cows? They are so cute, look at them! Like big puppies.” Sitting back in her seat, the petite woman lent over the man to point out of the other side.
“What the clock is that?” She exclaimed, pointing at a hand operated water pump, fascinated by the little things that she just didn’t see in the city. Drawing back, the woman breathed a soft wow as they rattled along, before looking over at Rhys and gently placing her hand on his.
“Are you okay?” She asked quietly, searching his face as they drew ever closer to his family estate. The trip wasn’t just a reason to escape Vienda for a while, it was a return home to confront his father about this ridiculous wick business. Whilst Charity accepted it, had made her peace with it, part her still didn't believe it. Yes, granted, Mister—Miss?—Saunders looked an awful lot like Rhys Valentin, but it felt too unbelievable. Far too unbelievable to be…unbelievable.
“Do you need to stop somewhere first? We could find a place to stay for the rest of the afternoon and evening, and see your home tomorrow if you prefer?” Her fingertips stroked a strand of rouge strawberry blonde hair from his face, and she offered an empathetic smile. The Seventen’s field was laced with his emotions, something that Charity found amazing given the truth of the matter (if it was at all the truth) that Rhys wasn’t a galdor. They’d always had such similar fields, so drenched in the same monic particles, it was impossible to put that together with her prior knowledge of wicks. They were always different, so far beyond proper magic and formal conversation. Yet, Rhys had known nothing else. He had learned and practised right along side the blonde, and they had shared perceptive connections as easily as breathing. The whole thing would be some scientists wet dream to investigate, but that would mean revealing Rhys for what he was, and Charity would die before she told a soul what she knew. For the man’s absolute safety, for his career and his actual life, the secret would live in her breast until her heart beat no more.
“Just tell me what you need Rhys, and I’ll do whatever it is.”
It was a long trip to the farming town that Rhys had been born in, the place he’d lived out the first ten years of his life, but Charity hadn’t noticed. They’d cuddled together in the relative warmth of a small moa drawn carriage, finding comfort either in shared contemplative silence or in gentle discussion, their fields so belike that it felt naturally complete in their little nest. There was a lot to unravel, a lot to unpack and discuss. Since the 32nd of Yaris, Charity had seen nothing of the outside world, locked up in Rhy’s small apart in a welcome and strange sort of reprieve. She had hid in the soft covers of his bed during the times he was at work, afraid of every little sound outside the house, worried it was Damen or his men come to collect her up. When she slept the first night, she woke screaming, scrabbling at hands around her throat that faded as the nightmare dissipated. It felt so real.
But it never was, and on the 34th they departed for Elmonton.
As they rolled across the countryside, a weight lifted from the blonde, more and more the further they got from Vienda. The nightmares subsided, and she smiled more, and laughed. The yellow bruises on her face had faded by the time they reached the small township about a week later. As they approached the town proper, the galdor pulled the curtain aside to look over the quaint houses and sweeping fields of indigo.
“It’s so…small.” She said softly, almost unable to comprehend any place being so tiny. There were no soaring walls or grandiose tall buildings of brick and stone. There were no factories pumping smoke or churning through children like candy. It was small, and homely, and farmy. Her violet gaze swept across the fenced yard of what could have been a stock farm, gasping and looking back at Rhys with a grin that was almost bubbling with the trace of the young girl that had fallen in love with him so very long ago. She’d stopped the Crop completely, the withdrawals gone from her system, and it showed in her face. She looked healthier, felt healither. The world seemed more vibrant and wonderful, more than it had been in a long long time.
“Rhys look! Cows! There’s cows! Did you have cows? They are so cute, look at them! Like big puppies.” Sitting back in her seat, the petite woman lent over the man to point out of the other side.
“What the clock is that?” She exclaimed, pointing at a hand operated water pump, fascinated by the little things that she just didn’t see in the city. Drawing back, the woman breathed a soft wow as they rattled along, before looking over at Rhys and gently placing her hand on his.
“Are you okay?” She asked quietly, searching his face as they drew ever closer to his family estate. The trip wasn’t just a reason to escape Vienda for a while, it was a return home to confront his father about this ridiculous wick business. Whilst Charity accepted it, had made her peace with it, part her still didn't believe it. Yes, granted, Mister—Miss?—Saunders looked an awful lot like Rhys Valentin, but it felt too unbelievable. Far too unbelievable to be…unbelievable.
“Do you need to stop somewhere first? We could find a place to stay for the rest of the afternoon and evening, and see your home tomorrow if you prefer?” Her fingertips stroked a strand of rouge strawberry blonde hair from his face, and she offered an empathetic smile. The Seventen’s field was laced with his emotions, something that Charity found amazing given the truth of the matter (if it was at all the truth) that Rhys wasn’t a galdor. They’d always had such similar fields, so drenched in the same monic particles, it was impossible to put that together with her prior knowledge of wicks. They were always different, so far beyond proper magic and formal conversation. Yet, Rhys had known nothing else. He had learned and practised right along side the blonde, and they had shared perceptive connections as easily as breathing. The whole thing would be some scientists wet dream to investigate, but that would mean revealing Rhys for what he was, and Charity would die before she told a soul what she knew. For the man’s absolute safety, for his career and his actual life, the secret would live in her breast until her heart beat no more.
“Just tell me what you need Rhys, and I’ll do whatever it is.”