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Monday, December 28th, 2009
chrismactaggart
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4:20p
Fun WITCH exchange
Christine: She nodded. "How old are you?"
Caleb: "18." Caleb answered
Christine: There was just something about him that made her ask the next question, even if it did make her feel like she was ripping off that gagworthy book series, Twilight. "How long have you been 18?"
Caleb: "Ummm... 6 months?"
Christine: She breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. Because if you had said "a while", I was totally going to walk away and just think I dreamt the whole encounter up," she explained. "Cornelia took me to see Twilight one time too many," she continued. "And that was one of the exchanges between the lovebirds."
Caleb: "Twilight?"
Christine: "An epic, yet entirely crappy, love story about a human and a vampire that covers, about, four books and so far, two movies. If you ever get bored, I'll lend you one of the books. Maybe you could lose it," she mused, already plotting on how to break Cornelia free of that sickening obsession.
current mood:  amused
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(2 comments | comment on this)
(comment on this)
(comment on this) Sunday, December 27th, 2009
(comment on this)
hexperiment
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1:06p
My First Time (On Stage)
If LJ is the only way we know each other, I've probably never mentioned this to you -- until recently, it was something that I had only ever told a handful of people, and we're talking as much as someone with very small hands could pick up -- but, for more than two years now, I have been pretty much salivating at the thought of a career in stand-up comedy.
Yes, stand-up comedy.
You may be wondering why, if I've been "salivating at the thought" for such a relatively long while, I am only just now making a post about my first time. I'll get to that, but first I want to take a quick moment to explain that THIS WHOLE FUCKING THING IS KATHY GRIFFIN'S FAULT.
I was watching one of her Bravo specials, Straight to Hell (note that, before seeing this, I was only barely aware of her, and that was in a very vague sort of way), and there was just something about it. She was funny enough, and occasionally hysterical, mainly when she impersonated her mother, but that wasn't what impressed me. What got to me was how EASY she made the whole thing seem. She wasn't "performing," she was just being herself onstage. The way she was carrying on, the audience could have easily been one guest in her living room.
I couldn't help but think, I could totally, totally do this someday -- I already know I'M going straight to Hell, too! Okay, I was half-kidding about that last part, but I was always dead serious about thinking that I could totally do this thing. The more I thought about it, the more easily I could envision it. Maybe I'd never do it in front of sold-out audiences like Kathy, but I knew damn sure that it would be fun to try. And, frankly, the outfits that I came up with were hawt with a capital H.
Then a whole big drama broke out among my family (DRAMA BEGETS DRAMA, FOOLS) and I had to physically get away from them before we all started killing each other, and . . . and I found myself back in Indy. As comfortable as I am here, and as much as I feel sheltered from it because I work at Starbucks, Indy, on the whole, strikes me as being anti-gay, or, at its very best, not always openly hostile toward 'mos.
(It's crazy, isn't it? You'll come up with so many reasons to avoid following your dreams. In a way, it's like nobody ever grows up. We're all eternally these stupid little kids who don't know any better than to believe it when adults tell us we're not good enough.)
So, anyway.
My friend Sho has a roommate, Emily, who tried her hand at stand-up for the very first time in November. (The timing involved here was quite fortuitous, since Sho recently transferred back to my store after more than a year away; otherwise I doubt she would have told me.) When she found out that stand-up was my dream, she was adamant -- "Ryan, you have to do this; Emily's going to do it again next month, and you have to do it too! The end!"
After a bit of resistance, I gave in.
I did it.
By the time I had decided to do it, I had decided to fucking OWN IT. If anyone reacted less than well to my gayness, so what? Life is too short; insert Dr. Seuss quote here, if only I could find it. As I did my bit, it got gayer and gayer the longer it went on.
And yet . . .
They kind of loved me!
Most of my jokes could have been much better, but that's not important. I figured I'd view my first time as a learning experience and nothing more, so I'm grateful that anyone laughed at all -- and, if I do say so, they pretty much laughed nonstop. (Jacob, Emily's not-quite-boyfriend, told me afterward that, other than Emily, I was one of the only performers who genuinely made him laugh.)
Afterward, this woman came up to me and told me that she thought I was super funny and encouraged me to keep doing it and take it as far as I possibly could. "I loved the bit about the escalators," she gushed. "You could've totally expanded on that!"
"Thanks, I totally should've."
(I seem to have developed a proclivity for using the word "totally" in this post. That's kind of annoying, isn't it? Hopefully it'll be out of my system now.)
She didn't tell me her name or anything, and I didn't ask, because frankly, I didn't care. A total stranger, who had absolutely no obligation to say anything to me, came up to me and told me I was super funny! If I had died right then, it would've been with no regrets. (Okay, that might have sounded melodramatic, but lay off. I got less than three hours of sleep.) And then, as if I wasn't already fit to burst, both of the emcees came up to me separately and encouraged me to come back next month.
I gotta say, I feel like a goddamn fucking rock star right now.
( Here are some pictures (my stupid self didn't think to ask anyone to take one of me -- next time): )
current music: "Monster" -- Lady Gaga
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(14 comments | comment on this) Saturday, December 26th, 2009
chrismactaggart
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10:13p
WITCH: Christine's early days
For once, Christine didn't mind the cloak Yan Lin had given her for travel in the dark and dreary streets of Meridian. It gave her some measure of comfort as she walked the streets, close to where Phobos's palace lay. If anyone approached her, she just shied away, letting the cloak give her enough of an air of mystery that kept most people at bay.
Whispered conversations went on all around her, each voice never straying above a whisper less someone loyal to Prince Phobos overheard them. She frowned slightly as she listened, vainly trying to make sense of what was being said around her - the knowledge of the language laying just behind her grasp. With each passing day, her level of frustration continued to grow. She had come to the conclusion that someone up there hated her and decided to make her life difficult.
~
"What part of I don't understand you are you failing to understand!?" Christine asked rhetorically, vainly struggling to get her wrists free. She glared darkly at her captor - a man not much older then her with green slashes striping his face and clear emerald eyes. She debated with herself as to which was the better option - breaking both wrists in order to get free or dislocating one to do the same. Either option promised pain for her, and she wasn't truly looking forward to that, even if that Oracle said her power would heal her, make it as if the injury had never happened.
Caleb watched the girl struggle against the ropes and bit back a grin - he had done a good job tying her hands, although a traitorous voice in his head started to yell at him the minute he had bound her hands, asking him what kind of idiot tied up potential allies. If only he could understand what she was saying... The tone indicated that she wasn't happy but her words were foreign. He reached over and touched the dark hair, examining it. He blinked slightly when she stopped her struggles and adopted a frightened expression on her features. His touch scared her? Surely... Oh. He blinked again, embarrassed at realizing what he had been doing. He lowered his hand and examined the girl again, noting that she was slowly stopping her trembling. "Caleb," he said, gesturing to himself.
Christine cocked her head, listening to what he was saying. "Kay-leb?" she repeated, trying to make sense of what he was saying. Who was...? Oh. Him, maybe? She bit her lower lip and looked at him.
Caleb nodded and laughed at seeing her tentative smile. "Caleb," he repeated, gesturing to himself to confirm.
Christine blushed a bit. "Christine," she murmured, looking up at him through a veil of dark bangs.
Caleb looked at the girl, trying to figure out how to pronounce the girl's name. "Chree-steen?" he ventured, hoping it was as close as he could get without actually butchering her name.
Christine mused on his pronounciation. No worse then any of the kids at school attempting her name, God knew she had grown up with half these kids and they still couldn't pronounce her name. She nodded. "Christine," she confirmed.
current mood:  calm
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(2 comments | comment on this) Friday, December 25th, 2009
chrismactaggart
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10:20p
WITCH: What if: Caleb, "son" of Phobos
AN: rewriting parts
Cedric massaged his temples, a headache growing as he witnessed this latest exercise in his master’s apparent madness. “A *son*?” he asked, staring at Phobos as if he had grown another head. “Dare I asked what possessed you to make that particular Murmurer your *son*? If it’s an exercise to see how long it takes me to lose my mind – congratulations, you just *did* make me lose my mind.”
Phobos chuckled quietly. “All the better to destroy the pathetic resistance,” he said, a dark smile on his features. “They can’t function without their leader. It was well pointed out to them that day when I turned him back into the Murmurers’ most primitive form. And, now, with him not remembering *any*thing, well, then, I suppose they are well and truly doomed.”
Cedric sighed quietly; the headache just growing in force as he watched Phobos work his dark magic and rewrote whatever memories remained in the resistance leader’s head. As much as it pained him to think it, the blasphemy that it was, he was going to have to help the accursed Guardians right this mess. The very idea of Caleb as Phobos’s son sent a shiver down his spine. Life was decidedly going to suck if he didn't help the Guardians of the Veil, he thought.
~
Cedric groaned quietly, both princes were taking foolish chances, again, still. To hell with his desire to become higher in rank in Phobos’s court – just *surviving* until Elyon took the throne would be his chief desire for the time being. At least she wasn’t trying to get herself killed – at least not actively, of course - inactively, well that was another story, he supposed. He clenched his teeth together and stalked after the one prince he knew he could reason with. “Are you trying to get yourself captured, or worse, killed?” he hissed at Caleb, grabbing the back of Caleb’s duster. He ignored the prince’s protests as he half walked, half dragged the teenager back inside the safety of the castle walls.
Caleb rolled his shoulders, disengaging Cedric’s grip. “And you care *why*, again? And save the loyalty to my father crap for someone who actually cares, Lord Cedric,” he spat. Some obscure memory was telling him not to trust Cedric – and it was an instinct, a memory, that seemed to make sense, as strange as it seemed. He couldn't understand why he couldn't trust someone that his father so obviously trusted. He brushed one of the long braids back over his shoulder absently. “Besides, it's not like those Guardians can do anything. The one they call Cornelia claims she can’t hurt me because she loves me. Pah.” The look of disgust that crept across his features as he thought about the blond female indicated just what he felt about those declarations, heartfelt or not on her part - he felt nothing towards her.
Cedric fought back the urge to strangle the prince, but felt that would be in poor form to actually strangle the young man. ‘But it would make you feel better,’ a traitorous voice echoed in his head. One of these days he was going to follow that voice’s advice – come hell or high water. He didn’t need this stress. “This coming from the boy who had his ass handed to him on a silver platter by the healer after he made one crack too many about how she was the weakest,” Cedric spat, irritated by the young prince.
A small twitch formed near Caleb’s left eye at the mention of the dark haired healer. That had been a decidedly humiliating battle for him. While it seemed the other girls had trouble fighting him, all commenting on how it was Caleb and why was he fighting for Phobos and why didn’t he remember them, the healer had no trouble treating him like an enemy. A small traitorous voice whispered how much it hurt to see her treating him like the enemy far too easily, as if she never really trusted him before - although, he couldn't understand why the voice seemed to imply that the girls trusted him, that *he* trusted them. “I thought we agreed not to discuss that incident,” he said, his voice dripping with arctic ice at the reminder.
Cedric rolled his eyes in annoyance. ‘Avoidance, as usual,’ he thought. “You agreed, I just gave a non-committal grunt,” he answered. “Which does not count as agreeing to anything as you have said on many occasion.”
Caleb opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and closed it with an audible click. His emerald eyes glared at Cedric, who was looking just a tad too smug at that moment. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Me? Whatever gave you that idea?” Cedric asked all too innocently.
~~
~~
Will glanced over at Christine, regarding her with one raised eyebrow. “How is it you have no trouble fighting Caleb?” she asked quietly. “I mean, he’s one of us, even if he can't remember it, and yet you treat him like he’s always been Phobos’s.”
Christine turned her head, her sapphire eyes drifting from some point off in the distance before fixing on Will’s olive colored eyes. “How I treat him is my own damn business, Will,” she said in quiet, measured tones. “In case you’ve forgotten, he’s tried to kill us on several occasions and nearly succeeded in doing so because you won’t fight him. Face it, Will, he’s the enemy now. The sooner you remember that, the better our chances are of kicking his ass.”
Will’s shoulders drooped slightly. It seemed like it was going to be a losing battle to convince Christine that the Caleb they knew was still inside – just buried deeply by whatever spell Phobos had cast on him. She debated with herself for a moment, wondering if it would be wise to remind Christine of her affection for Caleb, but decided against it. She rather liked her head attached to her body.
Christine turned her head away, and gazed out at the grayed landscape. “Must have beautiful once,” she said quietly, sounding more then a bit distracted, her hand clinging to the frame of the door that lead out onto a balcony. A small wistful smile crossed her features as she sighed quietly, lost in dreams of what must have been before the slow destruction of Metamoor because of Phobos.
Will took the comment at what lay at the heart of it – a simple dismissal, that to Christine the subject was close and not to be dealt with again. She rolled her shoulders and headed back inside. Sometimes she worried about the older girl, she was growing more and more distant as the days passed. “Curse of the healer,” Will muttered to herself as she headed to where the other girls were dorming while in the rebel’s base, “is that you worry about everyone else and you forget yourself.”
“Well?” Cornelia asked as she saw Will enter, alone. “Did you convince her?”
“It’d be like trying to convince the sun to shine at midnight, Cornelia,” Will said. “Fruitless.” She sighed and plopped down on a mat, adjusting her skirt as she sat there. “She’s set in her ways about his being evil and that the Caleb we know isn’t there anymore.”
“Talk about giving up,” Irma said, conjuring a small ball of water and spinning into a figure of Elyon, clad in her princess gowns, before watching it fall apart with a splash.
Taranee looked up from her writing, her glasses sliding down her nose. “I know,” she said, sighing as she pushed the frames back up her nose. The current file could wait another hour - wasn't like Caleb was there to read the reports that they continued to write, even in his protracted absences, no thanks to Phobos. “Wasn’t she and he…?”
Hay Lin grimaced, not liking the subject of the conversation. Angst and woe did not sit well with her - especially of the epic variety, which was this was. She closed her eyes and then blinked them open, an idea popping into her head. “Hey, isn’t her birthday coming up soon?” she asked.
“A week from now, why?” Will asked, turning to look at the Guardian of the Air. She blinked her eyes in realization and shook her head quickly no. “Oh, no, no, no, Hay Lin,” she said, quickly shaking her head no. “We are not throwing her a surprise party. She’d kill us.”
“Exactly how old is she turning?” Cornelia asked, curious. She knew Christine was the oldest of the group, but hadn’t been able to get the exact age. None of them knew her exact age, all they knew is that she was in the upper teens.
“Old enough,” a voice came as the Guardian in question appeared in the doorway to the room the girls were lounging in. “We are not celebrating my birthday. N. O. No.” Christine crossed her arms over her chest and gave them a half-hearted glare.
“Oh, c’mon,” Irma whined. “A party would be just the thing – it’d cheer up Elyon and would bring some light to the rebel forces.”
“No way,” Christine protested, trying her damnedest not to whine like a child. She really didn’t want to remember that she was the eldest of the group. ‘God, I’ll be seventeen this year,’ she thought, shuddering mentally. ‘I should be looking at colleges, not looking for rips in a veil separating two worlds.’
“C’mon,” Taranee said. “It’s not like you’re turning thirty,” she teased.
“I feel like I am,” the healer muttered darkly. She heaved a sigh. “Fine. We’ll have a party. Just don’t expect me to stay there the whole time.” She clenched her teeth, willing away the headache that was forming.
“You rock,” Hay Lin chirped, smiling up at the older girl. “And you’ll have such a good time, that you’ll spend the entire time there.”
“I doubt it,” came the near sullen response. Christine turned on her heel and made her way to a different chamber to sulk in. Of all the things the girls had to think about, her birthday had to be the chief thing on their minds. She brushed her chocolate bangs off her forehead and sighed quietly. Like she needed another reminder that she was the oldest of the group. ‘Too bad Daltar’s at the palace,’ she thought. ‘He would have listened to me vent.’ She sighed again, and entered the room Elyon gave her. She willed herself out of guardian form after she got over to the bed and simply lay there. She was too worn out to do anything else but lie there – not that she *could* do anything else. Oracle said she’d regain use of her legs eventually, that her being a guardian meant the healing powers would start fixing what was wrong with her. She wasn’t too sure she liked the sound of that – it wasn’t fair that she could have magic fix her while other people who suffered the same injury couldn’t.
~~
~~
“Elyon! Look out!” Christine cried, shoving the Light of Meridian out of the way at the last moment, and taking the blow that was meant for her. Her blue eyes widened and she slowly looked down, seeing the arrow sticking out of her stomach. She looked up and slowly sank to her knees, shock written clear across her features.
Caleb stood on the opposite side of the battlefield, his green eyes widening in shock, horror, before he caught himself. To cover his slip in emotions, he rounded furiously on the archer who had fired the shot. “What part of my orders didn’t you hear? Was it the part where I said no harm was to befall the Light of Meridian?” he snarled. “If that guardian hadn’t shoved her out of the way, she would have been injured by your arrow.” The traitorous voice was back – screaming about how the healer was injured and that he should be at her side, trying to keep her from slipping deeper into shock. ‘Why isn’t she on her feet by now?’ the traitorous voice cried, despair clear in its voice. ‘She’s a healer, her powers are supposed to have healed her by now. Why isn’t someone helping her?’ He half heard what the archer said, something about the arrowhead.
Elyon stared at Christine’s wound; the crimson rose forming on Christine’s shirt, and quickly called for Vathek. “Get her off the field, hurry!” she cried, looking frantic. All that blood…and it would have been hers if Christine hadn’t pushed her out of the way in time. She shuddered at the thought - chilled by the sudden brush with her own mortality.
Vathek scooped the young healer up in his arms, and carried her off the field of battle, ignoring Christine's whimpered protests that she was fine, that it was only a flesh wound, that she was needed on the field and to take her back. He could tell by the amount of blood flowing from the wound that it was going to be a lengthy battle to save the healer’s life - if they could save it. He had seen men, his men, die from wounds just as bad as the one the healer bore right now. His eyes drifted to the opposite end of the field, and settled on the young prince that started this battle. Betrayal flared anew in his heart – making him wonder if the man he knew ever existed or if that Caleb had be a figment of his imagination and that he had always been Phobos's son. A soft whimper drew his attention back to the present, and to the precious, fragile cargo he carried back to safety.
~~
Hay Lin paced the floor outside of Christine’s chamber. A somber mood had settled on the assembled Guardians as one of their own battled for her life and they were helpless to do anything, unable to aid her in this battle. It was a battle, Hay Lin knew, that Christine had to fight alone, and she hated that fact. She knew it was serious when Luba, who made no show her heated, intense dislike for certain guardians (she could see those glares of Luba's that were aimed at Cornelia), came and offered her silent support for those waiting to hear anything good about Christine’s condition.
Irma was sitting with Cornelia, letting her cry on her shoulder. She didn’t know how to comfort the Guardian of Earth; not knowing what words would work. It was hard to offer comfort knowing that the one who was responsible for your friend’s injuries was the person they loved. Silently, she was glad she wasn’t in Will’s shoes – having to tell Christine’s foster father figure, Daltar, exactly what happened. The man had come to view the healer as his own child, mainly since his true daughter was still trapped under Phobos’s spell.
Taranee was rattled. Sure, they had been injured before and Christine always seemed to be able to patch them up, even if it meant she had to do it the old-fashion way since her powers and the guardian’s natural healing ability cancelled each other out (although, she noted with a growing concern that their own healing ability was fading for some reason and that Christine's gift was working), but never this serious. She hoped Christine would recover – the alternative scared her greatly.
Hay Lin paused in her pacing as she saw the gardener running down the halls, Will hot on his trail. A look of great distress was clear on both their features. ‘Obviously, he freaked,’ Hay Lin noted absently. ‘Don’t blame him. She’s practically his daughter.’
-
Daltar entered the room and knelt down at his foster daughter’s side, taking one of her smaller hands in his larger, callused hand. “C’mon, little kitten, I know you can make it,” he whispered quietly. He already lost one daughter; he didn’t want to lose another. He gently stroked the back of her hand, trying to coax a reaction. He glanced up at the healer Elyon had sent for. “How is she?”
The healer was silent; trying to choose his words carefully. The last thing he wanted to do was offer false hope, especially to someone like Daltar, who know the pain of loss far too deeply. He knew that giving Daltar false hope would just shatter the gardener should what he say not come to pass. “Her condition is guarded at best,” he said slowly, carefully. “The next few hours are critical. Come, she needs her rest. It’ll be a long battle and she’ll need all the strength she can muster.”
Daltar wanted to protest, wanted to say that he needed to be by his daughter’s side, that he couldn't abandoned her now in her hour of greatest need, but acquiesced to the healer. He wanted to stay on the healer’s good side, if only so he could be in his daughter’s room without having to deal with many complaints from said healer. He rose silently and followed the healer out, casting one last lingering look at his fallen daughter, praying that she would make it through this night.
~~
~~
Cedric winced as another vase shattered against the wall - a third in that brief half hour since Caleb's return from the field. “Not another Ming vase. It cost a fortune,” he said, cringing. He didn’t know which of the princes he should fear the most at the moment – Phobos, whose temper was ice cold and more lethal, or Caleb, whose temper was a fiery volcano and currently erupting. He dodged another thrown vase and looked over at Caleb. “Are you quite finished?” he asked, trying vainly not to snark, and seemed to be failing miserably.
Caleb glanced at the vase in his hand and slowly set the vase he had just picked up down, and then glanced over at Cedric. “Ask me that later,” he muttered. “God, how could I have screwed up? I thought I was clear with what I said. That no harm was to befall my aunt, and yet some screw up takes a pot shot at her and if that healer hadn’t stepped in the way, my aunt would be dead.” There was a quiet grief, a quiet pain in his voice - something had not been in it 'til now.
Cedric walked over and placed his hand on the teen’s shoulder. “Your aunt lives, that’s all that matters.”
Caleb rounded furiously on Cedric, his green eyes flashing dangerously. A long forgotten instinct erupted from its hidden place and triggered Caleb to snap. He roughly brushed Cedric’s hand off his shoulder and glared. “If the healer dies, Father loses a potential source of power,” he said, his voice dropping into the arctic.
Cedric barely refrained from arching an eyebrow. He hadn’t expected Caleb to leap to the defense of the healer – mainly since Phobos had supposedly robbed him of his affection for the healer and of his memories of the healer and the others, or so they thought. ‘Apparently he’s still in love with her, even if he doesn’t remember who she is,’ Cedric thought.
~~
~~
Hay Lin looked at Daltar, her heart breaking as she watched the gardener weep. It hurt knowing that there was little they could do to comfort him. Christine had yet to awaken and they were starting to lose hope that she ever would. Hay Lin entered Christine’s chamber and sat down next to the fallen healer. “Chris, c’mon, we need you,” Hay Lin murmured. Her dark eyes lowered slightly and she picked up the healer’s left hand and held it, rubbing the back of it, hoping that the mere touch would pull her back to them..
Irma poked her head in. “Anything?” she asked, looking at the two girls. She sighed sadly when Hay Lin shook her head no. “Damn, why isn’t she waking up?”
“Sixty four thousand dollar question there,” Cornelia said, walking over to the group that was forming in Christine’s chamber. “She should have awakened after she was healed but something is keeping her in that state.” She frowned a moment. “It’s like dealing with Sleeping Beauty – only this time, we don’t know who Prince Charming is.”
“I think we do,” Hay Lin said. “Just he’s on the wrong side. I mean it was obvious that Caleb and she fancied each other slightly. The man constantly defended or protected her.”
Cornelia rolled her eyes, not keen on the reminder that the boy she had been in love with for at least a year had been secretly fancying the older girl. “He’s not interested in her the way you think. The thing that had him intrigued? Her gift. Luba said healers were incredibly rare.” Nope, but bitter or cutting at all.
“You make him sound like Phobos,” Hay Lin said, crossing her arms over her chest. She stuck her tongue out at Cornelia and turned back to look at Christine. “All right, Sleeping Beauty, we’re going to get Prince Charming. Just you wait.”
“You going to put a rose with her?” Irma asked, winking. “Provided it’s not black.”
Daltar smiled slightly and slipped a crimson rose between her hands. “She looks like a princess now,” he whispered. “No offense to any princesses currently in the room,” he said, glancing over to Elyon.
~~
~~
Caleb strode into the rebel base, his head covered by a dark hood. The rebels were on the battlefield – leaving it unprotected, the traitorous voice filing away a future lecture because of it, but he didn’t understand why that voice was so concerned that it had been so easy for him to enter the base. He strode down the pathways and corridors, his eyes seeking out any sign of people still with in. He paused in front of a door, and noticed it was slightly ajar. He pushed it open all the way slowly and stepped in.
His green eyes drifted across the room, a faint sneer crossing his features as he noticed the all too feminine touch in the chamber. He turned to see a pulled curtain and he arched a thin eyebrow and walked over to see what was going on behind the curtain.
A sleeping figure lay on the bed, a single red rose clasped in her hands. Her dark hair was spread on the pillow.
He walked over to the bed and knelt down to look at her better. He noticed the pale skin and how lifeless she looked lying there. It felt wrong seeing her like that, and he didn’t understand why. They were enemies – weren’t they? He dragged a finger across her skin, feeling how cold it was. “She lies like death,” he whispered quietly to himself. “Who are you, beautiful one?”
If he was expecting an answer – none would be forthcoming. The girl was lost in a realm that no one could bring her from – at least none too easily.
He frowned and touched her faint rosy lips with a finger, drawing it down her chin. His touch was infinitely gentle, as if he didn’t want to bring harm to an already injured enemy. His green eyes softened as he watched her continue to sleep. He gently scooped her up and held her close to him.
current mood:  busy
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(comment on this)
chrismactaggart
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10:18p
WITCH: What if: Caleb was Shagon
AN: takes place during Season 2, around the time that Phobos is with the WITCH
Christine sat with her knees tucked under her chin, her blue eyes glancing over at Phobos, who was lounging against a wall. "Remind me what we are doing?" she asked softly, yawning quietly. Early morning missions always annoyed her (especially these new early in the bumblefucking morning spy missions that they had started since the Knights of Vengenance - Nerissa's pet warriors - appeared and started to cause havoc in Heatherfield, which, Christine noted that even Phobos hadn't done while he had fought against them), and having to deal with the man who she had faced multiple times on the field of battle, and having him being their ally now that they were dealing with the older guardians turned evil? That was just about enough to give her a headache.
"Trying to figure out who Nerissa cursed to be her angel of vengenance, Shagon?" Phobos responded, yawning himself, struggling to stay awake. This was not his idea of fun either - not wanting to deal with the eldest of this current generation of guardians. The two were bitter enemies - at least when dealing with each other in front of the others. They could try to be civil when they were alone - key word being try.
She nodded and yawned quietly. "I'm ready to fall asleep here. You think he's going to show?" she asked, glancing up at Phobos through veiled blue eyes. She gave a startled squeak when she saw him settle down next to her and wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "Hey, tall, blond and dangerous, that's a little too close." She squirmed in his arms, trying to get free of his seemingly iron grasp. Damn it, who thought he was *that* built - those robes had totally been hiding his apparently buff frame.
"Quiet, child," he said, using the term to remind her of her place - and her age in comparasion to him. She was but a child to the fallen former prince of Meridian - and she would be treated as such until such time that she earned the right to be called anything but child. "Your shivering and knocking of your bones together is going to give away our position to our mutual enemy and I, for one, little healer, would rather not get the lecture of letting Shagon slip from our clutches from those five simpering fools you call your dearest friends."
"Want a reverse heal?" she shot back, spark of danger dancing in her eyes, a hint of danger lacing her carefully chosen words. No one called her a child - no one. It was the chosen phrase of her mother - especially when she didn't want to deal with the young girl, which was quite often, much to Christine's regret -not that she hadn't heard from her mother in the past four months, she remembered. She shook her head, trying to get her thoughts back on track.
"Shh," came the reproach and Phobos guided Christine's gaze towards the figure that was landing gracefully on the field a good distance from them. "I do believe we're about to get the answer to our most pressing question," he mused.
A twin pair of blue eyes widened, one in surprise, the other in sheer horror, when they spotted Shagon's transformation back to his true identity to hide with their group and learn what was planned to fight his, no, Shagon's team.
"Caleb?" Christine whispered, her voice laden with shock, hurt and betrayal. "Oh, God, Caleb..." Her left hand covered her mouth and she tried to keep any sound from escaping her as she looked on in horror when he changed from Knight to Murmurer to his current humanlike form. All this time she had prayed that it hadn't been Caleb - that he hadn't been the one to betray them. To see that he was the Judas... She crumpled into Phobos's arms, broken like a doll who's strings had suddenly been cut.
"An unfortunate turn of events to be sure," Phobos said, helping the emotionally broken healer to her feet and guided her away, carefully using his magic to mask their retreat from the cursed former murmurer's gaze. This was one conversation he was not looking forward to - especially when the earthern guardian found out the fate of her beloved. Maybe he still had those handcuffs from when Maliss had hand delievered the healer to him that one time that had kept the guardian's magic at bay? Those might come in handy...
~~
~~
Christine closed her eyes tightly as she felt the blade sheath itself in her stomach, whimpering a little. She could feel her powers start to kick in, already starting to heal herself. She could hear the gasps from her friends, Phobos, the turned older guardians... him. She sunk to her knees, her hands clasping the blade tightly, blood oozing from where the blade ripped the tender flesh of her palms. She pulled it free, pain clear in her blue eyes.
"No," Shagon breathed, not wanting to believe the sight that lay before him, "no." He stood up shakily from where he had fallen during the battle against the guardians. "No. No. No." He made his way over, pushing past the battered and bruised guardians, who thought they could try and block him from her - as if they had the strength to keep him away from what *he* wanted. He pulled her up into his arms, holding her tightly. "No."
Christine gave him a small smile and reached up to touch his golden mask. "I'm sorry," she whispered. She gave a soft pained laugh before wincing a little. "I wish I had gotten to know you better. Wish we hadn't been on the opposite side. Wish you had been one of us.." She winced again and coughed softly, blood slipping out of her mouth.
Shagon shook his head, not wanting to see her life slip away. "Why isn't your power working, Healer?" he asked, demanded, wanting answers for questions that there were no clear answers to. He had studied the guardians, knew every move, every attack, every power - her power *should* have kicked in, should have started healing her. So it made no sense that her powers weren't working.
Christine sighed softly, having seen that question coming even before it was asked. "It's too much for my powers to," she murmured before her head slowly tipped to the side, silencing the young healer forever.
Shagon shook his head again, not wanting to believe, to see this. "No!" he cried, the demonic tail lashing wildly behind him. He threw his head back and let out a pain fueled cry, the shell of Shagon shattering as he held the seemingly lifeless body of the healer. Caleb sat there, holding the body in his arms, his green eyes closing as he wept over the fallen guardian. Slowly he stood, clasping the girl close to him. He didn't say a word as he turned and walked away, carrying the healer to a destination that even he wasn't sure of.
~
Caleb lay her down on a bed, brushing the long dark hair off her face. "Sleep the sleep of angels, beloved healer," he whispered, placing a chaste kiss on her lips before turning to walk downstairs when he heard a soft cough behind him. He whipped around and looked at the girl, who was slowly sitting up, blinking a pair of sleepy blue eyes. "Christine?" he ventured, his voice cracking slightly.
"Hmm?" came a sleepy response before a sudden gasp at the feeling of a tight embrace. "Caleb?"
"By the light, Christine," he breathed. "Don't ever do that again. I thought I honestly lost you." He held her tightly, afraid that this was merely a waking dream and that when he snapped out of it, she would still be lying there on the bed, lifeless, a shell of what had been and would never be again.
"I know," she said softly, wincing a little as pain flared anew in her still healing body. "I know." She pulled free slowly and gave him a tenative smile. "But it was something I had to do. That only I could do... I knew my healing ability made me the best choice in order to do something to shock you into fighting free of Shagon's hold over you. It took every trick in my arsenal to pull it off. Of course," she coughed, wincing a little. "My body's letting me know it was a very stupid plan."
"You're right. It was a stupid plan," he agreed. "But it worked." He stroked her hair as he gently lay her back down, settling down to sit by her side. "Just promise not to do anything like that again," he said, watching as she slowly drifted off to sleep. He could hear Shagon raging in the back of his mind - furious that the small wisp of a girl had managed to so fully trick him, *him* of all people.
current mood: busy
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chrismactaggart
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10:14p
been doing some writing again
since my computer's on strike - won't go online for God knows what reason, I've started writing again. I ventured back into the W.I.T.C.H. fandom and actually started to enjoy myself, doing some ficcing. Rewriting parts of old fics and writing brand new ones. In fact, I just started a new one tonight - branching off a mental RP I'm doing (anything that gets my creative juices flowing).
current mood:  accomplished
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(comment on this) Thursday, December 24th, 2009
chrismactaggart
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10:31p
nrrgh
well, Christmas is evil this year - my brother was working today and he's working tomorrow so he couldn't come up, and we just found out that he's alone since his roommate came up here. Nrrgh. Hopefully we can work a miracle or something
current mood:  annoyed
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(comment on this) Wednesday, December 23rd, 2009
hexperiment
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2:34p
Almost Done!
You'll notice that Tommy is positioned between Trini and Billy. This is totally intentional, since yellow and blue make green. If they release a White Ranger figure, I will take a few pics of Kimberly between him and Jason.
Why are you even looking at me like that?
You know I'm a dork.
current music: "Monster" -- Lady Gaga
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(1 comment | comment on this) Tuesday, December 22nd, 2009
chrismactaggart
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4:16p
it's official
I think I've rediscovered a hidden crush on Prince Phobos from WITCH
saw him in his "human" form in V for Victory
swoon
"Behold....am I not down with my bad self?"
oh, damn straight you're down
swoon
current mood:  ditzy
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