Brennybear (upinflames) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2010-02-17 22:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | #solo, 2009-07-04 |
She's a lady and ladies shouldn't be messed with.
Who: Bren, Mosiah (NPC)
When: around noon
Where: The park
It was 11:30 by the time Bren remembered her meeting with whoever, and it would take about twenty minutes to walk to the park, so she quickly got dressed. She made sure her hair wasn't doing anything too insane, hunted down her phone, her keys, and her wallet, and headed out the door with Bogart.
Will telling you this is a bad idea, meeting some random stranger, make any difference at all?
"Nope! Besides, we're in a public place, what could happen?" So the girl and her familiar made their way to the park, where she found a bench near the track and sat down to wait, people-watching through her sunglasses and instantly wishing she'd brought a book or something because hello boredom.
With his slim back against a tree trunk, Mosiah stood in plain sight, one leg crossed over the other. He wasn’t doing much, other than observing the people around him go on with their lives. The park wasn’t too crowded, but it was noon, so they definitely wouldn’t be alone – Mosiah knew and appreciated that. A few feet away from him was a pretty lengthy track, isolated from the rest of the park. No kids or dog owners walking their pets to bother them. Mosiah told himself many times that he should have planned the meeting out further, but the more impatient side of him had won out. Who could blame him? He was eager. Catching sight of his younger sister, a smirk broke over Mosiah’s features, and he ducked behind the tree he'd been leaning on, just watching her for a while. Yeah, it was creepy, but being creepy wasn’t really the top on his sacred list of concerns.
It was hot out, but as Mosiah approached the small girl on the bench, he was dressed in long, half way rolled up sleeves, jeans, and a tie. Mosiah hated to wear anything else, the instinct to cover up his scars. “I knew you would show,” he mused, sliding onto the bench beside her, placing one calf atop the opposite knee.
Bren had started a conversation with Bogart, her responses to him muttered so as not to attract attention, but she'd heard someone coming and stopped midsentence. She stayed looking ahead, distracted by someone coming into view wearing an obnoxiously bright orange shirt. She was swiftly, painfully brought back to reality however, when she heard that voice.
She nearly fell off the bench putting distance between them, and she did trip on the edge of the track, though luckily due to the ward she'd had placed on her just yesterday, she didn't hurt herself or reinjure any of her existing scrapes -- one on her hand, one on her chin, and a skinned knee, all covered up with Hello Kitty bandaids.
"Y-you..." Bren rubbed at her eyes, because surely her contacts weren't sitting right, but no, that was her older brother sitting on that bench, staring her down. "You were...you got me to...you fucking...you better have a good fucking explanation for this, or else a way to get out of Ann Arbor within three hours." Her voice was low, speaking in the contralto range she sung in but her speaking voice rarely hit, practically a growl, although it was much, much closer to something genuinely dangerous rather than the apoplectic chipmunk noise she'd usually make.
Mosiah was like a sponge at that moment, absorbing every emotion that he could feel radiating off of the girl beside him, mulling over her words. As she spoke, Mosiah just reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen, twirling it around his slender fingers. Pressing a thumb to the top, he let the sharp sound caress him. Click. Click. Click. That object, that simple little pen, wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Then again, neither were the dead leaves falling from the trees around them, or the sounds of the dogs barking and the birds chirping and the babies crying – but Mosiah found beauty in it all. He found beauty in the harsh tone of Bren’s voice. Maybe he was the odd one. With a thoughtful hum, he tapped the pen against his bottom lip, eyes shifting over to her form now a few feet away. That time, he wasn’t staring – just making eye contact.
“You are so frantic, Brenna. Calm down,” he murmured, an eyebrow quirked in a sort of challenge. His voice was cool, unflappable. “Maybe I just wanted to see my little sister again. It’s been so long, hasn’t it? I missed you.” Leaning back on the bench seat, Mosiah stretched his legs out in front of him, tapping the backs of his shiny shoes against the gravel of the pathway. “You do think so low of me. It’s so...unnecessary, in my opinion. Maybe that’s just me.” He looked up at her again. "You'll make me nervous just watching you."
"Um, you tried to fucking rape me, when I was fifteen. Sorry for not thinking you're superman?" It had been nearly a year since she'd seen Mosiah, or any of her family. She nearly shuddered as he pulled out the pen. "Just as fucking creepy and sociopathic as ever. I'm not kidding, you know, I'm not the only elemental in this town. I wonder if anyone's ever burned to death and drowned at the same time. Wanna try it?" Her voice had calmed, slightly, though she still meant fucking business. Her heart hurt a little, because she wanted to believe it was just her brother wanting to see her, but most of her felt sure it was a lie. "What do you fucking want, Mosiah?"
With an exasperated and almost bored sigh, Mosiah glanced up at the sky, watching the weather calmly. It stung his eyes, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t a sociopath. He wasn’t. He refused to believe it, even if logically, it was the only explanation. Mosiah was crazy, but he’d never admit to it. He didn’t need help. Rolling his eyes, he bent forwards once more, teeth chewing in a rhythmical motion on the button of the pen, putting small dents in the plastic. He stood up, one hand finding its way into his pocket, and he actually laughed at Bren’s words, shaking his head, hardly even phased. “You’ve already burned me enough, little sister, don’t you think?” he asked, quite amused, as he held up his unclothed arm, intending to show the scars. Then he remembered. Shit. Slowly, Mosiah’s eyes slid downwards to the forearm still bore, taking in the smooth skin. It wasn’t covered in the lumpy, uneven scars that should have been there – at least, not to what the eye could see. They were there, but certainly not showing. Snapping out of his gaze, Mosiah put his arm down and laughed once more. “Like I said, maybe I just missed you.” Apparently pouts were genetic, because he was doing a pretty good impression of the one that Bren used on a regular basis, toeing lightly at the ground.
Bren took a step back instinctively when Mosiah stood, ready to flee, but then his arm registered, that it did not look how it should. "Whoa!" She stepped forward now, grabbing his arm and pushing her sunglasses up. "When the fuck did you figure out glamours?" she asked him, because hello, she'd only learned they even existed yesterday. She ran her fingers over the smooth-looking skin. Definitely lumpy and hard with the burn scars she knew should be there, but his arm looked smooth. Then her face became a thunderous frown and she glared up at him, still holding his wrist. "Take it the fuck off, before I give you more than you can cover up," she said, voice nearly a snarl. She was angry that she couldn't take it off him herself -- she knew glamours could be broken but she hadn't been taught to do so. "You deserve for this to show," she said, spitting the words like something bitter, then shoved his arm at him. Bogart had been sitting by silently for most of this exchange, but as Bren stepped back again, he got between them, the small Jack Russell Terrier lowering his head and growling at Mosiah, ready to pounce or bite if it became necessary, determined to protect his mistress.
Quirking an eyebrow, he waited a few seconds, just studying Bren's expression. He was about to explain himself -- but he felt the temperature tick up just a little, and he went chill. Mosiah had spent so long looking at people under a microscope, especially Brenna, and he knew damn well that the look she was giving couldn't have been good. He also knew that if she got too agitated, there was a chance he could go up even without any conscious effort from her. He thought, perhaps only imagining, that he could sense something unnatural in the air, that it was Bren influencing the atmosphere rather than anything in nature. It just felt funny, like someone was pulling and tugging at the strings making up his core. Letting his eyes flutter shut, Mosiah looked away from his scar, yanking his arm free from her just as she shoved it towards his chest, grasping onto the cloth of his shirt. "You're ridiculous," he murmured, still calm. "I didn't deserve to be burned and given this for trying to put you in your place." After all, he'd only wanted to help her, to show her what would happen if her behavior went unchanged.
Bren barked out a disbelieving laugh, covering her face with her hands and she moved to the bench, sitting down again because she wasn't sure she had the concentration to stand and prevent herself from lighting something up at the same time. Bogart hopped up onto the other side of the bench so Mosiah couldn't sit without physically moving him. He was a small dog, but he still snarled viciously at Mosiah, ready to attack at the first hint of Bren wanting him to. As this was happening, he was speaking to Bren, not allowing Mosiah or any bystanders to hear.
It's alright. You're in public, he can't hurt you here. You're strong, you can take anything he throws at you. He recognized her reaction as partially panic, and it worried him, because her panic response was random fire, so he was doing his best to get her through it without that.
After a minute, Bren looked up again. "Just as, like, a little lesson on families, Mosiah? Brothers don't try to...don't try to do what you did to their little sisters, because said little sisters flirt too much." She found herself unable to vocalize what Mosiah had done, which was worrying, but she pressed on. "They explain, or protect the little sister from all the fucking guys who are like, after her virtue or whatever." Maybe she didn't really understand families either. "You were not acting like a normal brother, you were acting like a psychopath and trying to physically and emotionally damage me, so, yeah, you kinda did deserve to get burned." Could she really be blamed, though, of her perception of families was off? Theirs had, emotionally if not physically, abandoned her in her worst hour.
Mosiah listened to her voice, letting it roll through him. It ignited his thoughts and emotions -- so her voice was important. He lingered onto every word, grasping it as if it were the last thing he'd do. His eyes were downcast, just staring into nothing really as he began to very slowly pace behind the bench. "No person deserves to be burned, Brenna. You are not to judge me -- that is God's job. He will be proud of what I have done -- to try and help you, and He will forgive me. You, little sister, have no place to tell me what to do." Mosiah laid his hand briefly on Bren's shoulder, a calm, solemn gesture, before moving further around the bench. "Look, point is, I forgive you for this," he mumbled deeply as he held up his arm, showing off the blotchy and surprisingly still red scar. Mosiah found beauty in the renewed tissue, but his feelings towards it were bitter. He was her brother, no matter what he did, he never deserved what he got. At least, that's what Mosiah told himself nearly every day -- every time that it came up. Spinning on his heel, he turned around and crouched down in front of her, resting his elbow on a knee and his chin on his hand. "And God will forgive us both."
Bren turned, watching him behind her. His words filled her with a cold feeling that even fire couldn't drive out, the feeling she felt the first time he'd said these words, laying in a hospital bed while she contronted him with their sister holding her hand tight. The sudden crouch startled her and she pulled her legs up, pulling them to her chest, as if she thought that if she could just make herself small enough, he wouldn't see her, would go away like a bird who's lost track of a mouse. She stared at him for a long moment, then spoke in a sudden outburst. "God, could you be any more fucking creepy? How the fuck do you do that??" she all but shouted, gesturing frantically.
Bogart had had enough of these shenanigans, and he hopped off the bench, his nose an inch from Mosiah's knee, and started barking loudly, getting between him and Bren. Back up! Right now! Come on, you inbred nephite motherfucker, out of arm's reach! Three feet between you and the girl at all times! I'm watching you!
"You still haven't explained what the fuck you want," Bren said, letting her knees fall apart so she was sitting indian-style, a position he'd probably find indecent, given the tiny denim shorts, and she didn't think twice about. "Or, how the fuck you discovered glamour! Why are you here, Mosiah?"
Mosiah tapped his fingers against his lower lip, chuckling at the girl’s question. He didn’t find himself creepy; not one bit. Mosiah was going to retort, but decided against it, given the way the dog was communicating with him. Staring at the barking animal, he chuckled once more and stood, holding his hands up as if surrendering or something. “Okay, okay,” he murmured, taking a few steps back, before crouching down again once more when he was at what he expected Bren’s familiar to be okay with, fingertips ruffling with the base of his short hair. Slowly and kind of clumsily, they slid down and Mosiah fiddled with his beard, staring at the dog intently. He thought it was interesting. Very interesting. With a smirk, Mosiah shook his head, tilting it to the side after. Mosiah calmly let his eyes flicker down to her thighs, eyes raising up just a tiny bit.
The flesh there was so silky and smooth – something Mosiah didn’t exactly possess in many places. It was intriguing. He didn’t care that she was his baby sister – it only fueled his hunger further. With a simple shrug, he stood once more. “Like I said, maybe I missed you,” he mumbled, ignoring her question about his new found magic. No point laying out all the cards yet. “Is it really wrong for me to miss my Brennybear?” Before she could answer, Mosiah cut in, an icy smirk on his face. “Didn’t think so. You’ll find out more later, Brenna. Or maybe not. Who knows.”
Brenna caught his wandering eyes and glared, resting her hands in her lap so he had less view of flesh. Then her face went stony, hearing the childhood nickname. "No one calls me that anymore. And no one calls me Brenna, either. It's Bren." Bogart was eventually satisfied with his distance and trotted back to sit in front of Bren, tail wagging wildly with agitation, but he wasn't snarling or barking. "Stay away from me, tell me why you're in Ann Arbor, or burn. Those are your options, right now." She was done with his bullshit, and after a brief scratch at a Hello Kitty bandaid on her chin, started rubbing her hands together with a motion like rolling dice, summoning flame and keeping it trapped between her hands, to be used if he picked door number three.
Mosiah raised an eyebrow, in part at the gesture of her putting her hands in her lap, ostensibly, he assumed, to cover more skin, and partially at her informing him what he could call her. "I came to see you," he replied, because in spite of any ulterior motives he may have had, he really had come to see her--his ulterior motives just so happened to be related to that. He glanced down at the dog and shook his head, laughing slightly, and then took a step back, because it had not been long enough since the last time she'd lit him on fire, and he wasn't interested in a repeat performance, now or ever. In response to the name issue, he raised his eyebrow again and laughed. "I'm your brother, I can call you what I like." He briefly considered punctuating his statement with "Brenna" but decided against it at the last minute.
"Okay, why? You've been perfectly happy not to talk to me for the last, like, almost year. Why now?" She was still rubbing her hands together, collecting the fire. She tried to allow more and more to feed into it, making the small fireball between her hands denser and denser. She paused to peek between her palms and grinned, a little bit of orange light flickering out at her, and when she looked up at Mosiah she had a serene smile, figuring he had to know what she was holding now. "I mean, if there is a reason other than torturing me. Seriously, I have to get home and change and then to work so you're gonna give me the whole truth right now or you're gonna burn. I'm not a little girl anymore, and you're not the fucking Boogeyman." Even if I maybe still have nightmares about you basically every night. But he didn't need to know that.
Mosiah stiffened slightly, taking care not to betray too much emotion lest Brenna be able to tell that he was frightened, and then sighed. "I don't want to hurt you," he began carefully, and if he wasn't under strict instruction not to touch he would have rested a reassuring hand on her knee like a normal older brother, which he felt like he was. What he had done was only partially sexual, and mostly borne of a brotherly desire to take care of her. "I came to check up on you, to make sure you were safe. I don't want to hurt you, Brenna. I just want to keep you safe." It had never occurred to him that he might be something she needed to be kept safe from, and his voice was cautious but as earnest as he could possibly make it.
Oddly, Bren seemed to accept that answer, and she rested her hands in her lap again, staring at him suspiciously. The fireball sortof decompressed, exploded and burnt itself out in the span of a second, so quick a distant bystander would expect a trick of the light. She put her sunglasses down again so her eyes were hidden, and reached up, tightening her ponytail, just fidgeting. "I don't need to be kept safe," she told him, looking up at him again. "I've made a family here," she said, voice a little quiet. And she had. Linnea and Dagmar, Harley, Bradley, Neil, they were all her family in certain ways, even the ones she'd just met. "My roommate, Dagmar? She can manipulate water like I manipulate fire. We're natural enemies because of that but we've made best friends of each other in spite of it. Her mom, Linnea, is...I'm not gonna lie, a better mom than Mom has been to me since I was fifteen, and you know exactly why I say that. Bradley's a chef at the restaurant where I work, and he made me cry once," she said with a little laugh. "But he has a daughter about my age and he's there for me." She didn't go to mentioning Harley or Neil...even a normal older brother would wig out at ex-boyfriend/occasional booty call being considered family, and even moreso at random-dude-who-is-like-me-I-just-met-la
Mosiah offered a smile and held out his hands in a "peace" motion, hoping it would quell the last of her suspicion. He relaxed visibly when the fireball dissipated, listening. His first reaction was that he didn't like the sound of that, and he was, of course, jealous that Brenna had so easily replaced her real family with a bunch of strangers. "And they keep you safe?" he questioned, cocking his head slightly, pointedly, at her lap. "Keep you from getting into any trouble?" He was certain that she knew exactly what she was talking about, so he said nothing more than that, getting to his feet and watching her almost as suspiciously as she was watching him.
Bogart lowered his head slightly when Mosiah stood, not about to let him get closer than the designated boundary. He was the anti-shenaniganizer, dammit, and that meant there would be no shenanigans, from anyone. Bren gave him a withering look and crossed her legs, so he no longer had a good look at her inner thighs. "They let me get into exactly as much trouble as I wanna be in, and no more. Occasionally less. And yes, that does include fucking," she told him, knowing (hoping?) he'd be uncomfortable with the blunt words and sentiments. "It includes lots of fucking, of pretty much everything with two legs and a pulse, although I'm certainly not ruling vampires out. There just aren't a lot that go to U of M. There's this girl right now named Maria, she's a majorette and you would not believe, okay, she is possibly the hottest thing in like, the entire music department, and that's saying a lot, because we have a big fucking music department. I'm seeing her at a party later tonight and I'm kinda hoping I can get laid, because especially after this right now that would be awesome."
Mosiah was appropriately alarmed by her choice of words AND her implications, and he blinked hard, taking several steps back. "You are not," he spluttered, although there was very little he could say in response to that. "You are not!" he repeated, glaring. "How could you possibly--" struggling for words for several moments it was all he could do not to grab her by the shoulders and shake her hard--or worse. "You are not going to a party and you are not going to have promiscuous sex with women. That's...it's a sin, Brenna." It wasn't much, especially given that Brenna had been so quick to turn away from religion when she ran away, but it was the only way he knew to make Brenna see what a grave mistake she was making. "It's a sin."
Bren just laughed. At some point, she'd turned the tables. He was on the run now, and on top of the always-underlying layer of panic at his mere presence, it felt heady, even giddy. "It's a sin? Are you for real? I wonder what rape is, on that scale. I'm betting it's higher than anything involving two consenting adults, and when you add in the underage, the force, and the incest? I like my chances better than yours. I am going to a party, and I am going to have promiscuous sex with whoever I damn well please. And you can't do shit to stop it." She stood up, stretching her arms over her head briefly with a yawn. "Are we done here? I really do have work."
She had won. He wasn't entirely sure how, but somehow the tables had turned and she was the one with the power. He took another step back, running his fingers through his hair, and said nothing but "This won't be the last time we see each other, Brenna," as he turned and walked away, occasionally shooting her a disdainful glance as she grew further and further away. So he needed to try a different approach--that was okay. He would get through to her someday, it just was going to take a little more work than he had previously thought.