I can't even .:trust myself:. | (Bryony)

[dars]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][bg=ffffff] V E N T U S B L A N C H A R D

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"AM I BETTER OFF DEAD [/color]
am i better off a[/font][/url] quitter?"[/i][/color][/size][/center]
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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][bg=ffffff] It had been an entire week since I saw his smile, which seemed like nothing when I really thought about it, but it felt like I had been living life in slow motion. Every moment felt like a minute, and each one dragged by as if it carried too much to handle on it's shoulders. I kept looking for excuses to go to his family''s repair shop, pointing out tiny flaws and catches in our tools, or making simple remarks about axes and hatchet blades needing to be resharpened, but each comment was shot down, one after another, and each time my heart caught in my throat. I had to have some sort of an excuse to go there, didn't I? Last time he had questioned my motives of talking to him so much that the majority of our time spent together was me reassuring him I wasn't out to bring him any pain, and that I was just trying to be a nice person and a good friend. It took a bit, but eventually, I had gotten the boy made of stone to smile. Now I stood next to my father, loading wood into a barrel for what must have been the millionth time in my short life time. My father started working out here in he woods when he was my age, and rarely missed a day, with exceptions being the birth of his children and the days he had to go and watch as they stood frozen with terror as a name that very well could have been one of their own was called and sent into an imminent death. I guessed I would load it a million more times, maybe even several million if it meant working half as hard as the man that raised his family with pride. He could tell something was abnormal in my behavior, I knew it by the way he watched me out of the corner of his mossy green eyes, and often he opened his mouth to ask what it was that was eating at my conscious, but he always held his tongue and his breath and sat another piece of wood on the chopping block before he could. He had never been the type to discuss his problems, or other people's, and I appreciated it. It was a nice break from my mother's constant hovering and scolding. We had a cool relationship, never particularly close to one another, but I was definitely fond of him, and I was fairly certain he was fond of me as well. Years of swinging an ax over his head had caused him to be in an almost constant shrug, and his hands were rough and calloused. He always smelled like pine when I was a child, and I thought maybe the reason I never noticed it anymore was because I was always right next to him in the forest, and so I probably smelled of it just as much as he did. He said something, but I didn't quite catch anything other than the always hoarse tone his voice took the form of. I gave him a questioning nod and he raised his eyebrows at me. He wasn't ever very serious unless it was at work, and I knew it was for my best health, but at times it was too bizarre to see him get so worked up. Countless times he had scolded me while trying not to, claiming that paying attention was extremely important, and that I always, always needed to keep my ears peeled. He was right, of course, the times he wasn't were rare, and he sighed. "Why don't you go down to the repair shop? The time off will help you to clear your head." I tried not to act to excited as I tossed one last piece of wood into the barrel and spun around to face him again. He didn't wait for an answer, he already knew I would say yes, so he closed his eyes and nodded, shoeing me away with a gloved hand. "Be sure and ask the others if they need any repairs done as well," he said with his back to me, and I was already a good ten or fifteen feet away. I did as he said, but I was entirely too impatient and I think the others picked up on it as soon as I asked. Before too long, I darted to the shop, probably more excited to go than I should have been. The smell of the apple trees that lined both sides of the dirt path in front of the home only made me more eager, but I forced myself to only walk, even though I could now see the store, and a few people moving inside the building through the windows. I still found it weird that the Greer family lived above the tool shop, and I had absolutely no idea why. Maybe it was because Bryony was so against talking to new people most of the time, always preferring to sit alone than with a large group of friends. The idea of people coming and going from his home and not even knocking before entering seemed foreign. I stopped at the doorway for a second, and considered knocking myself, but I was a regular here, and I had never knocked a single time, which I actually found odd. After wasting only a second, I pushed the door open, and walked into a warm room that was a relief from the frigid world that surrounded it. The wood creaked beneath my boots as I strolled up to the front of the room to a large, polished wood counter finished with a cash register, missing property posters, and a few woven baskets filled with treats like the ones I helped prepare. The place was small for a store, but rather large for a home, so I guessed that made it fairly balanced. Only a few shelves lined the floors, each containing tools and oil and other commonly used objects, and for a second, I feared he wasn't here. Then there was something- maybe a shadow in the corner of my eye or a quiet shift of weight on the surface of the floor, or maybe I just knew. Either way, my heart began thudding against my chest as he walked in from the back room- the contents in which is held being completely unknown to me. I smiled at him in a playful manner and nodded. "Hey, Cap'n. Got some tools for you to fix here." I held the bag up and shook it to back up my statement. During out first conversation I called him "Cap'n" which, in my book, isn't offensive in any way, but he had corrected me and reminded me what his actual name was as if I had somehow forgotten in the short amount of time that had been spent since he told me it. I wondered if he remembered it at all, but I realized it didn't really matter. I called everyone Cap'n, but if he really hated it all that much, I would make an exception. I sighed as he got closer. "How have you been?" ooc: credit to chelsey for the table!

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[pthalorarity]

I'm in misery
where you can seem
as old as your omens

I’m not sure if it was the long day at school or the fact that I only had a few hours of disturbed sleep last night that made me so tired, but focusing on taking stock in the back room was becoming more and more impossible. I shouldn’t complain though. My older brother was assigned all of the heavy lifting for the day, as he usually is. I did offer to help at least, though. And, as usual, I was rebuffed. Though I know it is all out of caring, sometimes I really hate the way that my family treats me as if I am some brittle old leaf that could crumble into a thousand tiny pieces at any moment. Granted, it’s not exactly unwarranted, but it still gets to me sometimes.

After double-checking to make sure no one is around—my mother was running the shop and my father was working on crafting some new saws in the back shed—I began to sing softly to myself. It was a song my grandmother often sang to me as a child, and it usually helped to make the workday go by quicker. I’m not sure what I wanted it to quicken to however… It’s not like I would likely get much sleep tonight anyway unless I could convince mother to allow me some sleep serum. The odds of that were really “not in my favor” as Caesar might say. I sigh. Visions of my nightmare from the previous night haunt me as I close my eyes for a moment and they snap back open quickly. I can feel my heart rate quicken, and I stand slowly to ground myself.

I look to my right and catch my reflection in the dirty old mirror that my mother keeps back here to primp occasionally throughout the day. I softly touch the dark circles under my eyes as if to rub them away, but the older I get, the more permanent they seem to be. I quickly look away and my eyes flit to my feet. My dark circles were just more fodder for some of the kids at school to give my grief about. I don’t think I would be so ugly without them, would I? My parents and brother all have handsome faces, perhaps mine was too somewhere under all of the wear and tear of the side effects of insomnia and anxiety. My heart sinks a little bit, but I shake it off because there is work to do.

Once the inventory check was completed, I made my way to the front to assist my mother with the shop. The moment I crossed the threshold into the store, I can see him standing there. The boy with that charming smile… the boy who baked with me… the boy I’ve spent so many hours thinking about since, and my heart stops for a moment. He is beaming at me, and I can feel the butterflies that his presence so often brings in my chest again. I keep my expression stoic though, because I just know that I still cannot trust him despite the ease at which his warm smile suggest it should be.

“I’ve told you, my name is not ‘Cap’n’,” I say softy as I approach him slowly, barely making a sound as I move across the creaky old wood floors. I stop a short ways from him and hold my arms around my chest, unsure of what to do with myself. Suddenly I really don’t want to be wearing the dirty shop apron either, but there’s nothing to be done about that now, and it’s not as if he hasn’t seen me in it before. I avert my eyes as I answer his question though. I’m a terrible liar, and I can never make eye contact when doing so. It was a trait my parents appreciated when I would accidentally break things as a child. “I’m fine, I guess… What did you bring for us to fix?” I can feel him looking at me, so I look to the bag he carries instead as I try my best efforts not to blush.

[dars]

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"AM I BETTER OFF DEAD [/color]
am i better off a[/font][/url] quitter?"[/i][/color][/size][/center]
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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][bg=ffffff] It wasn't long until the usual sassy attitude that I found strangely endearing found his face again, and he scowled. "“I've told you, my name is not ‘Cap’n’," he said as he walked closer and closer to me, each step making my pulse rise a bit. The bags that framed his eyes pulled out the sky-blue shade of his irises, and despite the cold weather, his hair burned as if the sun had just ran it's hands through it. I bit back a grin, because no way in hell should one little reply escaping from his lips be enough to put me in a better mood, especially when he acted like he wasn't particularly excited to see me again a he crossed hi arms over hi chest and refused to meet my gaze. Instead, he stared at the bag of tools that I held by my side. My grip on it tightened, as did my jaw, because I didn't understand what his problem with me was exactly. The first time, I could admit, I had caught him off-guard, and by a strange twist of fate had been able to spend the entire evening with him, but seeing me here was a normal thing. It happened very, very frequently, but he wore no clear emotion on his face, and I decided I would rather see complete disgust than nothing at all. Maybe the reason he was acting this way was because what happened had meant nothing to him and when I thought about it, the time I had pent him probably wasn't all that important, but I couldn't ignore the small sting of pain that stabbed into my chest. To make matters worse, he confirmed my fear, turning the subject to tools, a professional subject he talked about a thousand times a day, or at least I assumed he did. "I’m fine, I guess… What did you bring for us to fix?" I bit my bottom lip and pushed passed the remorse in my chest because it made absolutely no sense, and decided to save it for later to think about it. "Nothing is broken, really. Just some small things, blades that need to be sharpened and things..." I tossed them on the counter, and picked up a small cookie, checking both side of it before looking at him. I forced a smile at Bryony. "Are these some of the ones we made?" I asked, and I already knew the answer. We had made enough sweets to fill an army, there was no way they had enough business to sell all of them within the small time frame since we had last saw one another. I didn't really care if they had or not, I was just desperate to get him to talk to me, for him to see that I wasn't some monster, and that all I wanted was to be his damn friend.

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[pthalorarity]

I'm in misery
where you can seem
as old as your omens

My brow furrows at his response. It seems a bit ridiculous that he had to come all of this way for such miniscule repairs. Usually the men of the lumberyard did such things on their own. There was no need to pay up for such minor things. Something seemed fishy about it, but before I can respond, Ven is already changing the subject… and there’s that smile.

I swallow back the lump in my throat as I feel my cheeks warm. I quickly look to the sweets that he mentions as I try to control the fluttering in my stomach. “Yes,” I say before looking back to him. “They are. You can have some more if you like … Well I say more because you had some when we made them, not that you had some already today…” I can feel my cheeks getting downright hot as I stumble over my words. This is why it’s better to keep quiet. To avoid further embarrassment, I turn away from him and grab a handful of cookies. They are the ones with berries and chocolate chips and those were the ones he ate the most of from what I remembered… he’d eaten plenty, but whether I’d admit it or not, I was paying attention to what he liked.

I place them on one of the small plates we have stacked beside the sweets display before handing it to him. “These were the ones you liked, right?” I bite my lower lip softly as I continue to avert my eyes. “I mean, I don’t really remember…” I lie. I’m a terrible liar, and I can feel even my ears burning with blush now too. If he knew I’d thought so often of that day, what would he think of me? He’d probably mock me, honestly, that’s what most guys like him seemed to do. He still didn’t seem to know enough about me to act that way yet, but the only way to keep that from happening is to stay cold and keep my distance. So with that, I purse my lips together and begin to open the bag of tools he has brought. As I thumb through the assorted blades and gadgets, my brow furrows once more. There was hardly a knick or blemish on anything he had brought… What is he playing at?

[dars]

ventus blanchard
-------------------------------
AM I BETTER OFF DEAD?
-------------------------------

Instantly my eyes narrowed on the boy, clothed in the same dirty apron he always wore in the store. Not in a menacing way, my smile should have been enough to show him that and then I shrugged. "Okay, sure." Then, he quickly found my favorite, (should it have felt so good that he remembered?) "These were the ones you liked, right?" He asked, and I nodded.

"I mean, I don’t really remember…"

His face had more to tell.

"No, you were right, they are." I said, smiling thoughtfully as I plopped one of the cookies in my mouth. The taste of cranberries gave the sweet a new twist of flavor that was almost exotic, and I had to refrain myself from shoving all of them in my mouth at once. "Thanks..." I said. So, perhaps I had jumped to a conclusion. Maybe he was starting to trust me after all. I licked a few crumbs from my bottom lip and nodded to him.

"How is Grandma?" I asked, genuinely curious. The woman had obviously noticed something between the two of us before even I really did, hell, I still didn't know what exactly "something" was. For the most part, I just wanted to let Bryony know that not everyone was out to get him, but when I looked at him my stomach felt funny and I always managed to make a fool of myself when in his presence. There was some sort of attraction that I willingly admitted to having to the boy, the question, however, was what I planned on doing about it. Still, Bryony's grandmother was a wise woman, and she knew what her eyes saw. I wondered what exactly she saw.

I found myself thinking of what this could be as well. Bryony's hand in mine as we walk aimlessly through the woods, both of us balancing ourselves on fallen trees as they crossed our paths. Or a picnic in his grandmother's front yard in the spring, trying unsuccessfully to toss grapes in each other's mouths. There were a number of pictures that had painted themselves very vividly in my mind, and I had somehow grown fond of them, and even began wishing they'd come true a bit. Not a bit. A lot.

CREDIT TO LEI FOR THE TABLE

[pthalorarity]

I'm in misery
where you can seem
as old as your omens

I can’t help but look up as Ventus bites into the cookies. The small smile of satisfaction that tinges his lips causes a warming sensation in my chest. I take in a slow breath to hold my stoic expression. As he asks about my grandmother, I furrow my brow. Why did he care how she was? He hardly knew her or myself … I guess he is just being polite? I revert my gaze back to the hardly broken tools in the bag he brought and begin inspecting them once more.

“She’s doing alright. The cold doesn’t exactly agree with her bones, but she’s managing, and I help her out when I can.” I can’t help but smile as I think on her fondly. Admittedly, she’s my favorite member of my family, though I would never divulge that information to my parents. I get on well with them too of course, but I know they favor my brother. It’s hard not to when raising him was so easy and I have been so… well, problematic would be a nice way of putting it. Who wants a child with severe anxiety attacks when treatment is far too expensive for even the wealthier members of the district.

My next words slip from my lips before my conscious has time to stop myself. “She’s asked about you, actually.” As I realize what I’ve said, I can’t help widen my eyes in horror and try to think of a magical way to retract it. No such thing exists however and my cheeks burn bright once more… something they seem to do a lot in Ventus’s company. My hands fumble through the tools as I furiously wrack my brain for a quick transition or excuse. “Well… I mean…” I feel my finger catch the tip of a blade and in my flustered state, I realize too late as it presses into my flesh and draws blood. “Ouch!” I quickly retract my hand and try to find a clean-ish spot on my apron to press it into until I can find a bandage.

I take in a deep, aggravated breath and look at Ventus accusingly. Of course this wasn’t really his fault, but if it weren’t for him unhinging me so with his smile and his questions, I wouldn’t have cut myself in the first place. As I move to behind the counter to grab the small first aid kit we have on hand, I remember that Ventus too had cut himself on our baking day, and this strikes a new thought… Did he cut himself for the same reason? Was he distracted by me…? No. That would be ridiculous.

[dars]

| A L L | I | H E A R D | W A S | N O T H I N G |

V E N T U S ▲ B L A N C H A R D

Sparks kissed my fingers, danced along my skin and made my finger tips a resting place. My favorite? He remembered my favorite of all the things we made that day, and it might have been something small, but it me a sense of pride and renewed persistence. One thing I now knew for certain was that the act Bryony was playing, the mirage that he wasn't interested, was just that. A mirage.

I couldn't stop myself from leaning over the counter a bit. Every inch closer to him was more than I could ever want, and the need to touch him when he was so close... to reach into the air and check to see if he was in fact standing there or if he was just a dream made up in the most daring part of my brain was overwhelming, but I somehow contained myself. A numb hand wrapped itself around one of the cookies- cranberries and chocolate embedded into it's surface, and I smiled into the open air.

"Thank you." I said. "So, when do you get off?" Why did it matter? What was I going to do, run away from work? I considered it for a moment, and that was a moment too soon. People wouldn't be okay with it. I thought. I would be fired in an instant, even with my father's position. Still, I could at least spend time with him when I was done. I could always swing by to see him again later, if he were up for it, of course.

I looked at him with the feeling of hope begging him to pick up the hint, to just give in and let me be a friend to him. At times, he was just as frozen as when they had first met. Then others, like this one, made him seem like a different person, adorably trying to act oblivious to Ventus's charms, so-

"Ouch."

A small line of crimson crawled along the other boy's flesh, and for a moment, I was too consumed with the memories of my own cut that still felt sore to the touch, but I quickly pushed it to the back of my mind and grabbed a towel laying nearby. "Let me," I said, taking his hand in my own and cleaning the wound. Nothing too serious, definitely not fatal, but still, he bled and bled. "Are you okay?"

T E M P L A T E B Y C H E L S E Y

[pthalorarity]

I'm in misery
where you can seem
as old as your omens

The moment happens too quickly and it’s too late to escape as Ventus grasps my hand into his. That doesn’t stop me from trying to pull away, but he has me. My eyes lock with his like a deer in headlights. His irises are a perfectly deep shade of warm brown, and they are filled with life like the giant oaks in the summer. I can feel my heart rate quicken as he pulls in closer and try desperately to retain my expression of aggravation.

“It’s only a cut,” I say as I take the towel and release my hand from his. Despite my agitation and distrust, the blush still rushes to my cheeks as I continue to look at him. My expression slowly softens to one of curiosity as I really take him in. There is something so genuinely kind in the way he looks at me that is almost frightening. My grandmother often gives me a similar expression, but there is something notably different in the subtleties behind it. Still, it is unnerving and I finally find it in me to turn from his warm eyes.

I move to behind the counter to grab the puny old first aid kit that we keep stashed for situations like this. It’s probably gotten the most use out of me in all of the time we have had it. I grab one of the few remaining bandages and remove it from its yellowing wrapper. After applying some ointment to stifle the bleeding, I quickly wrap my finger and turn back to Ventus.

I catch the bag of blades and tools out of the corner of my eye and recall why he was there in the first place. I cocked a brow at him in suspicion as I walk to the bag to re-survey the wares. “Are you sure these need to be sharpened…?“ It was already odd that he was here with such silly repairs, and on closer evaluation they hardly needing repairing at all. No one comes in here for this.

“And the shop closes at seven in the winter months, so that’s when I am done. Haven’t you come here enough to know that?” I fold my arms as I stand across from him skeptically. Something wasn’t adding up, and as warm as his smile and eyes may be, I am still too scared to trust him.

[dars]

| A L L | I | H E A R D | W A S | N O T H I N G |

V E N T U S ▲ B L A N C H A R D

Most of the damage seemed to be dealt with already, and the bleeding stopped rather quickly. The cut wasn't nearly as bad as I had first assumed, and that was enough to bring a blush to my cheeks. "Oh, way to go, Ven."

He looked at the tools, then to me, his eyes already asking the question before his lips let it out. "Are you sure these need to be sharpened…?" I could physically feel the embarrassment strengthen in my cheeks. Did I? In all honesty? No. They were good for another month at least, but still, I stood right there, trying to hide my blush by swallowing hard and taking in a deep breath, brushing the crumbs from the cookie he had given me off on my pants, and for whatever reason, smiling at him. Not a simple smile, either. A full-fledged smile, with my teeth revealed and my eyes squinted in joy.

He knew exactly why I was there. To see him.

But, for some reason, he decided to avoid the confrontation a little while longer. "And the shop closes at seven in the winter months, so that’s when I am done. Haven’t you come here enough to know that?" I leaned forward, my lips only inches from his ear. "Good. I'll see you then." Then, before he could protest, "Oh, and I'll pick those up after we hang out." while nodding to the counter of tools. Despite what I wanted, I turned and left. I ignored the small voice that begged me to stay, pleaded for me to take a break, and trudged further away from the house and closer to my father and the other workers.

---

I had to rush to finish my work, chopping wood as quickly as I could and stacking it in neat piles until I was drenched in sweat. But as soon as the last load was finished, I wasted no time, rushing to my house, changing clothes and checking the clock before I left. Six Forty-five, which meant that if I hurried, I would make it to his house just in time.

The sun was beginning to disappear over the horizon, painting the sky with purple and dying the trees all black. I walked with a swift pace, enjoying the crunching sound my boots made as I climbed his drive way. I knocked on his door, never more excited to see someone, and primped myself in the reflection of the window. "Hey there." I said as soon as the door opened.

T E M P L A T E B Y C H E L S E Y

[pthalorarity]

I'm in misery
where you can seem
as old as your omens

I avert my eyes for a moment as he smiles brightly. I can feel the blush burning brighter in my cheeks and before I can regain control of the situation, he is inches from me and my heart bursts into such a pace that I have never felt before. I can feel the warmth emanating from his skin and the scent of the woods, his woods, envelops my senses. His breathe tickles my ear as he speaks, and I am frozen.

“But I…” I stammer, and before I can refuse, he is gone. I turn and stare down at the unbroken tools he has left for me to “mend”. What is going on? Now that the moment had passed and his presence no longer held me captivated, the entire thing feels like a dizzy daydream. Doubt immediately fills my mind, and I am certain he won’t actually return until I remember the he does have to at least pick up the tools. Why Ventus was going out of his way to see me made no sense, and though my heart whispered its inkling, I pushed it out of my mind as I returned to work.

The next few hours were possibly the slowest of my life. I couldn’t stop the argument in my mind over Ventus’s intentions, and admittedly I was feverishly trying to find a way out of seeing him. After much debate, I decided to ask my mother to wait to give him the tools. I thought she wouldn’t ask any questions, but I should have known better. Being a terrible liar, it wasn’t long before I spilled at least a little of the circumstance.

“OH! I heard about him from your grandmother,” She said with a warm, knowing smile. I immediately knew I was done for at this point. She was always encouraging me to be more social. “I think it’s best if you stay to give him his tools. Or I could and perhaps invite him to dinner?”

She laughed at the clearly horrified expression on my face, and I stomped off defeated as she called out to tell him hello for her or something.

As closing time approached I slinked off to the back to tidy myself up. I try to magically wipe away the dark circles from under my eyes bye pressing my fingers against them. Of course I know this won’t work, but it doesn’t stop me from hoping. I toss aside the dirty apron and brush off the little bit of dust left on my shirt before going back to the front to await Ventus. My heart starts beating quickly again as is sit there beside his freshened tools, and my mind begins calculating a number of ways to escape, but before I can decide if any are reasonable the door opens and his voice calls through the empty shop.

I swallow back the lump that I didn’t realize was in my throat and stand to greet him. “Hi…” I say standing there awkwardly. Unsure of what to say, I quickly reach for the bag of tools. “They’re all fixed. It was really minor so it’s on the house…” I bite the corner of my lip lightly as I looked to him with the glimmer of a smile.