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rainbowfic2012-12-18 12:03 pm
auguris) wrote in rainbowfic2012-12-18 12:03 pm
Entry tags:
Dove Grey 24
Name: auguris
'verse: Ghost Sight
Story: The Shack
Colors: Dove Grey 24. That is death - shifting from 'is' to 'was'.
Supplies and Styles: Pastels: touching/cuddling
Word Count: 1675
Rating: R
Warnings: None that I can think of.
Summary: Mitchell stumbles upon a haunting while on vacation. Sort of a longer version of this piece.
The Babas-Eva Inn wasn't as popular as the website suggested. From the parking lot to the room, Mitchell and Cagri encountered only staff.
"Don't make that face." Mitchell kissed Cagri's cheek. "Everything's clean. They have to follow the same health regulations as everyone else."
"I am not making a face." Cagri peered at the bed. "I only wonder why it seems we are the only souls brave enough to patronize the inn."
Mitchell collapsed onto the bed, bouncing a little. "Because it's the off-season and it's cold? Come here, I'm tired from driving."
Cagri gave the bed one last grimace before stretching out next to Mitchell. "I offered to drive part of the way."
Mitchell snorted into Cagri's shoulder. "You drive like the place is going to burn down if we don't get there fast enough. No thank you."
Cagri tucked Mitchell under his chin. "I drive like a normal person. You drive like someone's grandmother." Mitchell laughed. "Will your sister be angry with you?"
"When isn't she?" Mitchell wrapped his arm around Cagri's waist. "She's working through the weekend anyway. Tam's not interested in marking our mother's death any more than I am." He closed his eyes. "Elly wasn't too happy, though."
"She told me. She believes this to be unhealthy. For the both of you." Cagri stroked his hair. "I can't claim to disagree."
Mitchell shook his head. "Don't do that. Don't tell me how to deal with this."
Cagri kissed his hair. "I don't mean to. I only want you to be okay."
Mitchell titled his head back far enough to kiss Cagri's mouth. "I am okay." He rolled Cagri onto his back, undoing his belt. "But if you're so worried about me, you could do something to distract me."
Cagri leaned back on his elbows, grinning. "I believe you are the one distracting me."
Mitchell chuckled deep in his throat. "Semantics."
*
Snow crunched beneath his feet, climbing up his boots. He kicked at it, smiling as it scattered in a puff of wind.
"It's too bad it doesn't snow in the city," Cagri murmured. "The woods are quite beautiful."
Mitchell grinned. "And you would have a better excuse to wear that scarf." He slipped his hands into his pockets. "And to make me play dress-up in every clothing store in Krixos."
Cagri shrugged, hands out. "Is it a crime to ensure my lover is adequately dressed at this altitude?"
Mitchell rolled his eyes. "I am a wizard, I might have told you. I can keep myself warm."
"Yes, because magic comes from nowhere. You could expend all that energy and tire yourself out, or you could dress appropriately and need not worry." Cagri took him by the elbow. "And you look lovely in your new coat."
Mitchell ducked his head in a vain attempt to hide his blush. "Sure I do."
The trail led them to a thicker area of the woods and over a wide river, crusted with ice at the shore. Mitchell paused on the bridge -- something like fear brushed his senses, drawing his gaze down the river.
Cagri squeezed his hand. "What is it?"
"A haunting," Mitchell murmured. "A weak one. I should take a look."
Cagri pulled him back. "Is it safe? It's already so cold..."
Mitchell shrugged. "Ghost cold isn't the same thing natural cold. It doesn't matter."
They followed the river upstream, coming to a short hill. At the crest they spotted the likely site: a weathered, decaying shack at the shore of a small lake.
"It must flood in the spring," Mitchell murmured, gesturing to the waterline on the front wall. "Stay out here."
"I will stay by the door," Cagri said. "Don't argue. The ceiling is ready to collapse, I want to be near you."
Cagri wasn't wrong: parts of the shack had already caved in, leaving the main room open to the elements. There was no furniture, nothing left behind but the crumbling fireplace.
Mitchell crouched in front of the fireplace; there was a presence, here, but no obvious manifestation. Snow drifted down the chimney. Cagri shifted, the rustle of his clothing loud in the silence.
"Come out," Mitchell murmured, pulling a little power into it. "Where I can see you."
She faded into view, startlingly close. The vague shape of a girl, kneeling at the hearth, warming her hands by long-dead flames. Stay away. Her voice came from all around, the dissonance reverberating in his bones. I'm sick.
Mitchell sighed. Kids were the worst. "You're not sick anymore."
I'm always sick. Mama says I was born with sick. The room flashed: suddenly filled with light, a rocking chair near the hearth and a bed tucked into the corner. A woman leaning over the bed; the room flashed back. Mitchell shuddered. Mama gave me a special medicine. She said if it works I'll never be sick again.
Lady and her lover. Mitchell scrubbed his face. "What's your name?"
Do you know Mama?
"Yes." Lying was always a risk, but sometimes with kids it was easier than the truth. "She sent me here to tell you you're not sick anymore, so you don't have to stay here."
She flickered back and forth, kneeling by the hearth and lying on the now-gone bed. I don't want to go.
Cold seeped into his lungs. Mitchell pushed it back, pulling his magic across his skin. "I know it's scary, but this place is for sick people. You're not sick anymore."
She appeared in front of him, features nearly concrete and twisted in rage. He barely caught himself before he fell flat on his back. You can't make me! I belong here!
Mitchell stood, gathering his magic into a stronger ward, standing between the ghost and Cagri. "Not anymore. You need to go."
No! The room flickered between then and now; desolate, filled with firelight, dead, alive. Black smoke billowed from the fireplace, filling both versions of the shack. I'm staying here!
Mitchell whipped around. "Get out!" He shoved Cagri through the doorway. As he turned back around, the shack shifted to then, orange and yellow heat and shadows flashing and the bed in the corner
and didn't shift back.
"Fuck," Mitchell muttered. His breath misted. The floor creaked beneath him; snow clung still to his boots.
Icy cold pressed into his lungs; pushing back kept it at bay, but did not diminish it. He stepped closer to the bed, the woman leaning over it, the small child that lay bundled in the sheets. The woman spoke: layers of whispered voices spilled from her mouth, pouring into the child's ear, washing over her face. Smoke enveloped Mitchell, chasing after the cold in his lungs and replacing it with acrid fire.
I want to stay with Mama. I'm not dead. I'm just sick. I'm not dead. I'm not dead.
Mitchell focussed his magic inward, encasing and filling his lungs with his own power, crowding out the smoke. He forced his words out on tendrils of magic: "She's not here. You must go."
The smoke lay heavy on him; he fell to his hands and knees, eyes shut tight. Still she argued: I'm just sick. I'm not dead. I'm just sick. I'm not dead.
She wasn't listening.
Smoke drifted into his ears; he clamped his hands over them but it did no good. It came from the fireplace; something there was doing this, not her. He crawled towards the hearth; his limbs grew heavier with each movement. He collapsed, fingers gripping at stone -- stone, not wood. He poured his magic forth; smoke bled in around it, refilling his lungs. He felt something -- something -- something alive but too smooth, too cold, and he smothered it in his power and squeezed and something sharp
snapped and she screamed, over and over and from then and now and he forced himself to roll onto his back and he was staring at the dilapidated, ready to collapse ash grey roof of the shack and white flakes drifted down and the sky was so blue.
He choked up thick black smoke, Cagri suddenly there and sitting him up and the only cold was the snow.
"Mitchell please answer me," Cagri hissed, likely not for the first time. Mitchell breathed in deep, clean air, still coughing on the bitter heat.
"I'm okay." He swallowed, willing his body to move, to stand. Cagri wrapped an arm around his middle. "That was... bad."
Cagri laughed shakily. "I do not believe 'bad' is strong enough."
Mitchell closed his eyes, savoring Cagri's body heat. "Did you see anything?"
"Only the smoke. I heard screaming. And, hm. The sound of something breaking."
Mitchell snapped his head up. "In the fireplace. Hold on."
"Oh, and we just stood you up," Cagri murmured as Mitchell knelt. Mitchell shifted the snow and ash, cursing at the sudden sharp cut. He shook the pain from his hand and picked up the culprit: a shard of obsidian. A closer search revealed several more shards. "Do you not use obsidian in certain workings?"
"Not personally," Mitchell muttered. "I need to borrow your scarf."
"But my neck will get cold." Cagri sighed at Mitchell's expression.
"Don't worry; there's this amazing new invention called the 'washing machine', specifically intended to wash clothing." He wrapped the shards as he spoke. "I'm sure we'll find one."
"It's silk."
Mitchell slid the whole mess into his pocket. "Okay."
Cagri sighed. "Silk must be hand-washed. It is also very hard to get."
Mitchell shut his eyes. "Are we really talking about this right now?"
Cagri pulled Mitchell to his chest. "I supposed we were pretending everything is fine and you did not nearly die a moment ago."
Mitchell swallowed. "Now I feel like an asshole."
Cagri shrugged. "I have nothing to add."
Mitchell wrapped his arms around Cagri, reminding himself he was alive, listening to Cagri breath.
auguris'verse: Ghost Sight
Story: The Shack
Colors: Dove Grey 24. That is death - shifting from 'is' to 'was'.
Supplies and Styles: Pastels: touching/cuddling
Word Count: 1675
Rating: R
Warnings: None that I can think of.
Summary: Mitchell stumbles upon a haunting while on vacation. Sort of a longer version of this piece.
The Babas-Eva Inn wasn't as popular as the website suggested. From the parking lot to the room, Mitchell and Cagri encountered only staff.
"Don't make that face." Mitchell kissed Cagri's cheek. "Everything's clean. They have to follow the same health regulations as everyone else."
"I am not making a face." Cagri peered at the bed. "I only wonder why it seems we are the only souls brave enough to patronize the inn."
Mitchell collapsed onto the bed, bouncing a little. "Because it's the off-season and it's cold? Come here, I'm tired from driving."
Cagri gave the bed one last grimace before stretching out next to Mitchell. "I offered to drive part of the way."
Mitchell snorted into Cagri's shoulder. "You drive like the place is going to burn down if we don't get there fast enough. No thank you."
Cagri tucked Mitchell under his chin. "I drive like a normal person. You drive like someone's grandmother." Mitchell laughed. "Will your sister be angry with you?"
"When isn't she?" Mitchell wrapped his arm around Cagri's waist. "She's working through the weekend anyway. Tam's not interested in marking our mother's death any more than I am." He closed his eyes. "Elly wasn't too happy, though."
"She told me. She believes this to be unhealthy. For the both of you." Cagri stroked his hair. "I can't claim to disagree."
Mitchell shook his head. "Don't do that. Don't tell me how to deal with this."
Cagri kissed his hair. "I don't mean to. I only want you to be okay."
Mitchell titled his head back far enough to kiss Cagri's mouth. "I am okay." He rolled Cagri onto his back, undoing his belt. "But if you're so worried about me, you could do something to distract me."
Cagri leaned back on his elbows, grinning. "I believe you are the one distracting me."
Mitchell chuckled deep in his throat. "Semantics."
*
Snow crunched beneath his feet, climbing up his boots. He kicked at it, smiling as it scattered in a puff of wind.
"It's too bad it doesn't snow in the city," Cagri murmured. "The woods are quite beautiful."
Mitchell grinned. "And you would have a better excuse to wear that scarf." He slipped his hands into his pockets. "And to make me play dress-up in every clothing store in Krixos."
Cagri shrugged, hands out. "Is it a crime to ensure my lover is adequately dressed at this altitude?"
Mitchell rolled his eyes. "I am a wizard, I might have told you. I can keep myself warm."
"Yes, because magic comes from nowhere. You could expend all that energy and tire yourself out, or you could dress appropriately and need not worry." Cagri took him by the elbow. "And you look lovely in your new coat."
Mitchell ducked his head in a vain attempt to hide his blush. "Sure I do."
The trail led them to a thicker area of the woods and over a wide river, crusted with ice at the shore. Mitchell paused on the bridge -- something like fear brushed his senses, drawing his gaze down the river.
Cagri squeezed his hand. "What is it?"
"A haunting," Mitchell murmured. "A weak one. I should take a look."
Cagri pulled him back. "Is it safe? It's already so cold..."
Mitchell shrugged. "Ghost cold isn't the same thing natural cold. It doesn't matter."
They followed the river upstream, coming to a short hill. At the crest they spotted the likely site: a weathered, decaying shack at the shore of a small lake.
"It must flood in the spring," Mitchell murmured, gesturing to the waterline on the front wall. "Stay out here."
"I will stay by the door," Cagri said. "Don't argue. The ceiling is ready to collapse, I want to be near you."
Cagri wasn't wrong: parts of the shack had already caved in, leaving the main room open to the elements. There was no furniture, nothing left behind but the crumbling fireplace.
Mitchell crouched in front of the fireplace; there was a presence, here, but no obvious manifestation. Snow drifted down the chimney. Cagri shifted, the rustle of his clothing loud in the silence.
"Come out," Mitchell murmured, pulling a little power into it. "Where I can see you."
She faded into view, startlingly close. The vague shape of a girl, kneeling at the hearth, warming her hands by long-dead flames. Stay away. Her voice came from all around, the dissonance reverberating in his bones. I'm sick.
Mitchell sighed. Kids were the worst. "You're not sick anymore."
I'm always sick. Mama says I was born with sick. The room flashed: suddenly filled with light, a rocking chair near the hearth and a bed tucked into the corner. A woman leaning over the bed; the room flashed back. Mitchell shuddered. Mama gave me a special medicine. She said if it works I'll never be sick again.
Lady and her lover. Mitchell scrubbed his face. "What's your name?"
Do you know Mama?
"Yes." Lying was always a risk, but sometimes with kids it was easier than the truth. "She sent me here to tell you you're not sick anymore, so you don't have to stay here."
She flickered back and forth, kneeling by the hearth and lying on the now-gone bed. I don't want to go.
Cold seeped into his lungs. Mitchell pushed it back, pulling his magic across his skin. "I know it's scary, but this place is for sick people. You're not sick anymore."
She appeared in front of him, features nearly concrete and twisted in rage. He barely caught himself before he fell flat on his back. You can't make me! I belong here!
Mitchell stood, gathering his magic into a stronger ward, standing between the ghost and Cagri. "Not anymore. You need to go."
No! The room flickered between then and now; desolate, filled with firelight, dead, alive. Black smoke billowed from the fireplace, filling both versions of the shack. I'm staying here!
Mitchell whipped around. "Get out!" He shoved Cagri through the doorway. As he turned back around, the shack shifted to then, orange and yellow heat and shadows flashing and the bed in the corner
and didn't shift back.
"Fuck," Mitchell muttered. His breath misted. The floor creaked beneath him; snow clung still to his boots.
Icy cold pressed into his lungs; pushing back kept it at bay, but did not diminish it. He stepped closer to the bed, the woman leaning over it, the small child that lay bundled in the sheets. The woman spoke: layers of whispered voices spilled from her mouth, pouring into the child's ear, washing over her face. Smoke enveloped Mitchell, chasing after the cold in his lungs and replacing it with acrid fire.
I want to stay with Mama. I'm not dead. I'm just sick. I'm not dead. I'm not dead.
Mitchell focussed his magic inward, encasing and filling his lungs with his own power, crowding out the smoke. He forced his words out on tendrils of magic: "She's not here. You must go."
The smoke lay heavy on him; he fell to his hands and knees, eyes shut tight. Still she argued: I'm just sick. I'm not dead. I'm just sick. I'm not dead.
She wasn't listening.
Smoke drifted into his ears; he clamped his hands over them but it did no good. It came from the fireplace; something there was doing this, not her. He crawled towards the hearth; his limbs grew heavier with each movement. He collapsed, fingers gripping at stone -- stone, not wood. He poured his magic forth; smoke bled in around it, refilling his lungs. He felt something -- something -- something alive but too smooth, too cold, and he smothered it in his power and squeezed and something sharp
snapped and she screamed, over and over and from then and now and he forced himself to roll onto his back and he was staring at the dilapidated, ready to collapse ash grey roof of the shack and white flakes drifted down and the sky was so blue.
He choked up thick black smoke, Cagri suddenly there and sitting him up and the only cold was the snow.
"Mitchell please answer me," Cagri hissed, likely not for the first time. Mitchell breathed in deep, clean air, still coughing on the bitter heat.
"I'm okay." He swallowed, willing his body to move, to stand. Cagri wrapped an arm around his middle. "That was... bad."
Cagri laughed shakily. "I do not believe 'bad' is strong enough."
Mitchell closed his eyes, savoring Cagri's body heat. "Did you see anything?"
"Only the smoke. I heard screaming. And, hm. The sound of something breaking."
Mitchell snapped his head up. "In the fireplace. Hold on."
"Oh, and we just stood you up," Cagri murmured as Mitchell knelt. Mitchell shifted the snow and ash, cursing at the sudden sharp cut. He shook the pain from his hand and picked up the culprit: a shard of obsidian. A closer search revealed several more shards. "Do you not use obsidian in certain workings?"
"Not personally," Mitchell muttered. "I need to borrow your scarf."
"But my neck will get cold." Cagri sighed at Mitchell's expression.
"Don't worry; there's this amazing new invention called the 'washing machine', specifically intended to wash clothing." He wrapped the shards as he spoke. "I'm sure we'll find one."
"It's silk."
Mitchell slid the whole mess into his pocket. "Okay."
Cagri sighed. "Silk must be hand-washed. It is also very hard to get."
Mitchell shut his eyes. "Are we really talking about this right now?"
Cagri pulled Mitchell to his chest. "I supposed we were pretending everything is fine and you did not nearly die a moment ago."
Mitchell swallowed. "Now I feel like an asshole."
Cagri shrugged. "I have nothing to add."
Mitchell wrapped his arms around Cagri, reminding himself he was alive, listening to Cagri breath.
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Thank you for reading!
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Also, I am now very curious about who placed the obsidian whatsit there, and why, and what exactly it did in the first place to give what Mitchell thought was a weak ghost that much power.
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I'm glad you found it so intriguing! I honestly wasn't too sure about this one so it's good to know I wasn't completely off. (Also, the obsidian is related to this piece. Shh don't tell anyone.)
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*ahem* Which is to say, this is a nicely suspenseful little story, with excellent prose, and BOYS.
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