For What It's Worth [Closed]

[Myk]

“Ciao. Come va?”

The woman’s voice over the phone was frailty disguised as benevolence. Myk wasn’t sure how to address such emotions in general, but when they came from this woman in particular, he was even more unsure. He scratched at the back of his neck, dishevelling his long white hair which all too quickly tangled and matted into a ball of pain. He caught his fingers in it several times and winced.

“Myk? Hello? Are you there?”

“Yes, mamma, I am here…”

“Have you forgotten your Italian then?”

“Not exactly…”

“Then answer the question.”

“In English, or…”

There wasn’t so much an answer as a sharp breath down the line, which Myk took to meaning, No, not in English you impetuous child. He sighed weakly in return, his fingers scissoring in his hair to work out the knot.

“Bene… grazie. E… lei?”

“Why so formal? I am your mother. It’s e tu for people you are familiar with.”

“Sorry…” he murmured, though he knew this wouldn’t appease the woman either. “Scusa… Mi dispiace, mamma.”

“That’s much better. I swear you are your father’s son. You’ll learn French easily and without effort, but Italian seems to be difficult for you.”

Myk growled, turning away from the receiver so she wouldn’t hear.

“And at any rate, if you are so well, why do we not hear from you at all? Your father wanted you home, he told you this months ago. We haven’t seen you in years, Myk. Years. You’ve made it quite clear that you don’t want to come home and you don’t want us to visit, but you leave us messages to contact you regardless. And when we do, you don’t answer. I don’t understand what is going on with you. And your father says that you are not on your medication? You know you have to take them, Myk. You may not like them, but they are good for you. We’re just worried about you. You know that.”

When the woman finally stopped talking, Myk felt the need to inhale sharply like he’d had the air sucked out of his lungs and still needed it. He just needed a moment; a moment to think and relax and replace the angry words in his heads for words that flowed better to the ears of others. By the time he spoke, he’d only half achieved it.

“Mamma, I appreciate your concern,” he said through gritted teeth. “But you do not need to worry. I am old enough now to fly the nest and make my own decisions. You’ve spent so many years fussing over me like I am some fragile vase, but I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. I really am grateful for everything you have done, but it’s time for me to experience the world for what it is, not for what you want me to see. I may be out of contact for some time, but I am safe and I am healthy, so do not worry. You have been great parents, so, now is the time where you step back and respect that what you have created and nurtured will be ok.”

There was a smile in his voice, but not on his face. Pewter eyes stared vacantly at the wall of a building in the distance, his focus set on a single point so he could concentrate on what he was fabricating for her benefit and for what he was pulling apart for his own; that damn matted ball of hair. When he heard his mother sigh, he wasn’t sure if he’d been victorious or not. She was a shrewd woman and she knew a lie when she heard one – her entire career was subjugated by lies; whether it was the lies of her clients, the lies of the witnesses or the lies of the opposition. It was also no secret that there was something of a rift between mother and child; the only secret there stemmed on the origin of such differences and antagonism. His mother never thought him capable of anything – she had high standards and he was a constant disappointment – while Myk saw the woman’s version of childrearing to be ineffective and flawed. As far as he was concerned, her sharp tongue and iron heart did nothing to raise a child and certainly did more to squash it. He often questioned whether his mother actually had a strategy, suggesting that she simply responded to this new experience of bringing up a child in the same way she approached everything else – with fierce prejudice. After all, they’d never wanted him and simply had been laboured with his existence.

“Myk, you’re right,” his mother said after some time. “We have raised you well. Well enough that you’re quite capable of talking your way out of trouble it seems. I’m grateful for that, but you don’t seem to understand what is going on. You’re not well, Myk. This is why you have to take your pills. You,” she paused to consider her words for a moment. “You might not realise it, but… Myk. You know that things happen sometimes and you can’t remember why. You know you have trouble remembering events, days, weeks at a time. You know you have trouble differentiating between your imagination and what’s real. That’s why we had you start that journal to keep track. Are you still keeping track?”

Myk didn’t want to answer the question. In fact, her words had put him into a sour mood. Sat on the park bench under the sallow light of a streetlamp, his hand stopped moving in his hair and he glared out at the wall in front of him, jaw clenched and features sharp.

“Well if you’re not taking your pills, I doubt you’re keeping your journal either,” his mother grumbled. “Honestly, I don’t know what to do with you. I can’t force you to make yourself better, but do you have any idea of how it makes us feel to know you’re out there alone?”

Anger melted into sorrow very quickly at that point. Myk’s feather-trimmed eyes sunk to the floor and he let out a sigh.

“We don’t like to think of you that way. All alone in a country you don’t know, scared and confused and getting into trouble. You can’t want to hurt people. I know that’s not what kind of a person my son is—”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Then come home.”

“I… can’t…”

“…Then you must look after yourself. You have to make sure you don’t do anything to hurt anyone, do you understand?”

“I—”

“Go find a doctor, Myk. Talk to them. Let them know you need help to help yourself. If you want independence and you want to be safe and not hurt anyone, this is what you have to do.”

“Ok.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise to think about it.”

“Then I really want you to think about it. Just consider how many people might be affected by your actions, even when you don’t mean to.”

“Ok, mamma.”

“Ok.” There was a long pause before she spoke again. “Please do take care of yourself, Myk.”

“Thanks… You too… Ciao…”

“Ciao.”

Myk slipped the phone away from his ear and into his lap, thumbing the reject button as he did so. His other hand found its way out of the tangle of white hair and joined the other and he stared at his phone, assimilating the blankness of the screen. Against his anxieties, he was seriously considering what his mother had suggested. He had lost time – repeatedly – he did often drift into fantasy, and he had started to hear voices. He probably wasn’t well, but then again, he was no longer Human. As much as it might have made sense to see a doctor, he just physically couldn’t. They wouldn’t understand and he wouldn’t be honest with them. In the end, it would be a waste of time. Myk closed his eyes, kept his head hung, and breathed out heavily. For what it was worth, his mother was probably right, but she also had no idea how wrong she was either. Oh what a big, giant mess this was.

[Jezebel Tzasun]

Nimble pale fingers danced over the strings. The touch purposely kept light, almost a feather light caress as those almost fragile looking digits moved about, tracing the delicate curves of the custom made instrument. That violin held a special place in her dark little heart. Not a single part of it went untouched. Every delicate curve was caressed in the same loving and affectionate manner. Jezebel could not recall the last time she played and somewhere in the back of her unusually calm mind she was certain it had been a couple of years since it was last played.

Vibrant blue eyes settled on the case that served as the resting place for the instrument. The outside was covered in dust, except for where her finger tips had brushed against the surface. Time had not been as kind to it as it had been the violin. One hand moved before she could really think about it, snatching up the nearest piece of cloth. The cloth felt too rough to her, most things did though, but at least it would do for the purpose of wiping off the case.

There was no rush, no sense of urgency as she began the tedious task. Out of everything she did during her everyday routine cleaning was probably the most boring task she would ever accomplish. Either out of habit or reflex while wiping off the black surface the woman yawned and as soon as those blackened lips touched once more she found herself desperately trying to figure out why it had happened. Sadly, the reason eluded her like the shadows that often darted by in her peripheral vision. Annoying little things they were but she had grown accustomed to their fleeting presence.

Lost to her thoughts, drowning in memories that were better left buried, the incessant buzzing of the phone vibrating away went unnoticed even once it fell off the edge of the table. The thud of it hitting the floor was the first thing to catch her attention, effectively snapping her from what become a rather unpleasant prison of sorts. That device though, despite its fall, never stopped buzzing. It was either one of three people or possibly all three of them trying their best to get her attention, but it mattered little to her. After all there were more pressing matters at hand, like her trying to figure out exactly when she managed to finish cleaning the case off without realizing it.

A look of confusion swept across her features causing her brows to furrow slightly. Confusion was such a horrible thing. It always left her mind reeling and gave her the distinct impression that she was grasping at straws, or stumbling through the dark. Every little twist and turn of her mind left her feeling even more confused than she was to begin with, there was no end in sight.

A distraction, that's what she needed. Anything to keep her mind from following every rabbit hole it could find. Once more her attention went to the violin. It could produce the most wonderful of tunes and melodies in the right hands, just not hers anymore. The lessons would have to start up again in order for her to be even somewhat decent with the instrument, or at least close to the level she had once reached.

There was a longing there, a yearning for something she had never devoted much time to fully understanding as she carefully placed the violin back in its case. Somewhere, deep down, she knew it was simply caused by the way she had forsaken everything. All her dreams had been extinguished like the flame of a candle, but for some reason they refused to die so easily. The longer she stared at the instrument the more she realized she needed to get back to basics, but all that work could wait.

So, that distraction. Yes, it was back to that in the blink of an eye. Between longing to revive her long dead talents and the need to start over again, she was driving herself completely insane. It wasn't just her doing it, the constant buzzing or ringing of the phone wasn't helping any. That annoying object managed to snag her attention again and right away she snatched it up just to end up throwing it at the wall. The sound of it breaking and finally being silent was like music to her ears.

Jezebel shut the case finally after giving the violin one last gentle caress. It would accompany her for the first time in a couple of years as she wandered the streets. At one point it had been the closest thing to a friend she had but then she decided to cause a few problems and got mixed up with a weird crowd.

She stood up, case in hand as she moved to the door. Maybe something good would come of the small adventure, though that wasn't usually how anything happened. Once more she found herself transfixed on her memories and trying to fill in the gaps as she walked down the street. It left her oblivious to everything, from the buildings she passed by and the people that she barely managed to avoid bumping in to, none of it really mattered to her though.

A man ran into her, knocking her off balance and sending her to the pavement. The case slipped from her hand but after fumbling with it few seconds she managed to catch it before it could hit the ground. She stared up at him, her eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle and for a reason she didn't understand a single bit her bottom lip trembled slightly. Quickly she corrected her behavior, looking around almost frantically as she got back up on her feet.

The case was firmly clutched to her chest as she started walking again. No direction in mind. No destination to reach. All she could do was wander around until she couldn't possibly take another step. Many nights had been spent like that, and it showed no signs of changing.

Desperation started to settle in though. All she wanted to do was hide from all the prying eyes and glares of the strangers she passed. Never had she felt so overwhelmed while simply walking the streets. The faintest of whines left those dark lips as she simply gave up, letting her legs give way so that she found herself on the pavement. The violin still clutched to her chest as she sat there watching the strangers walk by. Oh how she hated their stares. The almost taunting way they would occasionally point at her.

A small child, no older than five years old approached her with a rose in his small hands. He held it out to her but before she could accept the beautiful gift his mother pulled him away. “We don't give things like that to people like her.” Jezebel stared at him and for a moment she could have swore she saw his fragile spirit break and that tender heart sink as his mother dragged him off so carelessly.

People like her? Did she mean different? Perhaps she had meant something about her appearance in general. It mattered not. She knew all too well how hateful and judgmental people could be at times. Her gaze finally dropped to the ground as she nuzzled her cheek against part of the case.

Tiny, hurried footsteps caught her attention and she looked back up only to see the boy rushing back over to her as fast as his legs could carry him. He stopped in front of her long enough to hand her the rose and then run away again. Somehow, despite the hate that his mother was teaching him, he managed to slip away from her long enough to bring the rose back to a complete stranger.

“Thank you.” The relatively small goth mouth the words to him as he looked over his shoulder while running back to his mother's side. It had been the highlight of her night, proving that there was possibly still hope for the humans, albeit a very small sliver of hope but hope nonetheless.

Again her mind was adrift, following every small rabbit hole all over again as she turned the rose around in her hand. Various emotions crept to the surface. Her expression changing to match each fleeting emotion as it swept over her. It varied from anger to happiness and every possible thing in between until it settled on what could only be described as nothing. Everything went utterly blank, devoid of all emotion as her mind was swept up in a whirlwind of thoughts. So much for that distraction it seemed.

People passed, barely catching her attention. They were just walking suits of flesh, most of them carrying hollow souls that didn't care for anything other themselves. Such selfish creatures they were indeed, walking around acting like they cared from time to time, but she knew that if one of their 'friends' were to drop dead in front of them most of those people wouldn't have cared. The faked concern and most other things so well they all might as well have been professional actors that were too afraid to be themselves or show real emotion.

Sadness crept its way in as she realized her father had been the same way. His concern was always faked but she always knew how he really felt. He had wanted her dead from the day she was born, but he never really got his wish. There had been a bright side to it all though, her mother. A true star that had shined brightly even after her untimely death.

Jezebel's shoulders slumped and her grip on the case finally eased up. Never had she felt the desire to cry so intensely, and she would have done so if it wasn't for the fact that she hated allowing others to see her in a state other than her forced happiness. The rose slipped from her hand, one of the thorns cutting her finger as it fell. Before she could pick it back up someone stepped on it, completely crushing the beautiful red petals.

“Heartless creatures. They destroy everything beautiful.” The words came out mumbled accompanied by low grumbling and glaring at the crushed flower. They left nothing but death in their wake, much like some others she was vaguely familiar with.

Once more it was back to that much needed and sought after distraction. She needed to have some fun, to escape from it all for a while, and only one person came to mind, Myk. It was only a matter of finding the strange man or maybe it was best to let him find her. Stay in one spot or move around? Move to a better location or just sit there staring at the destroyed flower? It was a tough decision to make but after weighing the options she decided to sit there, but at least she had a way to pass the time.

The woman set the case down gently. As rusty as she was, she needed a way to stay entertained. She opened it quickly and pulled the beautiful instrument and bow out before staring at them with wide eyes. It was all or nothing. Out of habit she drew in a deep breath as she put the instrument in place and let the breath out as she drew the bow slowly across the strings. With each beautiful note that was produced her confidence grew until everything around her melted away. The melody was slow, bordering on being haunting as she waited patiently.

[Myk]

Before he got into the trouble of over-thinking, he caught sight of something interesting. Tucking his phone into his jacket pocket, Myk pushed himself off the bench and approached it quietly as if any sudden movement might startle it and cause it to flee. To others, it was just a square bit of paper attached to a lamppost with sticky tape; nothing unusual except its bright orange colour. It was just a leaflet promoting a band playing somewhere in Harper Rock, but none of that scribble was important to Myk. What was important to him was what he could make of this piece of paper, which in this case just happened to be an aeroplane. He made neat, firm folds; a mind for practicality reigning over any eye for aesthetics. Although it was slightly bothering the Telepath that black ink disturbed the clean, crisp colour of the orange paper, making random marks and lines and half-sentences over his plane, he didn’t bother to try and correct it. There was little he could do but paint over them with a black marker anyhow, and since he wasn’t carrying one, he had to tolerate it. He had eye-liner tucked into the pocket of his jeans, but he didn’t consider it; his typically flexible mind had tangled itself stuck.

There weren’t too many people about and even fewer would be in the open fields just a little further east, so that was where he headed. His paper plane soared majestically, touching down with a soft thump after each projection. Every time it came into land – not exactly gracefully most of the time- Myk collected it and began to process over again. He didn’t mind if he had to fish it out of a bush or pick it up off a patch of nettles because he didn’t want to lose his new toy. Myk had begun to hear music, which created something beautiful against the serpentine flight of his paper aircraft. Myk wasn’t sure if he was hearing this music simply by himself – meaning that he might be imagining it – but it didn’t matter to him. He was happy, distracted, but it wasn’t long before things suddenly got out of control. Myk watched the orange craft skim the air for a good twenty seconds before a zephyr steered it off course. It veered east, nose slanting and wings curtailing to help it pick up speed before it dive-bombs into the lap of some woman on a park bench. Myk just stopped behind her and stared awkwardly, it hadn’t occurred to him that he might know this woman. People were often cruel and he imagined the person on the bench would get quite angry with him after he’d disturbed her music; well, at least he hadn’t been imagining that.

“Sorry,” he said. It’s almost a sulk, but his low, rasping voice coated it in a hiss.

[Jezebel Tzasun]

Still her fingers danced over the strings. The tune changing slightly from time to time, but the change was so subtle that most people would have overlooked it easily. The change didn't go unnoticed by the woman. With each subtle change she found herself losing what little bit of hope she had for regaining her once beloved talent. Fixing the changes didn't come easily to her, in fact most of the time she opted for just going with the flow instead of fighting the unstoppable, yet annoying, shifts. For a moment she found herself wondering if she was altering the music to fit her mood as it shifted and changed so quickly. It made little difference to her though. She cared not for the exact reason behind it all, though later it would hit her. It would gnaw and eat away at her until it would practically drive her insane. That was later though.

For the time being she was content with herself. Her surroundings didn't matter to her. Nothing really did. Out of pure habit she heaved a sigh and her body started to sway to the tune. It carried her off to a far away land. A different time. A place where she was free to live the way she had wanted to instead of living according to the rules of some group that thought themselves superior to everyone. Joy swept through her though it didn't last. The tune quickly changed, reflecting the fact that she had found herself trapped once more in a world that didn't really want her, surrounded by people that would rather have her head on a platter than for her to be walking the streets.

Her mood plummeted just as the aeroplane had just seconds before it found itself resting in her lap. The sudden contact with the object startled her. If it hadn't been for the fact that her hands felt as if they were stuck the way they were the instrument would have fallen out of her hand. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she set the violin down and picked up the paper object. The paper was quite bright despite the black ink and for a moment she studied it, turning it every which way possible. There was design, or at least one she could make, with the way the ink covered the little flying object.

Jezebel tilted her head slightly as she continued turning the aeroplane over and over, pausing from time to time to straighten the occasional little dent or bend. By time she was done fixing it was almost as good as new, minus the black ink that was bugging the hell out of her. Surely she had something with her. A marker, a pen, something. Anything that could be used to fix the black markings.

Right as she set the rather interesting object down in her lap she heard his voice. For a few fleeting moments she went completely still. The first thought that crossed her mind almost immediately was that it was one of the jerks that she had dealt with way back when and that the paper plane had been a way to distract her. If that was the case though wouldn't he have attacked her by then? Well, yes and no. She didn't know how they thought about things, at least for the most part she was clueless with how they thought.

The woman struggled with finding her voice. Her mouth opened but not a single sound would leave her. For crying out loud! How hard could it be to say something simple? Apparently it was pretty difficult at times, then again, that was normal for her. She closed her mouth and cleared her throat out of habit.

“It's quite alright. There's no need to apologize. These things are a pain to try to control when they're in the air.” Jezebel did her best to keep her tone pleasant, just as she did at any other point in time.

She picked it up once more as she stood up. There was the smallest, faintest little wiggle that she did before turning around. Her bright blue eyes went wide once she realized who was standing there. Those dark lips of hers turned up at the corners, forming what had to have been the largest smile she had done in public in quite some time.

“Myk!” His name left her lips with an overly happy, excited giggle. She moved quickly, throwing her arms around the strange man's neck. Every once in a while she didn't mind hugging someone in public and after not seeing the weirdo for some time the hug was well overdue. Of course she was careful with his paper plane. After all, she didn't want to ruin something that belonged to someone she knew.

“Sorry..” It was then that she became a little awkward as she let go him in order to take a step back. “Sorry about that. It's just that...well..you know..” The words to explain why she had behaved in a such a manner escaped her. It was frustrating and part of her hoped he understood what she was trying to get at; she was certain he would understand.

Her gaze went down to the pretty paper plane and she gasped. Almost as soon as she did that little gasp she held the aeroplane out to him. “I believe this is yours.” She bit her bottom lip and tugged on it as she thought about something. The wheels were definitely turning and she was certain the poor little hamster was going to die if she kept it up. “Would you like some company? You can show me how to make this thing fly.”

[Myk]

The moment the air had shifted, the wind had turned on its heels and dragged her scent to him, Myk smiled at the memories. He had been quite sullen just moments ago, so very cautious and fretful and now he watched as his dear Jezebel was examining the paper plane of his. He had no worries anymore that she might destroy it because although they were not all that familiar with one another, Myk felt like he knew her quite well. Some people were just easier to understand than others. Probably because Jezebel was so much like him – in the good ways – that he could hasten to call them kindred spirits. He knew what blossomed in her soul; the benevolence and beauty of a rose. Jezebel might have been barbed, but it was out of protection, not malice. Sure, she might be bitter about her past, about her present and future, but her prickled skin was a testament to her vulnerability not her want to prick. Of course, Jezebel and Myk had never really spoken about these kinds of inner struggles, but then, they didn’t need to. Myk knew how it was to be pestered and bothered and insulted by the world around him because he was different and so he knew that Jezebel, being as unique and atypical as she was, would be suffering much the same as him.

Myk watched from over her shoulder as she ironed out the paper plane from the dents and scuffs it had acquired in its flights. As he watched her, he began to consider their differences, however. Myk would be prone to sorrow and depression, but then he was also a bit of a psychopath and less inclined to fear death, ridicule and pain. Besides that, he had the fortune of his father’s knowledge, an eye for the Human psyche. It was actually one of his favourite hobbies; studying people and their effects to certain stimuli. And of course, Myk wasn’t a stranger to using this knowledge in his favour, manipulating people to his desires. It wasn’t that he went out of his way to push people toward his thinking, but he was one to get into trouble a fair bit. Myk stumbled into people fairly frequently and not always in the best situations. Still, he had not been scathed thus far. The police were something of a problem, but then they didn’t leave any time to talk did they before they opened fire. Most of the time Myk could give them the slip, but occasionally they would catch him and he would have to take drastic action.

Lost in his thoughts, he’d barely registered Jezebel’s words or her actions and emotions until she’d walked over and wrapped her arms around him. It was always so interesting to experience how even the cold of their kind could feel warm. Myk assumed it was a biological factor and typical really. As cold-blooded as certain animals were, when they came together their familiar heat must have been quite comforting. Eventually a smile adorned the Telepath’s lips and he slipped his arms around her too, returning the embrace. It wasn’t long until Jezebel stepped away and Myk could have sworn he saw her blushing, embarrassment perhaps? Her subsequent words suggested much, but then he wasn’t too good at deciphering emotions. He simply shook his head, smiling, blinking slowly like a cat, hoping to relieve her of her humiliation because he understood very well why she might be happy to see her again. Myk was, after all, happy to see her too. He wasn’t the best at forming and maintaining relationships and he felt guilty because it was entirely due to how he was. There was no malice that kept him from people, Myk was just so very used to thinking about himself and used to being alone that it barely ever occurred to him to keep in touch. On the other hand, it was difficult to remember to do so as well. Myk’s memory was getting worse and it was becoming a constant problem for him to function. It certainly was a concern for the Telepath, but there wasn’t anything that could be done.

As Jezebel handed over the paper plane, Myk took it with a bob of his head and a wide smile. He was also very happy to accept the company, but the burden that was tied to it had his brows knotted into a frown. He didn’t know how to teach people to fly paper planes. He was certain there was a science to it, but he’d never bothered to do the research because this was something of a leisure, something he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to think too much on. So, Myk shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m not sure I would be the best teacher,” he said plainly, examining his plane from the side as he brought it up to eye-level. “This is just how I always make them and they seem to soar just fine.” He offered the plane to Jezebel then. “But here, why don’t you give it a shot? Perhaps we can work this thing out together.”

[Jezebel Tzasun]

As a child she had been denied some very basic experiences. Being bedridden most of the time had taken its toll on her body from a young age. It had lead to a fairly lanky and sickly looking physique. The only times she was ever allowed to venture outside was if she was being taken to the hospital or if she ran away, which was how she ended up with the majority of her tattoos. Luckily for her, or at least that's how she considered it, not having much of a social life left her with plenty of time to study, at least whenever she wasn't too sick.

Her mother had cared deeply for the young girl she had known as Kayden. Oh how Jezebel grew to resent that over many years. It had been her mother's idea to name her that. Her father, on the other hand, didn't really care what her name had turned out to be. Early on he had sentenced her to death and was already dead to him by time she had been born.

The fact that her mother had been so hell bent on keeping her had only added more fuel to the fire of discontent. Her love for the child had simply fanned the flames that quickly turned into loathing, which in turn began the downward spiral of violence and abuse. It was in that hate filled environment that the woman known has Jezebel had been raised. The only kind words she ever knew were from her mother, and the first words of hatred for her to ever hear came from the foul mouthed father that didn't want her.

Yes, she had her escapes and distractions in the forms of painting, music, and of course her studies, but after a while even they barely drowned out the constant yelling. Early on she had shown remarkable progress in just about every area she studied, but that did little to encourage her father to care about her.

None of that really mattered anymore, and hadn't for quite some time. Among the few friends or acquaintances she spent any amount of time with, she had found some form of acceptance. There were few that understood her. Myk, she knew somewhere, understood her without her having to explain the whole horrible story. There was a quiet acceptance between the two.

True, they didn't spend time asking each other silly little questions or trying to pry into parts of the past that were probably better left buried, but still, they got along rather well. Though the small woman knew nothing of his past, she still accepted him just the way he was, just as he did her.

There was something soothing about his presence. A quiet reassurance that she wasn't alone in a world that she didn't belong in. Their embrace had been short but still it relieved so much stress for her. It was as if a weight had been lifted, at least for the time being.

Those blue eyes of hers went wide momentarily, giving her the expression of a deer caught in the headlights of a vehicle once more. Staring. That's what she was doing. She was staring at him. No, not staring. Studying. Devoting what she could to memory. The way his hair was, his expression. Everything. Jezebel really didn't know how to be around people without resorting to being somewhat weird.

His words almost went unnoticed and would have if it hadn't been for the fact that she was staring so intently at his face. Almost as if she was startled by his actions and the admittance that him probably not being the best teacher, she let out a squeak and shook her head. Out of habit, perhaps as a nervous tick of some sort, she bit and chewed on her bottom lip, tugging at one of the silver loops there.

“I don't want to risk messing it up Myk.” There it was. The underlying admission to her ability to mess even the simplest of things up. It was curse she had been forced to bear all her life, and it hadn't changed any. “Perhaps you can help me find a piece of paper so that I can make my own?” There was a hitch in her voice right at the end indicating a question and a bit of a tremble as if she was uncertain of the whole matter.

It dawned on her in that instant, while she stood there staring at the plane, that she had intended to find a marker. Out of habit of always putting things in her pockets, she checked them first. The woman patted at the black material covering her legs, making sure she got each pocket. Finally, there it was, or at least she hoped. Without any hesitation she dug into the pocket, pulling out a black marker.

Jezebel held it out to him. A soft giggle left her as she motioned to the plane with the marker. “I figured you might want to do something about all the black, though I'm not certain if it's bugging you the way it is me.” There it was, that faint movement of her shoulders that barely passed as a shrug. “We could always decorate the plane before searching for something to make mine out of if you want.”

[Myk]

Insecurity, Myk had learned, stemmed from a lack of reassurance as a child. Then again, a psychologist would always have a theory like that, that everything stemmed from one’s childhood. Myk didn’t know if that was necessarily a false notion because as he looked into himself, he could understand how his past had shaped his future. Myk didn’t like to talk much about his past and barely enjoyed his own trips down memory lane. The phone call from his mother had been their first point of contact in many years and she was always better at making him feel guilty than his father was, his father who was supposed to have all the knowledge of human manipulation at his fingertips. But then, there was much to say on having the ability and having the intent. Myk’s father was often aloof and perhaps it was because he was always busy with his work, with what fascinated him, that it didn’t ever occur to him to guilt his own child into chores. It wasn’t always about dusting, vacuuming and washing one’s own plates though, not always those kind of chores did Myk’s mother guilt him into. She was also something of a moral compass, instructing him to do right, do the ethical thing, the legal thing. Of course she was, she was hell-bent on justice and righteousness.

Seeing Jezebel respond in such the way she had made Myk sigh heavily into himself. “You needn’t be so concerned,” he managed, trying to make light of his low, purring voice. “It’s just paper… And you are right, those black lines are making my eyes twitch.” A small giggle crept out of pale lips and he paused to consider his options for a while. If Jezebel was so intent on playing with paper aircrafts, he was happy to oblige. They both needed the distraction after all. “How about we find a crafts store? We can make some proper ones then. Design them however we want!” A wide smile came across the Telepath’s face and he took hold of her small hand. “Come on, it’ll be fun! I know just the place to get some card and sequins and coloured ink… we’ll make the perfect planes.” Before she even had the chance to decline, Myk was tugging her along. Of course, he wouldn’t let her forget her violin, so he paused by the other side of the bench she’d been sat at so she could collect it. He wouldn’t touch it himself as that might have been inappropriate. Myk couldn’t tell and didn’t want to risk it, so as soon as she’d collected her belongings, he was off toward the Mall.

[Jezebel Tzasun]

Uncertainty. Lack of confidence and self-esteem. They were all things she knew all too well and often regarded, in quiet moments alone, as old friends. In fact, she regarded them just as she did the dead. At least the dead spoke back to her sometimes. Neglect, in every way imaginable, lead her to always doubt herself. Rejection. That was another thing she knew too much about. It had grabbed her hand at an early age and never let her go. With everyone, regardless of how well she knew them or how much time they spent together, she always assumed that they would reject her if she asked for anything.

Surprise swept through her like lightning streaking through the sky when he didn't shut her down. Those blue eyes of hers went wide as she stared up at him. Happiness and excitement danced in the orbs momentarily before she got everything under control once more. It was such a pleasant surprise. If her heart could have it probably would have been steadily drumming away at an ever increasing rate until either it would suddenly stop or burst through her chest.

The man intrigued her. Things were never the same or dull when he was around. Even his appearance had her more than just simply fascinated. Somewhere in the depths of her mind, her soul even if it was possible, there was a quiet adoration for the strange man. Not once did he ever demand anything of her. There was no mistreatment. The majority of the times she could recall them being around each other, the only time he ever raised his voice was if he was excited about something. She wasn't sure if she remembered everything clearly enough to be certain it had been him with that excited voice.

Jezebel sighed contently. His voice brought her comfort and for a few fleeting moments she found herself wondering what it would be like to have him read to her or just tell her some random story. Like a child at bedtime, she always enjoyed a good story. His enthusiasm over the whole thing was as contagious as his smile. Before a single word could be uttered from between the blackened lips he was tugging her along, pausing momentarily so that she could gather up her few belongings.

She hated wasting time, but it was her baby. Everything had to be put back perfectly or else she couldn't go about her business. It was just something that had to be done. Nothing less than perfect would suffice when it came to the violin, which is more than she could say for her various abodes. They were always in some form of disarray, usually just cluttered with art supplies, scattered sketches, and empty paint containers.

Once she was happy with how the instrument was back in its case the small Necromancer turned to follow him. Whether she realized it or not she caught up and immediately sought out one of his hands. The contact offered her comfort as they went along their way. As soon as it hit her though, the fact that she had grabbed his hand like that, she quickly released it. “Sorry..” That one word again. At times it seemed as if it was the only thing she knew how to say.

“You'll have to show me how to make of them though. I never got a chance to do it as a child. Things such as that weren't allowed for me due to the excitement and the possibility of me having to run after it.” It took her a bit, but eventually she managed to get her steps to fall in time with his. “Thank you, Myk..in advance for everything. I'm sorry you're going to have to tolerate me possibly asking or doing something really stupid.”

[Myk]

They broke contact just ever so briefly so she could collect her violin. Of course he was patient with it; he had respect for such exquisite instruments even if he couldn’t play them. Myk had many loves in his life, but music was definitely high up there and he loved all kinds; rock, classical, pop, swing, dance – pretty much everything other than country music, really. Some would say it’s the type of music you would kill yourself to, but Myk wasn’t sure if he wholeheartedly agreed. There was a melancholy to it that swelled in the guitar strings, in the vocals, but more so was the cultural aspect to the music which Myk never felt a part of. The same could be said of rap music and RnB, really. No skinny, peculiar white boy with a fascination for clowns, make-up, and the dead had any real place listening to that kind of music. It was stereotyping, sure, but it wasn’t like he didn’t give the music genres fair shots to be interesting to him. The UK found a lot of love in RnB, so it wasn’t like he was unfamiliar with the genre; he just didn’t like it. Everyone was entitled to their likes and dislikes provided they didn’t stem from ignorance. Myk loved rock music, metal and classical above all, but that didn’t mean he loved every band or composer he ever heard either.

When Jezebel had collected her violin, she took hold of his hand again and Myk smiled to her, ready to continue pulling her to the crafts store. He had such a great plan in mind so they would require lots of card of different colours. However, Myk’s thoughts and plans and schemes ground to a halt when Jezebel released his hand and turned into herself, apologising. The Telepath turned, a look of confusion on his face because he couldn’t understand why she might feel it was inappropriate to hold his hand. He had forcibly grabbed hers after all in his excitement, tugging her along like she was a ragdoll. If anyone were to apologise for being rude and inappropriate, it certainly wasn’t Jezebel. As she explained about not knowing how to make paper planes, though, Myk found his frown lifting and his head canting to the right. He wasn’t sure he understood what she was saying, but the sentiment in her voice made him a little sad for her. There was something tragic in Jezebel’s background and once again Myk was confronted with the conundrum of how to respond. Should he ask her about it, show he cared and possibly end up offending or upsetting her in the process of sticking his nose in? Or should he just smile, nod and change the subject so he wouldn’t have to risk putting his foot in his mouth or bringing up the bad memories of the past, though inadvertently implying he didn’t care by not asking? Conundrum indeed.

As Myk thought on a way to respond, calculating the lesser risk, Jezebel was the one to change the subject. Her apology swept his dark brows low, though curling upward toward the centre; a real look of sorrow and concern. She had no reason to apologise, he never suffered anyone; they suffered him.

“I appreciate it, but your apology is not needed,” he said, finding his voice and tone and words had slipped into something formal for the evening. “Really. I like spending time with you! I only don’t, so much, because… well… I don’t with anyone. It’s nothing on you,” he said, voice souring with sadness and guilt, layering on a French accent. “I’m just… not very good with people.”

It never felt like a justification, more like an excuse. Myk did try, but sometimes was prevented from trying. Something was very wrong with him, something cursing his awareness of time and events and people, pushing him into nothingness. He would forget about a lot of things – important things – and he never understood why. He also could never explain why to others because the last thing he wanted was for people to begin questioning his sanity further. Myk gave people plenty of reasons to query his health, his state of mind, and it was always better to appear sane even if you couldn’t appear normal.

“Well anyway,” he said, brightening. “Enough of such melancholy! Tonight, we have some special work to do.” Grinning, Myk took her hand again, feeling that if he gave her a choice she might worry too much and duck away. “Come, let’s go to the crafts store.”

[Jezebel Tzasun]

Music, it could be someone's saving grace or their untimely undoing. It always had a way to affect a person's mood. She had her likes and dislikes when it came to the different genres. For example, she loved rock and metal, but absolutely hated rap. Most people, from brief encounters with her, found out right away that she enjoyed listening to the heavier genres but they never stuck around long enough to find out that she enjoyed classical as well. It was always in the words, perhaps even the melody. Music played a key role in just about everything she did, from running her businesses to her art, and even when it came to hiding from the assholes that would hunt her down for stupid little things. From words of encouragement to help fight for her 'life' to lyrics that were so soul crushingly devastating that she hid from the world and tried to outrun painful memories, it was always in the music. Jezebel was a firm believer in letting her art, whether it was paintings, sketches, or music, speak the words she would never dare let pass her lips. Every solemn note. Each perfectly played pause and transition. It all told a story. A story of love, hatred, and so much more.

His smile was infectious, that much was definitely true. She stared up at him, unspoken words of an apology etched into her features as she saw how his own expression changed. To see that smile fade and that look of confusion in its place was nearly heart breaking to the little Necromancer, mainly because she knew that she had caused the sudden transformation. Apologizing was a bit of a bad habit for her, one she never managed to break after her turning. It was a horrible, horrible habit she had gotten used to after realizing she had to apologize for everything she did around her father. There was always an uttered apology for talking, for barely bumping in to something, even one for her own existence. Eventually every cycle would break, right? All it took was time, right? Perhaps it was as a simple as changing circumstances or maybe, just maybe, even simply refusing to utter the often pitiful excuse for an apology.

The change of subject had brought her some relief, and hopefully it had saved him from having to figure out how to transition to something else. Once it dawned on her that he wasn't going to reprimand her piss poor attempt of an apology she found herself relaxing once more. Hopefully she hadn't completely ruined his mood or crushed that vibrant creative spirit she had found herself drawn to so easily.

“As you can tell I don't get out that much or spend too much time with others myself. In fact, my circle of friends is so small that I nearly cut myself off there for a while.” It was a sad attempt at making light of her own situation. Of course, she found herself to be absolutely hilarious but most others didn't. Not that they mattered anyway.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew there was something wrong with him though she could never put her finger on it. It didn't matter though. Issues or no issues, she still enjoyed the weird man's company. There was something different about Myk, other than his appearance, that set him apart from the others of their kind. Their kind? There were no others like them. No one quite like Jezebel and definitely not anyone like Myk.

“It's quite alright, Myk. I understand.” True, she didn't know what caused him to be that way, but she knew all too well what it was like to lose touch with the passage of time, with others as well. Jezebel spent a good bit of her time alone, not because she didn't feel like being social, but simply because she wasn't aware of the outside world. Art often distracted her. Consumed her every waking minute and when she finally snapped back to reality she had no idea what had happened during the time that had passed. “If that's the case then, perhaps I should start hunting you down instead of hoping you'll pop up.” Somehow, despite her best efforts, the faintest hint of a German accent crept in to her voice.

She found herself hoping, almost praying, he would take hold of her hand, take away the slightest burden of deciding on, in that moment, what she wanted to do. Those delicate digits twitched ever so slightly with anticipation. He seemed to perk back up and it sent that dark little heart of hers soaring. As soon as he took her hand she gave his a gentle squeeze as a way to reassure herself that he was there. The small woman tagged along without even the smallest sound of protest.

She paid just enough attention to where they were going so that she didn't run into anything, like she was known to do from time to time, but for the most part she found herself staring at him. It was something she couldn't help. Yes, she knew that staring, for any reason, was rude and unsettling, but she really couldn't help herself. Jezebel stared at him in silent adoration. He seemed to be so happy to be himself even if others frowned upon him for whatever reason. The way he perked up so easily at the idea of doing something so simple like going to go a crafts store. It was amazing to her and left the woman speechless.

In her head a melody played, one she hoped she would remember later. A small skip graced her steps causing her to almost bounce ahead of him. There was freedom with him. No fear of being looked down upon like a small child. Her gaze had drifted skyward for a few fleeting moments before she turned to look at him. “Thank you, Myk.” Abruptly, she stopped and set the violin case down. Jezebel broke contact with him for just a few seconds before, just as abruptly as she had stopped, she hugged him. Her hold on him was not overly tight, just in case he wanted to step away. The appreciation she had for him was almost too much for her to contain and it came through in the embrace.