Stuff of Nightmares

I am J

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Jan 22, 2017
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It was late, and so the library’s lighting was dimmed. The furthest corners were shrouded in shadows; the spines on the books were difficult but not impossible to read. It was quiet too. There was a group of students at a long table studying together in hushed tones and near the back, Lazarus.

He was set up at a long table alone, his books spread around him like an island of pages, curled over his laptop. The light from the screen cast an eerie glow onto his slightly gray hued skin. His eyes were like deep pits, all black, and his dark hair fell into his face. He was dressed in a fitted black shirt, long sleeves gracing the length of his too long arms, black pants casing his too long legs. His fingers, so long they appeared to have an extra joint, rested, completely still, like spiders splayed over the keyboard.

Lazarus was made of the stuff from nightmares.

Literally. He was a bögge, a pookha, a bogeyman. And he was sitting in a library at a school slouched over a laptop writing a six page essay on the night terrors and the potential implications they have in pediatric mental health. He, a bogeyman, in all of his frightening glory, was sitting there studying at ten at night instead of haunting bad children’s dreams.

This wasn’t exactly where Lazarus pictured himself a year ago but it was exactly where he knew he needed to be. Now, if he could just complete a thought. Maybe it was the hour, ten wasn’t too late but he had been awake in the day time more often than his body was accustomed to this since arriving at the campus. He sighed and lifted his hands from the keyboard. Resting his elbows on the table edge, he brought his face down into his hands and groaned. “What am I doing here?” he muttered out loud in a tired, husky voice.
 

Sarrain

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Ceidwen didn't like staying out late when she didn't need to. Especially considering she had a daughter who she had no desire to leave home alone. Tonight, she tucked Ravina in and waited for her to fall asleep before traveling to Starlight Academy's library.

Being a full-time mother, worker, and a student had taken its toll on her, but no one ever said freedom came without cost. Ceidwen bore the brunt of it without complaint, as was custom for her people. Cupid's court showed an ironic lack of emotion, compared to the Welsh people whose blood they shared.

Libraries were always peaceful, as far as Ceidwen had seen. No one ever had a horror story in the library. The darkness reaching in every which direction didn't spook her, but she was wary when she saw a group of boys speaking in hushed whispers as they studied together. She veered off to avoid them and went in search of her required title.

She found it after a good ten minutes of searching. The only problem? It lay near a long-limbed man hunched over his computer. She breathed a sigh and stepped over to him, standing tall and proud. Ceidwen cleared her throat.

"Aye, mun, would you mind iffin I used that there?" she nodded to the book she needed.

 

I am J

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Jan 22, 2017
151
Lazarus lifted his dark, hollow eyes to meet her gaze. He’d been intensely working on his citation page and hadn’t even noticed her approaching. The shadows around him seemed to lift from the corners and creep towards him, as if to circle him, but they quickly shrunk back, retreating into themselves.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke quickly in a rasping, deep voice. “You startled me,” he gestured at the shadows lurking in the corners, as if to apologize for their behavior, or possibly for the way they responded to his reaction. He looked to the book she’d gestured too and then back to her. “You’re Ciedwen right? I think you’re taking Physiological Psych and Cognitive Psych with me, right?” He reached for the book, his reached seemed impossible long and his hands impossibly large. He pulled it nearer to him and held it out to her. “What’s your major, then?”

Lazarus’ voice, despite sounding raspy and gravelly, was exceedingly gentle. He tended to treat people with silk gloves the first time he officially met them because he was never certain how a person would take him. Most people avoided him outright. Some people were just down right scared of him and, given who he was and what he was known for doing, he couldn’t blame them. The few who approached could grow to know him better or could just spook.
 

Sarrain

The Salt Sea
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Ceidwen almost made a face at his apology, almost. From a young age, she had been taught by her pap that one should never apologize. It was a show of weakness, and in Fae culture, could be considered rude. She had to mentally remind herself that this was not Underhill and the rules weren't the same here.

She nodded when he asked of her name. "Ceidwen Evans, aye, that be me." She hesitated, but only fractionally, when he held the book out to her. Ceidwen took it, careful not to touch him as she did so and pulled it against her chest.

"Majorin' in biology and minorin' in chemistry." She paused a beat, debating if she wanted to give more information or not. "Goin' to be a forensic scientist. I intern at the station." And because it was polite to ask in return, "and yer majorin' in?"

Ceidwen would have been loathe to admit that she feared anyone or anything, but such things were undeniable. Everyone feared something or someone, even if many of her people liekd to pretend that was a fallacy.

Despite that they were now in a conversation with one and other, Ceidwen didn't sit, much preferring to stick to the high ground and the dominant position between them.
 
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