Jaimes Avril Ashley
The guy has the nerve to laugh when I make the shot. Fair enough, it wasn't good, but I expected worse. I don't say anything though. I just raise an eyebrow.
“You're easily satisfied, aren't you?” You wanna find out? My lips twitch up, but I say nothing. “The way you’re shooting, of course stabbing would be more effective. If your arrow doesn’t actually hit the target, there’s no point in using it, is there?” His voice is surprisingly light, which makes me suspicious. I'm here to cut the heart from his chest, not to be friendly with him. He finally moves from behind me to pick up his twig. I watch him intently. I'm not even sure why, but I do, okay? To look for... weaknesses. That's plausible. Suddenly, he looks back at me, hints of surprise, maybe confusion, readable in his eyes. I just look at him, unblinking and unimpressed. It takes a few seconds of eye-contact, but he looks away, leaving me to feel sort of... lost.
Yeah, lost in what the hell I'm doing and why I'm not knocking him unconscious while he's busy... I watch him take another twig, pulling leaves off it. Just like I really should have been pulling out organs right now. Okay, weird comparison, but you get what I mean. I should not be playing teacher-schoolboy with the guy. Although, that does sound rather kinky. My thoughts wander briefly as my eyes go over Jack's posture. Particularly that fine ass and how it would look naked after being spanked. I have to repress a grin. And a boner. I bite my lip playfully, watching Jack mess around with the twig. Then he looks at me and quickly wipe the emotions from my face, looking flippant and bored,
“Listen, your attitude is just all wrong,” he says with a twig in his pocket. He looks me over and he drops to his knees. Oh god, still fighting that boner. Do not think about blow-jobs. Or spanking or anything sexual. Think of cats. Dead, bloody cats with their eyeballs in their mouths and their guts decorating their fur. Okay, that's better.
By the time I get my penis to calm down, he's pulling on my legs and trying to get my feet straight. He gets up, gives me a critical look, seemingly oblivious of my sexual frustration. It doesn't mean anything. It's not like I like this guy. I don't 'like' people, because the whole concept is stupid and I'm way too busy being a murderer. I'm just kinda horny and it doesn't matter, because I have to kill the guy. And he's not that hot.
He puts his hands on my hips and changes the angle, and pushes against my chest. I watch him, avoiding his intensely ice blue eyes. I don't move when he pushes me. I'm completely balanced. Huh. Not bad.
“See,” I hear him whisper. Because my mind is already in the gutter, it sounds strangely sexual, making the sound go straight to my groin. I'm relieved I don't have a full-on-boner, it'll just look like my jeans are being stupid. “Make sure you’re standing steady.” I am after all the messing about you did. He takes my elbows and pushes them up, making me hold the bow up again.
“Hold your elbows closer to your body, don’t let them stick out. You’re not a chicken flapping it’s wings. Don’t bring them up too high either, you’ll just strain yourself.” His fingertips run over my hands, a completely innocent gesture, which feels... wrong. It's too... close, too intimate. It makes goosebumps appear on my arms. My bloody emotions need a kick up the ass, really. I shouldn't be feeling weird about this random suicidal kid named Jack. Maybe the worst part is the gentle smile on his lips, which goes straight to my chest.
He moves to his place behind me again, and then completely surprising me by the softest whisper. I barely hear him, and I'm sure I misunderstood it.
“For fuck’s sake, calm down,” I think I hear him whisper. I frown, my eyes on the target. I am calm. But before I can say anything, his hands are placed on my shoulders and move to masage the tight muscles under my skin.
“Don’t think of the bow as an addition to your arm,” I hear him say, silently. “Think of it as an extension to it. Let it become part of you. Don’t squeeze it, just hold it.” Slowly, my shoulders relax under the soothing movement of his fingers. I shouldn't let it happen, I can't let my guard down. But I don't think about that. Instead, I stare at the target.
One of his hands slips over mine, the hand holding the cord. The twig appears and is put in the place of the arrow.
“Let everything around you be a guide. Feel the wind on your face, your breath on the string, your fingers against your cheek, the string against your lips. Squint your eyes and focus on your target. Convince yourself that you will hit it, though I’m sure that shouldn’t pose a problem for you.” He snorts softly. My lips twitch up at the last comment. Though I want to tell him to fuck off with his 'advise', I don't. I squint my eyes at the target, feeling my body follow his instructions. I'm suddenly very aware of the wind on my skin, the cord against my lips, his voice near my ear and his body against mine.
“Don’t force it, be gentle,” he whispers, stepping closer so we're pressed against each other. I feel him against my shoulder, feel his hands move to my hips to steady me... Again, I'm too sweeped up in all these feelings. It's bad. All of this is. I should snap at him, hit him over the head, something. Instead, I watch the target intently.
“Now it’s up to you. Feel when the arrow is ready, when the wind is right,” he whispers, as quiet as possible. I don't focus or comment about how Disney-like that sounds. I just stare at the target in concentration. When the wind is right, what the fuck does that even mean?
But thanks to Jack's guidance, it doesn't feel like I'm being an idiot. It feels right. And as soon as it does, I let go. I let go and watch the arrow go. And somehow, I really want it to atleast come near the target. I really hope it does. I shiver slightly, though I'm not cold. I'm very rarely cold.
As soon as the arrow sails away, my stance slacks off and I lean subconsciously against Jack.
“How's that then, teacher?”
Lazu Jet Markl
As we kept eye contact, which by the way was not easy at all, I noticed the dark green colour of his eyes for the first time. His head was cocked slightly to the side, making him look slightly confused. He smiled back though, which was a relief. I wasn't being too creepy. After a few uncomfortable minutes, I broke eye-contact. My breathing was off, slightly shaky, weird. My eyes nervously followed his thumb stroke his bottom lip.
“Yeah, I would like that. And thank you, for healing me.” He then almost-yawned, which looked a bit silly, and it relaxed me. Only slightly though. He rubbed his eyes, and kept talking. That was good. I didn't like awkwardness. And this was a bit awkward.
“You know, when I was little and something happened which upset me or scared me, my mother would always pull me into her lap and stroke my hair. ‘Julesy,’ she would tell me ‘Psihi mou, it is alright. You are safe, nothing can harm you. Not as long as you’re in my arms, mwraki mou. So calm down.”
I stare at Julian as he babbles on. I only understand half of what he says, partly because of the accent and partly because of the strange Greek words.
“It never did though, not even the small, Greek petnames she gave helped at those moments. And she always knew. So she would firmly press her lips to my forehead and sing me a lullaby. Greek, of course, and I would find that to be the most soothing thing in the world. I can hardly remember the lines, and even if I would, I probably wouldn’t be able to sing it anyway. Next to my horrible singing voice, I would probably screw up on the pronunciation, seeing how I wasn’t exactly raised bilingual.” He chuckled as I continue to stare at his quickly moving lips. Seriously, I didn't realise people could talk this much. Especially not Julian. He seemed calm. He wasn't really calm now. Strangely, it was quite obvious to me that he was upset by everything that happened today. I normally didn't notice people's emotions.
“My Greek goes as far as the pet names my mom used to give me. But that’s not the point. It’s strange to think something as small as a song could calm me, but it did. And that same song can still do that to me, even though I only remember the melody. But at least it’s something good to remember, right?”
He smiled, his eyes far away. I blinked, storing all the new information in my brain. My brain, which was over-working again. It was turning and twisting and working and making my eyes water.
“I... Uhm...” I didn't know what to say, really. Too many words, all twisting around in my brain. Too many words in the air around me, too much information. My breathing was slightly erratic as I stared at Julian's chin. Safe territory. Pale skin, blurred by tears in my eyes, rolling down my over heated cheeks. My cheeks must be pink and I must look like an idiot.
“The ancient Greek definition of happiness was the full use of your powers along lines of excellence,” I say, my lips moving quicker than his had before. My tongue was tripping, words were failing me, and I was a complete... mess. I was a mess. My skin felt tender, I could still feel the Hunter's touch every few minutes, words were failing me, I felt awful and... lost. Lost, alone, messed up.
“I have not lost my mind,” I whisper, staring at the dark oak of the table. “It's backed up on a disk somewhere.” Or it should be. It should be. “We're not lost, just locationally challenged. Alone, we're all in this alone.” I force myself to turn away, look away from Julian, attempting to prevent myself from looking like a total idiot. What the hell is wrong with me? What is it that makes me so.. weird?
“I'm very sorry,” I say, my lips moving slowly this time. “I'm very sorry, I have to... go.” And go lay somewhere and break down, maybe. Yeah.
Welcome to Night Vale. All Hail the Glow Cloud. All Hail Perfect, Beautiful Carlos.
Warlock – Male – Lev Ivor Tsiskaridze – Theodora
Salaryman
