The apartment where Liam and Cyrene Theisen now lived was a perfect fit for them. The furniture was mismatched, the beds were merely cots, and neither the air conditioner nor the heater worked, but the plumbing, stove, fridge and microwave worked perfectly, and there was a great view of the city, that was enough for them. Now it was all theirs, as their boxes of packed things announced.
The first thing they had done was install shelves and a bookcase to show off their collection. Liam's portion of the shelves supported an arrowhead, a piece of the Berlin wall, a piece of the Lost Towers (A/N: It's their term for the Twin Towers) , a working 15th century crossbow, and various volumes of ancient, leather bound texts of any and every topic from Grecian political history, to the Gettysburg Address and beyond.
Cyrene's half was a mixture of time: a small clay elephant shared a shelf with a statuette of Anubis, and a lizard carved out a tree branch that melded back into it's medium. Beside these was a coyote, similar to the one in her dream, sitting beside a small cacti with a pile of skulls between it's legs, all carved from a piece of some animals bone. Pottery from Cahokia sat beside a Gothic Gargoyle, a geode, a large amethyst, and several other rocks collected for no real reason. Another shelf held a small collection of barbed wire from the old West and a collection of small pewter dragons. Her book collection consisted of a first edition volume of Poe's works, Sherlock Holmes stories, a few books by Stephen King and H.P. Lovecraft and the complete collection of the Harry Potter series.
It was this empty but cluttered space that Cyrene woke into that morning. She rolled out of her cot, slipped quickly into a pair of faded jeans, an oversized green t-shirt, and secondhand sneakers. Her haunted brown eyes looked herself over in the mirror as she restrained wild roan-colored hair in a ponytail without bothering to brush it and set off for breakfast.
Her plate was currently filled with what would have been an omelette of eggs, cheese, sausage and hash browns, if Liam knew how to cooked that. Instead it was a blackened mess that she tried to salvage with ketchup. The tall man with a face as weather-beaten as Cyrene's sat down opposite her and poked at his half of the creation with a sour face.
"I have got to look into microwave dinners." He growled, in his Texan drawl. He glanced up when Cyrene didn't respond. "What's th' matter honey?" She told him quickly of her own dream. He nodded slowly. "Any clues than?"
"No Boss, not a one." Cyrene's own accent was a mixture of Southern Californian, Rhode Island, a bit of his own Texan and some New York she inherited from her grandmother. Boss was the closest she could come to Dad. She stabbed at her breakfast before dropping her fork in defeat. "Sorry, I gotta get going, dun wanna be late fer work 'gain ya know?" Liam nodded and watched as she quickly washed off the remains of her meal, grabbed her well-worn canvas bag with it's bundle of raven and crow feathers dangling from one clasp. A thought hit him as she reached the front door.
"Wait." He called. He ran a hand through his short light brown hair as he looked around the room. He grabbed the napkin before him, searched the pockets of his desert fatigues and came up with a Pen. He scribbled something on the napkin "Do you mind getting some of these from the library when you go?" Cyrene clanged at the list.
"Ya. No problem."
"Thanks. Good luck."
"See ya." The door almost slammed as she left.
Liam tilted back in his chair and turned his gaze on the bone carving on the shelf across from him in the main room. He had always known Cyrene was different, had seen it in that determined face of hers when they first met over ten years ago. She had been his daughter for almost five of her 18 years, and since then he had become positive of her being something special. A ghost of a smile crossed his stubbled face; she had changed a lot from the ragged street rat he used to tell stories and sneak money to back in Pawtuxet. And now this dream...he knew what it meant, though he couldn't tell her. A father's pride welled up in him and made his grey eyes sparkle. To have one of them in the family (or was it another one of them? He was never sure)... it was still possible for her to be one...he had gotten her out just in time. He stood up to clean up his own plate, and spoke to whatever Being was listening. "You'll do well ta choose her, ya know. Never a better choice in years."
The first thing they had done was install shelves and a bookcase to show off their collection. Liam's portion of the shelves supported an arrowhead, a piece of the Berlin wall, a piece of the Lost Towers (A/N: It's their term for the Twin Towers) , a working 15th century crossbow, and various volumes of ancient, leather bound texts of any and every topic from Grecian political history, to the Gettysburg Address and beyond.
Cyrene's half was a mixture of time: a small clay elephant shared a shelf with a statuette of Anubis, and a lizard carved out a tree branch that melded back into it's medium. Beside these was a coyote, similar to the one in her dream, sitting beside a small cacti with a pile of skulls between it's legs, all carved from a piece of some animals bone. Pottery from Cahokia sat beside a Gothic Gargoyle, a geode, a large amethyst, and several other rocks collected for no real reason. Another shelf held a small collection of barbed wire from the old West and a collection of small pewter dragons. Her book collection consisted of a first edition volume of Poe's works, Sherlock Holmes stories, a few books by Stephen King and H.P. Lovecraft and the complete collection of the Harry Potter series.
It was this empty but cluttered space that Cyrene woke into that morning. She rolled out of her cot, slipped quickly into a pair of faded jeans, an oversized green t-shirt, and secondhand sneakers. Her haunted brown eyes looked herself over in the mirror as she restrained wild roan-colored hair in a ponytail without bothering to brush it and set off for breakfast.
Her plate was currently filled with what would have been an omelette of eggs, cheese, sausage and hash browns, if Liam knew how to cooked that. Instead it was a blackened mess that she tried to salvage with ketchup. The tall man with a face as weather-beaten as Cyrene's sat down opposite her and poked at his half of the creation with a sour face.
"I have got to look into microwave dinners." He growled, in his Texan drawl. He glanced up when Cyrene didn't respond. "What's th' matter honey?" She told him quickly of her own dream. He nodded slowly. "Any clues than?"
"No Boss, not a one." Cyrene's own accent was a mixture of Southern Californian, Rhode Island, a bit of his own Texan and some New York she inherited from her grandmother. Boss was the closest she could come to Dad. She stabbed at her breakfast before dropping her fork in defeat. "Sorry, I gotta get going, dun wanna be late fer work 'gain ya know?" Liam nodded and watched as she quickly washed off the remains of her meal, grabbed her well-worn canvas bag with it's bundle of raven and crow feathers dangling from one clasp. A thought hit him as she reached the front door.
"Wait." He called. He ran a hand through his short light brown hair as he looked around the room. He grabbed the napkin before him, searched the pockets of his desert fatigues and came up with a Pen. He scribbled something on the napkin "Do you mind getting some of these from the library when you go?" Cyrene clanged at the list.
"Ya. No problem."
"Thanks. Good luck."
"See ya." The door almost slammed as she left.
Liam tilted back in his chair and turned his gaze on the bone carving on the shelf across from him in the main room. He had always known Cyrene was different, had seen it in that determined face of hers when they first met over ten years ago. She had been his daughter for almost five of her 18 years, and since then he had become positive of her being something special. A ghost of a smile crossed his stubbled face; she had changed a lot from the ragged street rat he used to tell stories and sneak money to back in Pawtuxet. And now this dream...he knew what it meant, though he couldn't tell her. A father's pride welled up in him and made his grey eyes sparkle. To have one of them in the family (or was it another one of them? He was never sure)... it was still possible for her to be one...he had gotten her out just in time. He stood up to clean up his own plate, and spoke to whatever Being was listening. "You'll do well ta choose her, ya know. Never a better choice in years."