DragonSphere
Mar 29th, 2003, 04:12 AM
This is a new story that I have been thinking about for the past few months or so and have only recently started typing it out. The general premise itself will be rather dark and complex; something I'm really excited in writing about. Some of it is partly inspired by Xenogears (in the philosophical sense), from a Sherlock Holmes book (hence the name, "Mycroft") and, to a certain extent, my own emotions and feelings. However, it has been awhile since I've last written a full story, so parts in the writing may be a bit unbalanced and sketchy. Thus, (constructive) criticism is welcomed, as it would greatly help me with my writing.
(And for those wondering about my old FF fic way back in April 2002, I've decided to discontinue that for the time being. But I will not totally ignore it just yet, for it may resurface someday...)
Without further ado, here's Chapter 1: Gestures
Rain came pouring down his face as Mycroft slowly exited the car. Locking the doors, he stared straight up into the melancholy darkness that seemed to act as the only sort of buffer between the tears from up above and the land down below. With a heavy sigh, he realized that the stars were not out in this gloomy night; the dark not wanting him to gaze once more at the extensive beauty of those celestial bodies. Thus, he commenced once more to his usual duties and started to walk towards an intersection straight ahead. Bowing down his head so as not to feel the full force of the rain (since he had neither umbrella nor overcoat) the man treaded his way across numerous puddles upon the ground, which, with a hint of austere in their mystical properties, stared blankly back at him; cold and unrelenting. However, he refused to acknowledge their presence and simply ignored their gawking.
At the intersection, where cars willingly passed to and fro from either of the ends, Mycroft waited impatiently for the saving grace of the green light that would lead the way. Within a few minutes, his wish was granted. Checking the stoplight ahead, he scurried across the lengthy road as much as he could. But as he neared the threshold of the walkway, two great beams of white light blinded his view; temporarily releasing him from the blackness of nightfall. From this position he could not make any possible guess of what was producing the radiance at that moment, but soon found out as he heard the pounding of wheels and gas onto the pavement. A giant oil tanker was making its way towards the blind man, with the driver rocking his head to the deafening beats of heavy metal on his radio. Scared and alone, Mycroft found his legs to be as stiff as ice and his voice hoarse and unsound. He tried to move about but came to no avail. The truck was coming now at an unstoppable speed. His faith was sealed, entrusted in an envelope to be delivered to God's hand. Or so he thought.
Just as the tanker truck came within 20 yards of impact, the driver, surprised and dimwitted, madly beat upon the car horn; sending cries of warning and death upon the drenched atmosphere. Still unable to move himself, Mycroft covered his eyes with the shoulder of his right forearm and expected the worst. But what came instead was the sound of screeching tires upon the cemented road and the voice of a voracious young man yelling, "You *******! Get off the damn road!" Shocked and confused, Mycroft peeked out of the corner of his eye and found the truck already far beyond the horizon of his vision. Still shaken and spooked by what could have been a most unfortunate feat of death, he slowly let his guard down and continued to stay where he was. Rain fell ever so softly after that encounter, and didn't seem to bother him any longer.
Shortly after the incident, the frail young man was able to regain back his composure and made way towards his original destination. With as much effort as he could, he chose to shrug off that last occurrence, and set his mind to the emergence of reality that he would soon face. A summon had been placed for him only a few days ago, back in the sultry summer of Los Angeles, and now found himself nearing a chateau in the presence of an undisclosed city or town. Or maybe it was perhaps that he had forgotten the exact location already, as he did have some trouble in memorizing things. In any case, however, he already scanned the area upon arrival, but found no signs or billboards indicating where he was in. So much so that at first glance, one would think it was nothing but a ghost town; ignored and unaffected by centuries of war and conflict. Notwithstanding, the town indeed had a rich history behind its rigid and inert buildings, and was merely unheard of. Mycroft suspected that he would find the truth to this mystery in due time and only expected to find it in his objective; which was written on a torn piece of paper:
66412 Daunthill Avenue
Meet at 9:54PM sharp.
- Wilfred
For this "Wilfred" person though, he knew naught about. Everything appeared to happen so fast before him that he hardly had any time to recall the events or people that he has happened to meet within the last 72 hours. All that his memory could offer right at the moment was the spine-tingling chill he had felt when the two grand beams of light pierced his eyes; when each and every rhythm of his body followed closely to the beat of death. But that was the past. The future was the way to go right now. Daunthill Avenue, Daunthill Avenue, 66412…, the address raced across his mind. What importance this address actually had, of course, was unknown to him. Except that whenever he repeated it, a grave sense of significance overcame his senses and manipulated him against his free will...the free will God generously gave to man upon the birth of Adam; the first seed of humanity; dominated by a sheer gut feeling of apprehension and excitement; no more and no less. It was disgusting.
Returning to the sidewalk, Mycroft found that he was well within reach of Daunthill Avenue, proved by a small gesture imbedded unto a pile of dirt. Hastily, for fear of the creeping shadows lying abroad, not to mention the time (for it was 9:48), he ran down a series of small homes and cottages along the banks of the road. At last, at 9:53, and not a second too soon, he came upon a large estate surrounded with trees and bushes of various kinds. Before him stood a giant black gate, only to be opened upon request via an electronic communicator stationed on a wall nearby. Upon reaching it however, Mycroft found to his surprised that the gate automatically opened, followed with a cheery and soft voice coming from the communicator: "Welcome, we've been expecting you Mr. Dantess." With a bit of reluctance, he passed the threshold of the gate, and proceeded further down a stony walkway. Off in the distance lied a wonderfully decorated chateau stained with a brilliant red, but looked darkly crimson in the night air.
At the door, Mycroft knocked quite softly on the stone entrance; equipped with elegantly but eerie-looking gargoyle-shaped figurines. When the door started to creak and shift, he half-expected to see some Igor look-a-like with a distinct and awry way of walking, speaking to him in an unintelligible tone of voice. But in great contrast however, he found a quaint old lady already dressed in her nightgown, with an apron overlapping it. "Ahh, you poor dear," she said, obviously referring to Mycroft's excessive drench of clothing, who all but forgot the rain, "Come inside quick, before you catch a cold." He smiled at the kind woman's greetings and was at ease with her gentle-loving voice, like that of an old and caring grandmother. So, without hesitation, he stepped inside a grand room, and was immediately covered with an old green towel by the lady.
After locking the door, the aged matron strongly advised him to take a shower, saying with a grin, "We don't want you to get sick now, do we? And in the case that you do, we have a stock of medicinal items in the cabinets behind the mirror in the bathroom. And remember, ' a spoon full of sugar makes the medicine go down…the medicine go down…' " With one last gleam in her eye, she led Mycroft up a flight of lengthy stairs to an immense bathroom on the second floor. Even after she left him there, he could still hear her singing: "…a spool full of sugar makes the medicine go down…" He again smiled at the old woman's nature and then, albeit cold and stirred by the rainfall, took a comfortable shower.
After some time, Mycroft, both refreshed and restored from the warm water, found that clothes (in fact, his own clothes from his car down a few blocks from the mansion) was lying neatly unto the floor just outside the entry to the bathroom. Once changed, he started to head back downstairs when the elder approached him on her way up, and insisted on showing him to his room for the night. After an exchange of Thank you's and It's no problem's, he dumped the rest of his stuff (surprisingly enough, also stood waiting just outside of the door) into the room and followed the matriarch down the stairs. He did not yet want to question of how his belongings was brought there or how and why he was summoned at such an emergence, for he felt safe and secure at the care of this person and her loving ways.
(And for those wondering about my old FF fic way back in April 2002, I've decided to discontinue that for the time being. But I will not totally ignore it just yet, for it may resurface someday...)
Without further ado, here's Chapter 1: Gestures
Rain came pouring down his face as Mycroft slowly exited the car. Locking the doors, he stared straight up into the melancholy darkness that seemed to act as the only sort of buffer between the tears from up above and the land down below. With a heavy sigh, he realized that the stars were not out in this gloomy night; the dark not wanting him to gaze once more at the extensive beauty of those celestial bodies. Thus, he commenced once more to his usual duties and started to walk towards an intersection straight ahead. Bowing down his head so as not to feel the full force of the rain (since he had neither umbrella nor overcoat) the man treaded his way across numerous puddles upon the ground, which, with a hint of austere in their mystical properties, stared blankly back at him; cold and unrelenting. However, he refused to acknowledge their presence and simply ignored their gawking.
At the intersection, where cars willingly passed to and fro from either of the ends, Mycroft waited impatiently for the saving grace of the green light that would lead the way. Within a few minutes, his wish was granted. Checking the stoplight ahead, he scurried across the lengthy road as much as he could. But as he neared the threshold of the walkway, two great beams of white light blinded his view; temporarily releasing him from the blackness of nightfall. From this position he could not make any possible guess of what was producing the radiance at that moment, but soon found out as he heard the pounding of wheels and gas onto the pavement. A giant oil tanker was making its way towards the blind man, with the driver rocking his head to the deafening beats of heavy metal on his radio. Scared and alone, Mycroft found his legs to be as stiff as ice and his voice hoarse and unsound. He tried to move about but came to no avail. The truck was coming now at an unstoppable speed. His faith was sealed, entrusted in an envelope to be delivered to God's hand. Or so he thought.
Just as the tanker truck came within 20 yards of impact, the driver, surprised and dimwitted, madly beat upon the car horn; sending cries of warning and death upon the drenched atmosphere. Still unable to move himself, Mycroft covered his eyes with the shoulder of his right forearm and expected the worst. But what came instead was the sound of screeching tires upon the cemented road and the voice of a voracious young man yelling, "You *******! Get off the damn road!" Shocked and confused, Mycroft peeked out of the corner of his eye and found the truck already far beyond the horizon of his vision. Still shaken and spooked by what could have been a most unfortunate feat of death, he slowly let his guard down and continued to stay where he was. Rain fell ever so softly after that encounter, and didn't seem to bother him any longer.
Shortly after the incident, the frail young man was able to regain back his composure and made way towards his original destination. With as much effort as he could, he chose to shrug off that last occurrence, and set his mind to the emergence of reality that he would soon face. A summon had been placed for him only a few days ago, back in the sultry summer of Los Angeles, and now found himself nearing a chateau in the presence of an undisclosed city or town. Or maybe it was perhaps that he had forgotten the exact location already, as he did have some trouble in memorizing things. In any case, however, he already scanned the area upon arrival, but found no signs or billboards indicating where he was in. So much so that at first glance, one would think it was nothing but a ghost town; ignored and unaffected by centuries of war and conflict. Notwithstanding, the town indeed had a rich history behind its rigid and inert buildings, and was merely unheard of. Mycroft suspected that he would find the truth to this mystery in due time and only expected to find it in his objective; which was written on a torn piece of paper:
66412 Daunthill Avenue
Meet at 9:54PM sharp.
- Wilfred
For this "Wilfred" person though, he knew naught about. Everything appeared to happen so fast before him that he hardly had any time to recall the events or people that he has happened to meet within the last 72 hours. All that his memory could offer right at the moment was the spine-tingling chill he had felt when the two grand beams of light pierced his eyes; when each and every rhythm of his body followed closely to the beat of death. But that was the past. The future was the way to go right now. Daunthill Avenue, Daunthill Avenue, 66412…, the address raced across his mind. What importance this address actually had, of course, was unknown to him. Except that whenever he repeated it, a grave sense of significance overcame his senses and manipulated him against his free will...the free will God generously gave to man upon the birth of Adam; the first seed of humanity; dominated by a sheer gut feeling of apprehension and excitement; no more and no less. It was disgusting.
Returning to the sidewalk, Mycroft found that he was well within reach of Daunthill Avenue, proved by a small gesture imbedded unto a pile of dirt. Hastily, for fear of the creeping shadows lying abroad, not to mention the time (for it was 9:48), he ran down a series of small homes and cottages along the banks of the road. At last, at 9:53, and not a second too soon, he came upon a large estate surrounded with trees and bushes of various kinds. Before him stood a giant black gate, only to be opened upon request via an electronic communicator stationed on a wall nearby. Upon reaching it however, Mycroft found to his surprised that the gate automatically opened, followed with a cheery and soft voice coming from the communicator: "Welcome, we've been expecting you Mr. Dantess." With a bit of reluctance, he passed the threshold of the gate, and proceeded further down a stony walkway. Off in the distance lied a wonderfully decorated chateau stained with a brilliant red, but looked darkly crimson in the night air.
At the door, Mycroft knocked quite softly on the stone entrance; equipped with elegantly but eerie-looking gargoyle-shaped figurines. When the door started to creak and shift, he half-expected to see some Igor look-a-like with a distinct and awry way of walking, speaking to him in an unintelligible tone of voice. But in great contrast however, he found a quaint old lady already dressed in her nightgown, with an apron overlapping it. "Ahh, you poor dear," she said, obviously referring to Mycroft's excessive drench of clothing, who all but forgot the rain, "Come inside quick, before you catch a cold." He smiled at the kind woman's greetings and was at ease with her gentle-loving voice, like that of an old and caring grandmother. So, without hesitation, he stepped inside a grand room, and was immediately covered with an old green towel by the lady.
After locking the door, the aged matron strongly advised him to take a shower, saying with a grin, "We don't want you to get sick now, do we? And in the case that you do, we have a stock of medicinal items in the cabinets behind the mirror in the bathroom. And remember, ' a spoon full of sugar makes the medicine go down…the medicine go down…' " With one last gleam in her eye, she led Mycroft up a flight of lengthy stairs to an immense bathroom on the second floor. Even after she left him there, he could still hear her singing: "…a spool full of sugar makes the medicine go down…" He again smiled at the old woman's nature and then, albeit cold and stirred by the rainfall, took a comfortable shower.
After some time, Mycroft, both refreshed and restored from the warm water, found that clothes (in fact, his own clothes from his car down a few blocks from the mansion) was lying neatly unto the floor just outside the entry to the bathroom. Once changed, he started to head back downstairs when the elder approached him on her way up, and insisted on showing him to his room for the night. After an exchange of Thank you's and It's no problem's, he dumped the rest of his stuff (surprisingly enough, also stood waiting just outside of the door) into the room and followed the matriarch down the stairs. He did not yet want to question of how his belongings was brought there or how and why he was summoned at such an emergence, for he felt safe and secure at the care of this person and her loving ways.