www.nachee-ptz.net/~werrylin/hourglass/thanks.jpg
crappy drawing, but I did it for you guys.
Anyone catch the Neverending Story reference last chapter?
Again, apologies about botching up other languages; I'm trying! oh, and if you've e-mailed me and I haven't responded, it's because the last few weeks have been hell (depressed, and I don't even know why!) and then my e-mail's acting up. I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Rheas is pretty OOC in this chapter, and it's my fault. I put him on the MST team for badfics and…he kinda went mad. He could only take so much of Frodo, his hero, being mangled by Mary Sues. Poor thing.
Oh well, enjoy.
No one remembered exactly when it had begun to rain, but the misty droplets had been falling long enough to dampen the soil. His vision limited, Cameron could barely distinguish the still form of his brother from the foliage at all. Gazing down the steep slope, the only thing that had led his eyes had been the crushed ferns and freshly turned up mud where Rheas had rolled.
Getting down the slope had not been easy. The mud was slick and he felt somewhat dizzy from blood loss. He nearly went rolling down through the mud himself.
"Rheas!" he called, nearly losing his footing. He took hold of a sword fern to steady himself, feeling it burn his hand as it slid down the stalk. For some reason, an old memory of Rheas explaining to him the usefulness of sword ferns in neutralizing the sting of poison oak surfaced. He had also once used ferns in mock sword fights with Kate, but those had been lady ferns...
His foot unexpectedly slipped out from under him, throwing him onto his back and sliding him through the mud. He rolled forward once and nearly landed right onto Rheas. Wiping a splotch of mud out of his eye, he sat up and immediately scooted away from the edge that would have dumped him into the river below.
"Rheas," he repeated, reaching out his hand and taking his brother by the shoulder, turning him gently. There was no response, Rheas was as still and limp as a rag in his hands. The world was only himself and his brother, and it was moving in slow motion as Cameron could only count the seconds between each of Rheas' labored breaths. Only the bright red stain on Rheas' shirt, steadily growing larger, snapped him out of this strange psyche. Cursing, he placed his large hands over the bloody rakes and the red mass on his chest, attempting to stem the bleeding.
"C'mon runt, wake up, say something!" Cameron pleaded, unable to figure out how he was going to get Rheas back up the slope without causing further damage. He was not all that sure how he would get himself up again at this point. He could work his way around, crab crawling around the slope back to the trail, but that still left open how he was going to carry Rheas. Turning, he looked up the muddy trail he had left and saw Sam slowly sliding down. Good, he could not figure this out alone; he had never worked that way.
Desperate, he glanced around, searching for anything that would suffice as a temporary bandage. Upon seeing nothing of use, he eyed Rheas' shirt. It was one of the boy's favorites, but there was no saving it now, it was barely held together by little more than the collar at this point. He hesitated, and then tore the shirt completely.
"Come on, damnit," he hissed as he wrapped the ratty remains of the tee shirt around his brother's thin torso, "Mom'll kill me if something happens to you. You're her fucking baby!"
Sam practically slid into him, and Cameron noted that the three of them would not fit without falling down below, with Rheas stretched out as he was.
"I'll take care of Rheas," Sam stated, pulling off his jacket and placing it over the wound as blood soaked through the tee shirt, "you'd better take care of yourself before you pass out."
Cameron was about to argue, but he felt his mind starting to work slower than usual and could come up with nothing to say. He consented, deciding he was of no use to Rheas unconscious. Pulling off his shirt, he attempted to wrap it around his own wound.
"Here," Sam pushed Cameron's hands down onto the jacket and proceeded to wrap it himself. "It seems," he said softly, unwillingly, "your brother was right."
It was not something he would readily admit again.
Cameron sighed, pain rippling through his chest. He reached forward and brushed a lock of damp hair out of Rheas' face. "I wish he wasn't. I wish he never was."
"Damn, you're good!"
"I've been playing since I was old enough to hold a controller! Even my sister could not rival me!"
"I'm still going to win! Chun Li always wins!"
"In the end she's nothing but a little girl in tights!"
"She's wearing tights?"
"Unless she tans only her legs for fun."
"Well...Aha! Your skill is good, but your technique is poor!"
"Poor!? You are speaking to the four-time champion of the unofficial Sega-thon!"
"And I am happy to have a worthy opponent. But in the end...There can only be one!"
"No Highlander rips!"
The two boys, sitting on the floor in front of the television, pounded upon their hand-held controllers, twisting and writhing about as though it would increase the performance of their players. Elithantos had won the first round of gaming, but was then beaten by Rheas in the second match. Rheas felt it had almost been a sacrifice for a greater goal. In not playing to his full ability in the first round, he observed Elithantos' tactics, and threw them back at the Elf the second round. Now in the third, he was confident he had the blonde pinned. But apparently, Elithantos felt the same way. Now neither could gain the upper hand, and it seemed as though the match would end with them both knocking each other out.
"Gaming is just like anything," grunted Eli, swinging his arms about over his head as his character leapt across the screen, "it requires dedication...intelligence...the study of your character until you have his moves memorized, practicing his moves until you can......play smoothly without thinking...aw, damn...and of course, concentration, keeping yourself...focussed...and...aha!" Elithantos threw down his controller in victory. Rheas practically fell over in shock with his character. How did he lose?
"I lost..."
"You see?" the Elf smiled, wiping the sweat off his forehead. Rheas turned and regarded him with respect.
"I could learn from you," he stated quietly. Elithantos basked in his newly gained admiration. Lying back on his elbows, he dropped his head back and gazed at his cousin, lying prone on the couch, a magazine over his face.
"You hear that, Uni? He could learn from me."
Unithalus muttered something in response into the pages. If it was German, it sounded quite like dirty German to Rheas.
"He's in one of his moods," Elithantos whispered to Rheas, who could see that with his own eyes.
"When's dinner?" the Drow finally grumbled, lifting a few pages of the magazine to match eyes with his cousin.
"Hours away." Switching off the old game system, Elithantos pulled free the cable to the television and replaced it with the antennae. "You wanna play?" he inquired his cousin, suddenly realizing.
"Meh," was the response as the magazine covered Unithalus' face once again. Elithantos shrugged and switched on the television. He and Rheas then scoot backwards until they slumped against the couch, Unithalus jerking his hand out of the way with a snarl. Unceremoniously removing the remote out from under the Drow, Elithantos began flipping through channels, muttering under his breath until a flash of color and clearly defined characters caught his attention.
"Hey! Cartoons!"
"Japanimation," Rheas corrected, spotting an abandoned pillow beside the couch and quickly using it to make his position on the floor more comfortable. "I've heard about this one, I think. It's supposed to be very good."
"What is?" Hanathel inquired, wandering into the room. Rheas wondered if her timing was always so perfect.
"Lodoss War, it was written after roleplaying, I believe."
Hanathel tossed the bundle of letters she had been carrying onto the poker table absently and practically seemed to glide over to them. "Oh? I'll join you then. Scoot over would you, Uni?" she said, lifting him by the shoulders and settling herself down onto one of the cushions. Unithalus pulled away and turned in his seat, not looking a bit pleased about being moved, though he did not protest. Within minutes, all four of them were engrossed in the show, though their silence was always cut short by random comments and snide remarks.
"You know," Uni murmured, "You'd think Parn would be a much more effective fighter if he didn't have that Elf hanging off him all the time..."
"He's fighting a dragon, for Chaos' sake," Elithantos replied with a smirk, "I don't think poking it in the foot with a sword is bothering it too much."
"'Tis a flesh wound'," Hanathel commented with a British accent.
Rheas shifted in his seat slightly, then added randomly, "I like Slayn, myself." Next thing he knew Enithantos had his arms around his shoulders possessively, pleading:
"Can we keep him Hana? Can we?"
"Let go!" Rheas cried, startled. He did not pull away however, and instead found himself gazing at Hanathel as well, waiting for her response. He wasn't all that sure what he wanted to hear. She regarded him a moment, a long, silent moment, and then shrugged, turning her attention back to the television.
"It's up to him."
"A'right!" the blonde Elf practically cried, mussing Rheas' hair and then releasing him. The thirteen-year-old sat there, dumbfounded. Did he hear right? These people -Elves, whatever they were- would let him stay here if he wanted? It was the perfect solution to his current problem, was it not? He could help in the shop to earn his stay, of course, maybe even get a small job to save up some money. When he had saved up enough, he would go on his way. Elithantos was obviously pleased with the idea, Hanathel would let him come and go as he pleased, and Unithalus...did that damn Drow just wink at him? An overwhelmingly perfect solution. All he had to do was ask.
He'd have to think about it.
The four remained there for nearly two hours, even long after the television had been turned off. Lounging on the couch and pillows, they talked about insignificant subjects and views, Unithalus conveniently pulling snack foods from some unknown void.
"You know what, boxes of goldfish crackers never taste the same," he piped out of no where when the last conversation died, eyeing a cracker. "I mean, one box will be like, really light and soft, and then the next box with be kinda flat but strong on taste. And then some boxes, the little fishies are just right, good texture and the right amount of salt. And then, out of nowhere, you'll get this one fish just covered in salt so you'll go 'pleh!' and spit it out, you know?"
"Uni," Elithantos sighed, "you're a freak." And that, aside from an obscene gesture from Unithalis, was the end of that conversation. The four once again sat in silence with their own thoughts, inviting someone to start a new subject. It was about three minutes before Rheas finally spoke up.
"Ever notice that Gandalf never really used too much magic? For being a lesser god, I mean."
"Yeah, so?" Unithalus yawned.
"Well, If I were a wizard, I'd do great things, just like..." he trailed off when he noticed, quite uncomfortably, that the three cousins were all watching him, wide-eyed like hungry predators.
"Like what?" Hanathel inquired as the three of them leaned towards him expectantly.
"I...you know, just...great things. Deeds that would make people remember you. I...I don't know, I'm not a wizard."
The three fell back with heavy, disappointed groans.
Alone for the first time, Rheas contented himself by exploring the Elves apartment fully. He had always had the reputation of being nosy, though he thought of it more as an educational experience. Besides, it would be an odd triumph to find some piece of information to disprove these three's claim of being Elven for, though a part of him wanted to believe them more than anything, such a thing was inconceivable. However, he'd keep it to himself as they had not been insistent or forceful on this belief like some he'd known. Somehow, he'd always felt that the more laid back and self-confident someone was on their views, the more likely they were to be true.
The Elves would not bother him. Elithantos was downstairs digging through the storage closet -apparently a dangerous thing by the farewells and good lucks he had received from his cousins. Hanathel had heard some new song on the radio and had gone out to find the CD, claiming she would not be back for some hours. And Unithalus had shut himself up in his study and was not to be disturbed until dinner. Rheas had free reign.
And so far his search had turned up nothing, granted he had just finished scouting the kitchenette and hadn't planned on finding much there anyway. He moved to the living room, hoping for something more promising. He had pondered starting with their individual rooms and studies, but logic and grace closed this option. Getting caught snooping through their rooms was a surefire way to get thrown back onto the street, and he was not ready for that. Aside from that, it was bad taste to do so when he still owed them, if not degrading. He was not that low.
Unfortunately, there just was not much to find. Though the apartment was well furnished, it was nothing that one could not find elsewhere. Though apparently these three had a love for potted plants and wind chimes, considering the ridiculous amount he continued to find. He finally moved over to the bookshelves against the wall; these were his best bet.
Like in the shop below, the books on the shelves were all considerably old and smelled musty. Rheas smiled as he flipped through the yellowed pages of a hand bound tome, he never tired of that peculiar scent. Aside from the heavy books, many of which were written in foreign languages, were various glass bottles holding strange treasures and a few statuettes of deities, some he recognized, some he did not.
A flash of glass from the top shelf caught his eye. He reached up and removed what he thought was another bottle of interesting spice. It turned out to be a photo in a picture frame. Sliding into one of the chairs at the poker table behind him, Rheas found himself staring at the photograph that seemed to tell all.
It was old, black and white and severely yellowed. There was a crease diagonally across one of the corners. A young man and woman stood before what appeared to be a navy ship, how much of one someone could fit into a photo, anyway. The young man wore a white naval uniform, blonde hair cropped short and his long ears tucked into his hat. The woman wore a plaid dress under a cardigan jacket, her dark hair curled at the ends in the style of the era. But their faces were the same. Elithantos and Hanathel. Unithalus was absent.
Apparently not forgotten, however. Wedged into the corner of the frame over the navy photograph was a cutout of the Drow from at least a decade later, two, judging by the rag-tag clothing. Rheas turned the frame over in his hands and popped off the back, gently removing the photograph inside.
It was genuine, that was for sure, not some retouch done on the computer. There were no flaws that he could see that would betray it as such and the paper itself was not something one could shove through a printer. On the back of the navy photo was a quick note in pen, the style was obviously that of a woman's:
Eli and I, August, 1943.
"Proof enough for you, Mein Freund?"
Rheas looked up sharply, startled, to find Unithalus perched upon the delicate staircase. He had changed his attire again, wearing nothing more than a pair of blue sweatpants and a white tee shirt, making his obsidian skin seem all the darker. He appeared to be casually picking his teeth with a toothpick.
"You must admit," the boy replied, calming himself, "it is a bit hard to swallow."
Unithalus sighed heavily and flicked away the toothpick. "That's exactly what I said." Rheas did not miss the tone of regret in his voice. "Under normal circumstances I honestly wouldn't give a flying fuck as to whether you thought we were Elven or not. In fact, I would prefer you don't think it at all. But for now it's in my interest that you believe us, you know?"
"And what is your interest?"
"That is none of your concern."
"It is if it involves me."
"I'll tell you what, when it becomes important, I'll let you know," Unithalus snorted and then said no more on the matter.
Rheas turned from him and began to place the photographs back into the frame. It was another mystery he'd have to ponder tonight. Descending the stairs, Unithalus swiftly moved beside him.
"Wait," he instructed and extended his hand for the photograph. Rheas gave it to him carefully, as though fearing the picture would crumble.
"Eli told me you were in Germany at that time," the boy mentioned as the Drow regarded the photograph.
"Depends. What year is this? Forty-three? I was in Poland by then, actually, but close enough."
"Why Poland?"
"Because that's where they put me, genius!" Unithalus snarled, red eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Delicate subject, is it?"
"Very."
"Then I'll say no more."
"Thank you."
Lifting the cutout from the frame, Rheas held it out to the Drow. "What about this one? There's no date."
"Sixty-nine. That's me at Woodstock, I believe."
"You were at Woodstock?" Rheas inquired in both doubt and awe.
"Oh yeah," Unithalus smirked, "Eli, Hana, and I had to climb the fence to get in. 'Course it wasn't soon after that they gave up and announced it a free concert."
"Lucky bastard."
"Yeah well, I was so loaded half the time I don't remember much. Ask Eli about it, it was like...his Golden Moment or some shit like that. Better yet, just ask Hana for the photo albums, that'll keep you busy for hours on end."
Rheas only nodded as he placed the photographs back into the frame. "A part of me is still saying this is all bullshit."
"That's nice. Well......I suddenly can't remember why I came down here..." He thought a minute, glancing around the room as if it held the answer somewhere. His eyes fell upon one of the jars on the shelf and he snapped his fingers in remembrance. "Ink! I'm outta ink..."
Reaching up, he took a bottle in each hand and pulled them down. Ink bottles in hand, his eyes suddenly fell back to Rheas, an odd glint in their blood-red depths.
He thrust the bottles almost right into Rheas' face, asking, "Which do you think? Black or red?"
Rheas stared at the Drow incredulously, then the inkbottles. "Why does it matter?"
"It matters to me, now pick!"
"What, for writing? Black then, always black."
Unithalus grinned so broadly Rheas could have sworn his face was going to crack. Triumphantly, he placed the red ink back on the shelf and, quite literally, skipped away and up the stairs, singing some joyous ditty to himself.
The hairs on the back of Rheas' neck stood straight up. He had the feeling he had just done something terribly wrong.
And yet, ominously familiar.
Hanathel sat on the kitchenette counter reading while Rheas busied himself with boiling the spaghetti. She flipped through the book, an old hardcover copy of Please Don't Eat the Daisies, occasionally sniggering to herself.
"Any good?" Rheas inquired over his shoulder as he broke the dry noodles in half.
"Quite," she said, closing the book with a smile. Setting it aside, she regarded the young teen a moment as he paused to chew on a few dry noodles. Noticing her, he offered her a few, which she declined with a wave of her hand.
"A question, if I may," she began.
"Shoot."
"Why did you run?"
The question caught him off guard and he faced her, his eyes glittering and metallic. She returned in kind and their eyes locked, question forgotten. He found her eyes to be astounding and strangely pleasant. Her eyes were open, almost exposing her mind, unlike his own hidden away behind mirrors and walls. And yet, oddly enough, the results were the same. The knowledge and thoughts within her green eyes were so broad, so deep and endless, that nothing could be individually distinguished. He could not read her anymore than she could him, for different reasons. It was frustrating, yes, but uniquely exciting as well.
Rheas finally spoke, mercifully shattering the silence and releasing them both. "I don't really know. I just...wasn't happy."
"So you had been planning this for a while then?"
"Perhaps." He turned away, tearing open another packet of noodles and dumping them into the pot without breaking them. "Forgive my being rude, Hana, but my reasons were my own. I'm sure you and your cousins would say the same had I asked."
"Understandable. Very well, I'll not pry."
"I do have a question, though."
"And that is?"
"Uni mentioned something about photo albums. I was wondering if you'd permit me to browse through them after dinner?"
"Certainly, if you don't mind my ceaseless chatter, that is."
"Not at all," he said softly, managing a slight smile. Watching the noodles soften within the churning water, Rheas tried to let his mind wander, but he couldn't; Hanathel was still watching him. He shifted his gaze back to her and lifted one eyebrow inquiringly. "Yes?"
"Nothing," she laughed, "you're just cute when you brood like that."
"Hana, there are lines strangers should not cross, especially with me, and I'm afraid you're treading upon it!" he hissed, his cheeks flushed.
"I only speak in jest. But you are correct, my apologies. So, let us fix this problem, and become better acquainted. Does that suit you?"
"That's fine by me."
"Good. I understand you don't trust me, as I admit I could do no such thing if the situation was reverse and I was in your home, so I'll let you ask the questions. Though, if I may, I have a request."
"I'm listening."
"Could we please drop the formalities? I feel like I'm back in my corset and tea-time days!"
It was Rheas' turn to laugh. It wasn't his normal mocking laugh, but neither was it a kind one. He stifled it, though his eyes gleamed, and stirred the noodles randomly.
"I suppose your right. It's a sore thing to be talking to you and yet have these sudden flashbacks of violin lessons. Kinda creepy, actually."
"You took violin?"
"And forgot every lesson. Blame my sister for that one! But I'll ask the questions now."
"Fire away."
"Alright then, let's say I believe this whole 'Elven thing'," he began, spooning out a noodle and slurping it up.
"Fair enough. Soft yet?"
"No," he sighed, chewing, "What kind of Elf are you? High Elf?"
"You could say that, I suppose..." she mused.
"Dare I step outside reality and ask, Sindarin?"
Hanathel laughed and scoot back, swinging her feet slightly in amusement. "Close, my boy, but this is no Middle Earth."
"That's what I thought. Can't blame me for trying."
"No, it was a good guess. Well...how about this: the day you tell me what I am, I'll give you something."
"As long as that 'something' isn't a knife in the back."
"Of course not! What could I gain by that?"
"I don't know. It's my neighbor's logic."
Hanathel's thin brows drew together in puzzlement and the corner of her mouth turned upward in a slight smirk. "Dare I ask?"
Rolling his eyes at the memory, Rheas tapped the wooden spoon against the pot and set it aside, facing the female Elf. "My neighbor's crazy. I don't know what he thought I was doing, but he decided somehow that I was some evil incarnate or something and started chasing me around the backyard with a steak knife."
Hanathel's eyes widened and she smirked. "Better off not asking, huh?"
The teen shrugged. "He curses at me every time I take out the garbage. Cameron too, for that matter."
"Who's that?"
"My brother."
She leaned back and nodded, satisfied. "Anything else?"
"Just a few short questions."
"I'm pointy-ears."
"Cute. Favorite food?"
"Italian."
"Black or white?"
"Neither."
"Grey, then?"
"Never!"
"Celtic or Arabic?"
"What? Depends."
"For dancing."
"Celtic."
"Last one. Eli or Uni?"
Rheas smiled inwardly as she nearly choked on the answer in her throat. Through his life, Rheas had discovered that the best way to learn about another was not their answers or even their voice, but through their body language and reactions. It was almost like a mental game, and a most amusing one at that. Every smile, every blink, even a tilt of the head could betray secrets better than any words, and he had learned to read these. Especially women, who naturally used more facial emotion than their male counterparts, but Hanathel was good. Her cool demeanor had set him off. A smile, whether kind or cunning, was still as cloaked as another and as unreadable as spoken binary.
He would not stand for that. Savior or no, this woman would not get the better of him, and he took explicit pleasure in the crumbling of her mask. Confused, determined...desperate? He could read them all, and he was satisfied. But he was no fool, and neither was she. He knew that she had already punctured his façade long ago. It was best they remained on equal terms, was it not?
"I...can't answer that. If anything, it changes daily. I take both or neither, we never travel as just a duo." she answered calmly, the shock of the question having worn off. She nearly smiled, but held it to herself. He had caught her that time, and things would only get interesting from then on. She had not played a good game of Cat and Mouse in some time. But while he was a good player, she certainly was not about to give up her position as the Cat. "Clever fox..." she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. He answered with a twisted smile that only enhanced the name.
Yawning, Hanathel hopped off the counter and stretched. "Ready yet?"
She started when Rheas snatched a noodle and suddenly tossed it up to the ceiling where it stuck fast.
"They are now. Here, help me with the strainer, I can't hold both," Rheas grunted, hefting up the heavy pot and moving toward the sink. Hanathel took up the plastic strainer and held it steady while Rheas poured the water-heavy spaghetti into it. Thick steam billowed out from the sink as the hot water fled down the drain, nearly scalding both of them.
"I'd better go rescue Eli," Hanathel sighed after helping Rheas dump the spaghetti back into the empty pot, "If I'm not back soon, could you fetch Uni for me?"
"Certainly."
"Grazie." She was halfway to the stair when she turned and called, "Only knock twice! If you knock more than that he'll think it's urgent and then hit you or something."
"Got it."
"Good. I'll be right back."
"'I'll be right back,'" Rheas mimicked under his breath as he marched up the thin stairs to the third level. The spaghetti was ready and waiting, and Rheas had even set the table to take up more time. He had realized then he was stalling and berated himself for his foolishness. There was no reason he could not interrupt Unithalus from whatever work he was busy with. So long as he remembered to knock twice.
Each of the Elves had their own bedroom as well as a separate study. The bedroom doors all stood open, allowing him to peer into them as he passed. They were somewhat plain, except Elithantos', that had its three walls covered with movie posters, and very similar. A bed, a dresser, a nightstand, most likely a potted plant, they were like his own.
The doors to the studies, however, were shut tight. Whatever they held within, the Elves considered important, for he had the feeling they were shut not just for him, but for each other. Such secrets he could uncover if he opened one of them!
Rheas had nearly reached the end of the hallway where his room was located. He paused and studied the shut doors around him. The only way he could tell which belonged to Unithalus was the muffled music coming from the lone door on his left. He tapped his knuckles on the wood twice, softly, and then waited.
"Herein," came the monotone, almost exhausted, reply. Rheas opened the door slowly and crept in.
The music had been muffled before, but now it projected loudly across the room, the sound quality marginally less than Rheas was accustomed to. He saw why the moment he located the source. An old Victor phonograph sat upon a desk at the far end of the room, Django Reinhardt pouring from its black horn.
The rest of the study was just as impressive and Rheas found his senses overwhelmed. The room had four whole walls, instead of an enormous window like the others, and was lit by a few antiquated lamps. Shelves lined the walls, cluttered with jars and bottles filled with colored liquid and dead animals, staring out of the glass helplessly. Papers and scrolls were strewed about on the floor and the great ebony desk that the Drow sat at. The whole room was heavy with the scent of must, ink, wood, and some odd bittersweet smell Rheas could not name, though found familiar. Odd trinkets, books, and crystals littered the room so that the stack of records piled next to the phonograph seemed strongly out of place. It was the most wonderful place Rheas had ever been in.
"Sweet Mary..." he whispered, turning in place and storing away every little detail of the room into memory. Without even noticing, he had wandered across the small study and now stood in the thick of the clutter. The sudden urge to reach out and touch everything, to study them completely, flared up in his so strongly he almost relented. He bit his tongue, the pain sending shoots of rationality into his brain, quelling his excitement. He regarded the Victor instead.
"'Harlem Swing'?" he inquired, not facing Unithalus.
"Yes. You know it?" came the Drow's muffled reply. Rheas assumed he hadn't even lifted his head from the paper he was writing upon.
"Yeah, my father's into this old jazz stuff." Slumping his shoulders into his usual stooped position, Rheas shifted his feet until he stood facing the Dark Elf. So intent upon studying what appeared to be a large lizard's skeleton upon one of the shelves was he that he nearly jumped when Unithalus' voice broke into the music.
"Well, what do you want?" he snapped impatiently, glaring at Rheas over his shoulder.
"Dinner's ready," Rheas stated, glaring right back, "It has been what you've been waiting for, hasn't it?"
Unithalus sighed, shifting in his seat, and said, "It has, I suppose."
Rheas was almost taken aback at how different the Drow looked all the sudden. The smooth and streetwise visage was gone, replaced by a solemn and knowledgeable, almost regal, air about him. But the predatory gleam remained in his red eyes. Here, he was in his element; he needed no masks.
Setting his quill aside, Unithalus stood and moved toward Rheas, who involuntarily stepped aside before realizing what he was doing.
"She's a beauty," the boy commented, referring to the Victor. Eerily, Unithalus only smiled.
"That she is," he mused, running a finger over a gold trimming on the horn, "I had a Victrola, far newer than this, oak, real pretty, but I...misplaced it sometime during the war. Eli got this for me afterward, something like a 'welcome home' gift, and Hana replaced my records."
"That was generous of them."
"Yes, poor saps." Unithalus shrugged and, ignoring Rheas, began to gently remove the record from the old phonograph. Etiquette commanded Rheas to leave at this point, as he had delivered his message, but he had never been one to take orders and found himself waiting instead, his ember eyes roaming about the room once again. He noticed a photograph in a small wooden frame he had not seen before upon the desk. Without realizing, he had moved to it and held it in his deft fingers.
Another old one, black and white, and it had obviously seen better days, as creased and wrinkled as it was. In it, Unithalus and a companion sat at a small table, sharing a bottle of wine. His companion was a woman, fair-haired and smiling brilliantly. Rheas could not tell for sure with all the terrible creases, but he swore he could make out her hand over the Drow's. An interesting photograph. Unithalus turned and finally acknowledged Rheas, eyes wide.
"She's pretty," Rheas began softly. He was cut off when Unithalus snatched the frame out of his hands and threw it across the room. Rheas couldn't help but wince when he heard the glass shatter against the wall. An interesting, and very personal, photograph indeed.
"Get out!" the Dark Elf snarled, "I'll be down in a minute!"
The bewildered thirteen-year-old backed up a few steps, but suddenly found himself incapable of turning around, of leaving. Unithalus' eyes flared.
"Raus!" he shrieked, thrusting out his hand towards the door.
That did it. Rheas turned and strode out of the study as fast as he could, taking much of his effort not to run, not to show how frightened he had suddenly become.
That in itself is odd, he thought, hurrying down the steps, why am I afraid? What is it about him, about all of them? It was the knowledge in their eyes, their power.
Or was it familiarity?
Again, I had to cut the chapter short. I'm going to be unable to write on this at all for two weeks so I found a good stopping point and cut it there. Beh, this chapter was hell. I spent muchos time flipping through our encyclopedias (from the early sixties, so after a certain point, they're kinda useless, harhar), library books, and dinking around on the internet looking up crap. Most of which is for Unithalus' history alone, even though we hardly mention it, but hey, if I don't know the character, how are you gonna? And on to reviews…
SilentJealousy: Same to you, my dear (bows)
Bria: Hey! I haven't seen you in…forever, have I? I'll have to fix that sometime. Hey, I'd love to see your comic when it comes out, if that's okay?
AngelSilverwolf: Yeah, I'm still a newbie in the DL section myself, har. But no, Imare' is not Paladine. Sorry it took so long ^-^;
Loriko Neko: Sigh, how I wish I could.
Pen D. Fox: Rheas appreciates your sentiments but asks you to stop beating his mother ^-^; he loves her very much, comparing. There is a legitimate reason Rheas is in such crappy shape that I will mention later. Um, if you want the truth, this pretty much is my life. I'm planning this damn thing almost 24/7. Sad, huh?
Amberose: Aw, thankee! Uni is a fun character, but an obnoxious one in which the term "bugger off!" is not in his phrasebook.
TheOpalStar: Thanks!
RaistlinofMetallica: I'll wait patiently.
Chickens: Well, Rheas is kinda crazy.
Reshia: No, he's none of those. You could? That's weird…
Death Lily: No I did not. We don't get MTV and it kinda perturbs me anyway. Why, what happened?
WEIRDkittyw/wings: Very big significance, very important people.
Jaded Demoness: When I'm done with him, I'm sure, but that may be awhile, heh.
Nathan-Daystorm: Nope, he's none of those. I must be driving you all mad with that one, huh?
Kurai Tenshi: Thank you! But I never get writers' block as often as just the fact that my muse runs away.
Tess Oakley: Again, if only I could. Keep writin' yours, kay?
Dark Phoenix: Did this chapter help? I just assume Rheas is humoring them.
IceBlade740: I don't see why not, though Rheas is demanding to know what for. (he's a little cautious, but can ya blame 'im?) I warn you though, he has a habit to start talking at about 3 in the morning until 5, and if you don't listen he switches into IMS mode and is a pain to deal with. Be warned. No, Imare' is none of those. Heh, you can't kidnap Rheas, he's armed with an abuse button that sends him right back to the Office if he feels the need! Mwahaha!
Pmacca01: Sounds interesting, I'll have to rent that sometime.
Asteria: Good reasoning, but that's not it, and Imare's not Majere.
Not-Signed-In: "Black and White" is gone? Damn! That was a good fic! No, I don't have stories on DL.com, only crappy art.
Must-Update: I hope not. I was. See Insert Plot Here. I think I was one of the few who didn't die. I was depressed. No. No. I just left it. Definitely not! No. No. No. No. No, I ate it. I've worked too hard to drop it now! I am not your son. Will you? By the way, your caps hurt my ears.
DragonGoddess: Thank you!
Kandra: That they are ^-^
NikitaBlade: I…just did…
Bloody hell, that's a long note. Right, I'll cut this short and just say I'll get the next bit out as quick as I can. But I've got older fics to update, newer ones too, so I don't know when that will be. If anyone needs me I'll be in my office.
Rheas: Ph34r m4 5upr3m3 33\/!1n355!