-Back again!
Christopher's ruby eyes slowly opened, her lashes parting and the color rushing back to her face. Her limbs were heavy, as though lead weights had been tied to them, and the act of breathing itself was exhausting. She could see movement out of the corner of her eye, but guessed it was Eamon, and she was right. He was soon standing over her; a look of relief stole across his face for an instant, to be replaced swiftly by annoyance.
"Took you long enough to wake up," he muttered, and quickly walked out, a blush rising on his cheeks. She tried to respond, but all that came out was a slight rasping noise, her breath just barely escaping from her cracked lips.
It had been a long time since she had felt like this, and she cursed herself for using so much energy. She weakly attempted to sit up, her arms shaking from the strain. By the time she was finished sitting up, she was gasping for breath, and as her lungs struggled to provide her with oxygen, pain raced across her ribs.
The only noise in the plain room was the sound of her breath rasping out from between cracked and bleeding lips. It took her even longer for her to throw her thin legs over the side of the bed and stand, or at least attempted to stand. As soon as her thin frame was upright, her legs began to shake from the strain, her knees shaking violently, threatening to let her fall to the tile floor.
She rested a weak hand on her bed, steadying herself before she even tried to look in the mirror. Her hair was fuzzy from sleep and the tips were singed black, no doubt from the spell. Bandages wound up her arms, her legs, and her torso, covered only by a rather frilly nightgown, just a bit too big in the chest and too slightly short in length.
Off, lying on its side in a corner was her trunk, battered, beaten, but her trunk non-the-less. Awkwardly, she made her way the weathered trunk and slowly released the leather belts that bound it closed. With sore hands, she opened the top of the trunk, and peered cautiously inside.
Her clothing and belongs stayed relatively neat, and all items were intact, nothing broken or shattered to be seen. Timidly, she reached into the large trunk, pulling out the first dress she touched.
The sound of rustling fabric filled the air as she shook the fabric's wrinkles out, sighing at the small tears in the fabric. It had been three years since she had been able to buy new clothes, and she was sure it showed.
She sighed, unbuttoning the nightgown so she could get dressed. Her fingers were surprisingly numb, seeming thicker then normal, as she struggled to unfasten the small white buttons. It took her some time, before the back finally hung open, and she slipped out of it, checking her body for wounds.
Some blood had stained through the snow white bandages, and she turned slowly, looking at her reflection in the mirror. It didn't look like her, this body covered in white bandages. It seemed wasted, tiered, older then usual. The body just didn't seem to be hers.
She slowly began to dress, pulling on the dress slowly, starting with the white cream petticoats underneath, buttoning the low black slowly, and observing the small tears and holes that came with age. Quietly, she smoothed the fabric, setting the hem straight, and checking the lace, and disappointedly shoved her fingers through large holes that had appeared from the wear and tear.
With surprising speed, she pulled the outer dress on over her head, letting the rough cotton rub almost painfully against her suddenly sensitive skin. With a sigh, she observed the dress in the mirror. It was once a bright blue, but had now been worn to a steely gray, the hem on the skirt and long sleeves were frayed, and the lace had seen better days.
It only took her a minute to realize that her pants were the torn mass of tan cloth that lay crumpled in the corner. Christopher walked over, picking the shredded pants, and holding them up to the sunlight that streamed through the window. The large holes did little to block out the blinding light, and there was no way she'd be able to by some new ones anytime soon. All of her pocket money was in the pants… and the pockets had been ripped out, and she did not see any glint of money on the floor.
"Great, not only am I stuck in America… but I have no money," she muttered to herself.
With a great sigh, she rummaged in the trunk to find her brush and comb, and began to try to tame her wild mane of semi-burned hair. It took her little time to get it to lie relatively flat, but she's need a shower to get it silky again, and she examined the burned tips, once scarlet, now coal black.
Slipping on a her pair of boots, she made her way out, hoping she could figure out where she was, and if she could find any scissors. She made her ways through the hallways, ever so often passing a nun or priest. From that, she deduced that she must be at a monastery, or large church. What surprised her the most was to see just how many of them had weapons, guns strapped to their hips and the like.
"Excuse me…" a timid voice spoke from behind her. Christopher quickly turned around, to face a young girl, with almost white hair, and pink-ish golden eyes. She was dressed cutely in a knee length that jacket that covered her clothes; a beret of pink wool was placed jauntily on her head.
"Oh, good day," Christopher replied quickly, doing her best to smile at the young girl, though she was wary.
"Ah, you're Eamon's assistant?"
"Yes, how do you know that?" she replied, her smile slowly beginning to drop.
"Oh, he was just worried about you," the girl replied smiling at her sweetly.
"Bollocks, all that Yank worries about is what's for supper," she replied crossly, scowling out at the window. She was still sore at Eamon, since he was the reason she was wearing this many bandages.
"No, he really was worried!" the girl replied quickly and she grasped onto Christopher bandaged hand, and pulled gently to make the girl look at her. Christopher did, and was meet with pleading eyes.
"Hm, whatever you say," she murmured back, and an awkward silence settled on the two, only to be broken by the growling of Christopher's stomach. It sent the young girl to her left into soft giggles, covering her mouth respectively.
"We have a cafeteria, if you want to eat…" the girl fell into another small fit of giggles.
"Ah… yes, that would be nice…" Christopher replied, a blush rising to her cheeks.
"If it's not to much for me to ask, what it your name?" Christopher asked the young girl, who was humming some hymn under her breath.
"Azmaria, what's yours?"
"Christopher Michael Gabriel… or Christopher if it's easier to roll off the tongue," she replied, looking at the girl, who was shorter then her.
"Mmm hmm… here we are!" she motioned to the large oak doors that lay in front of them. Christopher timidly placed a hand upon the wood, and the gently pushed the open to reveal a large room, filled with aroma of food and the sound of chatter. She followed the young girl named Azmaria as they weaved through the long tables to finally stop at a table where two people sat.
On was dressed as a nun, with blonde hair and blue eyes, the other a young man, with long, braided purple hair, tied with a yellow ribbon, and golden eyes, and the pointed ears of a demon, though Christopher didn't' feel the urge to point this out. The two looked up as soon as Azmaria announced her, and she did her best to smile at them, though feeling awkward.
"Hello," the boy was the first to speak, standing up slightly, and motioning for her and the girl to sit. The nun just looked up from the slice of bread she was dipping in the yellow soup, nodded her head, and continued to eat ravenously.
"Good Afternoon," Christopher replied, politely sitting down next to the boy while the young girl sat next to the nun, a smile still on her pale face.
"You're Christopher, right?" the boy asked, smiling at her, trying to invite her to become more relaxed. But all Christopher did was nod, still remaining tense, her eyes darting around the room.
"Why is you're name Christopher?" the nun asked, swallowing the last large chunk of bread and washing it down with the glass of milk the left of her now empty bowl of soup.
"The nun's called me that," she replied, her hand fiddling nervously with the worn lace on the hem of her sleeves.
"Yeah, but why?" the nun pressed, nodding her head to her.
"My mum had a saint Christopher's medallion around her neck."
"Why didn't your mother name you?" The nun added, quickly getting a small glare from the boy, and she quickly returned it ten fold.
"My mum… well she died giving birth to me, and my dad, well I don't know who he is," she replied quickly, shrugging it off, along with the sympathetic looks from the group.
"It's nothing, don't even remember her. I was raised by nuns and priests at a monastery, so they're my family," she smiled sadly at them, letting her gaze fall to the worn wood table.
"Th…That's so sad," the girl named Azmaria murmured, shaking her head.
"Well, Azmaria and I are orphans, so we understand," the nun replied. "I'm Rosette Christopher by the way."
"Pleasure. What is you name; you are demon, are you not?" Christopher asked to the boy sitting next to her.
"I'm Chrono…" he trailed off, though the question was in his eyes.
"You're ears are pointed, and I can sense auras. If that was what you were going to ask," she replied, nodding her head to him. "I've met a few demons, and most of them weren't very nice, but you don't seem bad, in fact, I think you're better than the dolt I travel with," she replied, smiling at him.
"Eamon, right?" Rosette asked, nodding her head to Eamon, who was sitting a few table away.
"That's him," she replied as she pushed a clump of her hair behind one pointed ear.
"What happened to your hands?" Azmaria asked, staring at the heavily bandaged hands.
"Oh?" she flexed the digits, "I just didn't properly summon. You see, I use the Astral lines as a power source, if you will, and doing so, I can summon various elements. I've been able to do it since I was little."
"Wow!" Azmaria looked impressed, though she got an odd look from the nun and demon.
"Astral lines are people's souls, how can you use them?" Rosette asked, narrowing her eyes, a bit suspicious, when Eamon came over, clapping his hands on Christopher's shoulders, grinning.
"Hello! I see you've met my partner!" he called out, and not soon afterward, they heard someone scream…
-There we go! You get to find out more about Christopher and Eamon in the next chappy! Thanks, and read and review.