|
|
Arrival
Jun 16, 2020 22:53:47 GMT -6
Post by Cirrus Winter on Jun 16, 2020 22:53:47 GMT -6
 ARRIVAL MARCH 31st, 2017
Cirrus awoke to the pleasant patter of rain on the roof and the low grumble of thunder echoing across the lake. Bright blue eyes sensitively squinted in the soft cool light spilling into his bedroom as he checked the time on the brushed metal digital clock atop the bedside table made from the same metal. The modern frame of the queen sized bed was similarly constructed of steel and chrome, even the sheets had a silvery sheen.
Feet landed tentatively on the cool, grey coloured floor as he swung out of bed, his tall muscular frame rising smoothly, long powerful arms stretching high, finger tips touching the ceiling. He rolled out his large shoulders, upper body folding forward, head touching his knees. His long golden hair spilled to the floor as he let his body slowly sink into the stretch.
His hair still damp from a fast shower, clothed in a grey t-shirt and a pair of white sweat pants, Cirrus descended the industrial designed stairs and made his way into the kitchen, the bouquet of fresh brewed coffee flowing though the air. A fair guess on the timing considering he’d slept in, but he’d meant to. He’d taken a few days off as he often did, some extra time to recharge. Apex Institute was good for that, they believed in offering time-off in lieu of bonuses that just made people work harder, and consequently, burn out quicker. Coming from a time where companies just kept moving the goal line on their employees, Cirrus was all for less time at work, of course, he was technically retired or rather he had been.
Flicking through a list of news feeds on the tablet lying beside the coffee maker he found an interesting channel and mirrored the feed to the wall mounted flatscreen in the kitchen. More shit about the new president or more specifically the new fuhrer. Cirrus shook his head disdainfully as he filled a mug with coffee, the black mixing with the cream he had previously added. It had only been a matter of time before the ‘change’ that had seemed to effect everything back in 2011 would began to seep into politics. President Alexander Duke was a testament to that, the embodiment of that shadow falling across the globe, it’s tendrils slowly but surely creeping into every corner of the country. Sludge that had been lying dormant was being stirred, but also, the concentrated fuel of a repressed truth was being ignited. To what end? All Cirrus could see was lie after, blatant lie, no one close to Duke seeming to be the wiser, as if they were living in a different reality. They could very well be, he figured, a reality empowered by their corruption and ignorance. Of course, he could only speculate. As plausible as it might have been that the American government was taken over by a preternatural influence, it was just as likely that they had fallen prey to a simple demagogue. Only time would tell, but not today.
Thunder tumbled through the forest as the soft rain continued to beat down on the deck that over looked the mouth of the Sterling River on the north-side of Hemlock Island. Distorted light refracting through the tear streaked windows looking out onto the rain slick terrace played across Cirrus’ angular features while he glanced through emails on his lap-top. He liked to avoid surprises, and a quick check of recent messages insured that nothing unexpected had come down the pipe.
Taking a sip of coffee, his attention was drawn to the chime of the inter-office chat application. His expression warmed when he saw a message with a smiley face and coffee emoji accompanying the all too familiar username, ‘C. Dancheva’. Chloe had started working at Apex a year ago in his division as tech support and they had immediately hit it off. Not one to cultivate relationships in the work place, Cirrus found himself uncharacteristically enjoying the friendship. He’d always been intrigued by youthful ideas and had made an effort to incorporate them as much as possible when he was running the San Francisco lab. Back when he was a much older version of the young man sitting in the decked out modern-industrial decorated kitchen.
“Good morning. See ya on Thursday.” He responded, his fingers a blur on the key board.
She responded with a ‘thumbs-up’, at which he smiled and put the chat application on ‘away’. They were off to a conference in New York for the day, nothing major, just a seminar on managing viruses in the work place. Chloe was the only one in the lab that hadn’t been accredited and as she didn’t have anyone else to go with, he had volunteered figuring it would be a fun outing.
Catching his reflection in the water streaked window, Cirrus still saw the person he had been, the aged features, the white thinning hair, dulled eyes framed in round silver glasses. The youthful face staring back at him felt like an illusion, but it was as real as the tall, bar-style chair he was sitting on. Not many could boast such a gift, but he had his days where it felt more like a curse. He was after all, not the person of his youth, not even close. The young man that he had been was impetuous and fool hardy at the best of times, saved by, it seemed by pure dumb luck half of the time. That and there was the ‘unconsciousness’, as he called it, the entity that he had become; an aspect of myth brought to life. Just thinking about it accessed the ancient memories of bygone eras, of times when the, ‘entity’ grew from the beliefs and imaginings of people who worshipped it, clothed and formed it with their dreams.
The alert of an incoming text message resounded with the music score from a popular 80’s science-fiction movie. Checking his phone he saw that it was from, Slate wondering if he was going to bring his jeep by for that oil change. Apparently he had a free stall, and remembering that he had the day open thought he’d give him the option.
“Be there in twenty.” He texted back.
Most things were twenty minutes away in Omensvale.
|
|
|
|
Arrival
Jun 19, 2020 12:55:02 GMT -6
Post by Slate Blue on Jun 19, 2020 12:55:02 GMT -6
 Curled up contently in a bed made out of an old hub cap a well fed tabby cat peacefully slumbered the morning away as the sound of the rain droned through the garage. A classic rock song softly resonated from a blue tooth speaker sitting atop a tool chest while two mechanics in matching grey coloured over-alls worked away. One under the hood of the common sedan, while the younger in the adjacent stall worked underneath a raised classic cherry red Corvette. Her dark eyes sparkled, catching the gleam of the standing light illuminating the exposed wheel as she glanced to her brawny work mate. She had changed so many brakes she could do them in her sleep, her eyes wandering while her hands worked away.
“Hey, Slate.” She called out, “You playin’ at the Cove this weekend?”
“Nope.” The deep voice shot back a curt response.
He remained completely focused on his work, eyes never rising from the engine. Even if River had picked up on the hint she wouldn’t have heeded it. That was just Slate. She’d gotten used to it over the past year. Used to be he wouldn’t even answer her, now look at them, having conversations and all.
“Too bad. Was thinking of headin’ over there.” She mentioned, her gaze sweeping across his profile, pausing on the scar on his cheek. On most guys it would’ve detracted from their appearance, but not Slate, it just added character to his comely features.
“So, you playing anywhere?”
River kicked herself for asking such a non-specific question. He’d probably just come back with a simple ‘yes’. She felt like such an idiot! Now all she could do now was wait… and wait. His reply took an excruciatingly long time, but just when the silence was about to become unbearable he answered as if he’d been frozen in time.
“Gotta gig at the Ghost.”
River was about to ask, ‘what night?’ when the door to the front office swung open, the door chimes ringing, and the sensor beeping. Slate was already moving toward the customer area and it almost made her think that his long pause had somehow attributed to the timing.
A man bigger than Slate with long golden blonde hair drawn back into a pony tail stepped in out of the rain. He was dressed in a semi-formal manner, of course anything outside the realm of jeans and a t-shirt was ‘formal’ to River. Charcoal grey pants, stylish black shoes, a black trench coat over a sapphire blue dress shirt, seemed pretty dressy to the young mechanic. She noted a familiarity to their greeting and that’s when River recalled that she’d seen the Viking-guy before, somewhere, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
“I’ll open the door for you.” Slate said to him. Bay three she figured, then the guy headed back out and Slate made his way over to the far door. As the door slowly rose the rain came streaming in, rousing the sleeping tabby-cat. He guided in the bright orange coloured ’73 Commando, then hit the button on the wall, closing the garage door.
River couldn’t place where she’d seen the Viking-guy before. He was a hard guy to forget. Tall, good-looking, built like a body-builder, and the most piercing blue eyes. “Hey.” she squeaked, awkwardly raising a hand. The big guy smiled warmly and waved back.
She was about to get back to her work when Slate called out her name, which he almost never did.
“This is Doctor Cirrus Winter.” he introduced. River strode up to the large man, wiped her hand off on her over-alls and extended it. The Viking-guy didn’t hesitate to take it. As he softly enveloped her smaller hand in his, Slate politely announced her full name, explaining that she and her father, Jackson Blackstar owned the shop.
“Pleased to meet you. Call me Russ.” he added, smiling sheepishly at the pretentious introduction.
“E'chah. Nice jeep.” River commented, relaying the make, model and history of the vehicle as if she was reading the description out of a catalog.
His bright eyes widened with intrigue, and River thought, this was the first time she’d ever seen Slate interacting with anyone outside of a bar or work who seemed like a ‘legit’ friend. Then her mind began to wander down that road where she considered that these two might be a couple.
“So how’d you guys meet?” She blurted out.
The insinuation must have been all over her face and they both picked right up on it. Slate curiously furrowed his brow, Russ raising his, smiling a smile that seemed to suggest this wasn’t the first time he’d been pegged as gay. The label was irrelevant to both of them, and based on her quick assumption, River was left none the wiser as to whether not they were or weren’t a couple.
“Car trouble.” Cirrus answered.
“Fan belt.” Slate shrugged.
Then they beat the crap out of a undead monstrosity and grabbed a beer. That part of the story was for another time. There was something else, River noticed about Russ, though. Something that only a person with her heightened sense of smell would notice, and it confused her. She wasn’t able to get a distinct scent off the guy, it was like the air around him kept churning about and scattering the scents. He just smelled fresh, like a cool summer breeze, taking her mind to the forest and the freedom of her other form. Then it struck her. That’s where she had seen him before! He had appeared in the forest one night, when the pack had gathered beneath the full moon. She was young and had been told by her father that the memories during her shift would be hazy, but would clear over time. All she could recall was that he had moved with such speed and agility that he could not be human. He was a preternatural!
|
|
|
|
Arrival
Jun 20, 2020 11:28:42 GMT -6
Post by Cirrus Winter on Jun 20, 2020 11:28:42 GMT -6
Cirrus had wondered if River would recognize him, the answer resounding in the glean of those dark almond eyes. He had learned from the pack leader that the memories of younger shape-shifters were cloudy between forms, but she definitely realized what he was, or rather, wasn’t. She didn’t know about Slate, however, and he could feel the Angel’s keen awareness keying in on the subtle nuances. Cirrus pondered the reason for the secrecy from another preternatural but it wasn’t for him to decide how people guarded their inhumanity. Whatever his reasons were, they were none of his business. It was for them to sort out.
River was surprised that Slate would stop to help a total stranger. He was so stand-offish and curt with his words, but he was a damn good mechanic and she’d never seen a better panel-beater. The way he pressed out dents was super-human. That, and knowing a person like Cirrus started to get her thinking. ‘What if —?’
“What ya got up here?”
Russ’ question broke her train of thought. He was standing beside her, looking up at the vehicle. She thought at first he was talking to Slate, but he was heading down into the oil change well under the jeep.
“1962, Corvette.” She answered.
He nodded. Honestly, he hadn’t even know the model. Cirrus was about the furthest thing from a ‘car guy’, but he still admired the workmanship and design of them. It was why he had always kept his old Commando in pristine condition.
“Bought her brand new.” He whispered, eyes flicking to the jeep.
River’s brow furrowed as she quickly did the math, but then she had heard that when the world had change, it had turned the clock back for some. It was hard to believe the blonde-god was probably in his eighties. That was just wrong! She’d never see him the same way again.
Russ smiled when he felt the way that she perceived him take a sudden turn. He wasn’t offended, on the contrary, to him, that immediate revulsion was the way it was supposed to be. He was not a few years her senior, in fact that’s precisely what he was.
As the questions began roll around in her mind, Cirrus tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat and lazily strolled around the garage, admiring the 1950’s ambience they had captured. There were too many old model tool boxes, benches and decor to be coincidence, someone had gone to great lengths to capture the time, and had masterfully succeeded.
“This place is amazing.” He complimented.
“Thanks.”
River figured the old guy was probably being nostalgic. She was regretting that her father was on a road trip, he’d probably love to meet him. Unfortunately, she could tell cars weren’t exactly his thing, but her father wasn’t just a gear head.
“There are drinks in the fridge. Help yourself.” She offered, wrench in hand pointing to an old 1950’s style ‘Coca Cola’ refrigerator in the corner of the first bay. He grinned a thank you as he made his way over to the tabby and gently stroked the furry ball, rubbing him under the jaw line, cooing gently. The feline rolled his head and began to purr loudly, and Cirrus was more than happy to indulge the content cat. He barely noticed the time passing, listening to the soothing rhythm of the cat’s purrs and the sound of the rain drumming against the glass of the bay doors. Before he knew it, Slate was done with the oil change and River had the tire back on the Corvette. It had been this way since the “change”, his mind wandering, moments imperceptibly slipping by.
River who was cleaning her hands with a rag, was looking at him funny. “You okay?” she asked in a concerned tone. Cirrus smiled and reassured her that he was fine. He then expressed how much of a pleasure it was to meet her before trailing after Slate back into the sales area.
“On me.” Slate told him, to which Russ insisted that he pay, but he’d have none of it.
“Alright, but I got lunch.”
Slate complied with a disquieted nod. Then casting a glance over his shoulder to check the proximity of River, before posing his question.
“Been to Totem Island lately?”
Cirrus shook his head. “No. Why?”
Slate wasn’t able to say for sure. “Maybe check it out.” he recommended.
‘Cryptic much?’ Cirrus thought, but then he wasn’t really one to talk. “Sure.” he agreed.
Slate ushered him back out into the garage and opened the bay door. Cirrus paused before closing the vehicle door, “Noon at the Cove?” he confirmed, River’s ears pricking up at the mention of the local tavern. The mechanic nodded, sealing the door as the orange jeep pulled away and melted into the rain.
|
|
|
|
Arrival
Jun 23, 2020 0:00:42 GMT -6
Post by Slate Blue on Jun 23, 2020 0:00:42 GMT -6
Lightning flashed, Slate’s steps marched in synch with the distant rumble of thunder as he headed back to the sedan. Every step kicking himself for not considering the connection. That somehow, Russ and River might have crossed paths, and indeed they had. That’s all it had taken for her to make a revelatory association. The sound of her approach was irksome. She leaned against the front of the car, arms folded across her chest, her stare pushing into the back of his head. It was all starting to make sense now. All the little unexplainable things about Slate were coming into perspective.
“Interesting guy.” She commented
He didn’t comment, just continued to work away on the engine.
“How long you two been together?”
Slate paused, the slight tug of a grin at the corner of his mouth as he suppressed his sigh. He had never considered how much Humans were dominated by their sexuality, often the point that it overshadowed all reason. This was the conclusion that she drew? He supposed the two of them would have made a good couple but it just wasn’t the case, and immediately set the record straight.
“We’re just friends.”
Initially she wasn’t convinced, but as he continued to hold her gaze it became very apparent that she was way off. “Oh… but…” she stammered.
“But what?” Slate straightened, arms folding across his thick chest.
“You just never… I mean, I’ve never seen you with a woman.”
Now she was really uncomfortable, but as her mind struggled to make sense of her misdirected assumption, the correct path presented itself.
“You’re like him.” She whispered.
The sudden deadness of his expression only served to support her conclusion.
“Russ is like me.” She confessed, and his reaction made it all the more obvious that she was right about him.
Slate couldn’t believe it. He’d never sensed a thing, but there in lied the reason. Despite heightened sensory abilities and super-human sensitivities, Preternatural’s despite their connection to magic, were still no more aware of one another. “Jackson?” he verified.
River nodded.
He had to laugh. Almost a year, and he had never suspected a thing, nor had they of him. Of course, it had only been in the last month that, Slate had allowed his guard to drop. Before that, it was strictly professional. He came in, did his work, appropriately conversed and that was it. Jackson and River had always respected his boundaries, more so than anyone else he’d known, which was one the reasons he had stuck around. He liked them.
“It’s this place. Dad says it’s like a light in the dark, attracting others like us.”
Slate mirrored her nod. He had felt the pull, and “We’re different here.” he added. “Stronger.”
“That’s why the pack patrols the woods.” River mentioned.
“The pack?” He quickly put all together. The wolf sightings reported in the area were true, and her familiarity with them could only mean one thing — she was one of them. “So you…?” he finished with a scampering motion of his hand to illustrate the transformation.
“Yeah.”
“Fuck. Your Dad too?”
“No, he’s different.”
“No shit.”
“So what about you?” She wondered. “What’s your deal?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure what I am.” Slate admitted. At least, what he suspected didn’t make a lot of sense to him.
River could have pressed him for details, but she seemed to know not to. She was simply content to know that he was like her, and that she start being her real self around him. More importantly he could stop being so distant, but as the silence between them continued to grow it quickly became apparent that was just who he was.
She pushed herself up off the car, hands still tucked into the deep pockets of her overalls, a mischievous expression on her face.
“So, I heard you were headed to the Cove?”
|
|
, Jr.