A Madman's Mundane Morning

by **Meville Brightshade** on June 7th, 2013, 9:27 pm

The first of summer, 513 AV

"All the children laugh and play,
But I can't go outside today.
Daddy tells me, 'There's no way!'
Inside, I'll have to stay.

One. Two. One. Two.
The strikes they fall like rain.
One. Two. One. Two.
I can't escape the pain.

'We're almost done now,' Daddy grins.
I wish that I could die.
For now I suffer Daddy's sins,
While in the ground he lies."

The sing-song rhythm of the words faded into the wooden walls of Meville's room. The young man lay huddled upon his bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiled, his body nestled in a nest of quilts and furs that adorned the soft mattress with their comfortable warmth. A gentle, sad sigh fell from Meville's lips as he rolled over onto his stomach, replacing the breathy noise with a tired grunt. He laid there, his covers pulled up over his head to create a veritable cocoon of warmth against the chilly air of yet another Avanthal morning. Pressing his face into the soft cushion of his pillow, Meville mumbled into it in the same sing-song voice. His words were completely muffled as his breath seemed to bounce back off the downy fabric, berating him with the unnatural warmth of his breath.

With a quick jerk, Meville shot up out of his haven sending his pillow flying to the floor as his quilts and covers spilled out over the edge of his bed. Wild blue eyes darted around the silent room, searching for something, but finding nothing but the ordinary stillness that came with the morning time. His body slowly relaxed as the wild fervency of his search dulled, allowing him to fall back into his now decimated bedspread. Meville ran his hands through his mess of a hair, playing with the tangled curls and itching his scalp slightly as his mouth opened into a wide gape to signify this ever-increasing awareness of joining the waking world. Letting his hands fall next to his head, Meville let his yawn finish, blinking away the customary tears that often accompanied the action.

"What's today, Meville?" The words came out as a hoarse whisper, so Meville cleared his throat, rolling over to his side so he could lower his feet down to the chilly wooden floor boards of his homey room. "Why, it's the first of summer, didn't you know, sleepyhead?" He pushed himself up from his reclined position, feeling the sleep still cling to his tired frame. In an attempt to counteract the heavy feeling of his limbs, Meville stretched his arms out to either side and brought them back to cross around himself as if in a hug. He groaned again, but this time it was a sound of pleasure. Tapping his lips with two fingers, Meville looked once more around the room in a lazy fashion.

His room was fairly sparse. There was an almost empty dresser at the foot of his heavy, wooden bed frame. On top of the mostly barren piece of furniture, there was a tattered old book with leather binding and yellowed pages. At the other end of the room, there was a woven rug that lay in the middle of the square room. A wooden writing desk sat against the wall, though the chair that was supposed to compliment it was upside down on top of it. The rest of the room was empty space, broken only by the light of day that came through a large, square window in the middle of the wall closest to the streets. He wasn't entirely sure why the curtains that usually blocked the light were drawn, but the cold, blue light that filtered through the warped glass was pleasing enough he didn't care all that much.

Meville clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he curled his toes against the pleasantly cool surface of the wood. Slowly, he rose off of the bed, stretching his arms straight up to the ceiling, letting a couple squeaks of effort escape before letting both arms fall with a smack against his bare legs. Scratching his stomach as he ambled across the wood, to the rug, Meville stopped in the middle of it. He peered out the window from where he stood, squinting slightly to make out the dark figures of the people passing. From how busy everyone seemed to be - and by how quickly they were moving - he figured it wasn't as early in the morning as he had thought, after all the paths were already dug and it had even snowed last night.

Instead of getting dressed, Meville planted himself in a seated position at the focal point of the single, woven adornment he had decided to retain in his room. "Why Meville, what are you doing?" He arched his back, letting it pop and release the slight tension that had collected there during the night he hadn't been able to dispel with his initial stretches. "It's time for practice, don't you know?" He let his back relax into a slight slouch as he rubbed his temples. "Oh yes. I'd forgotten." He closed his eyes now, carefully inhaling a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs. As he exhaled, he let his eyes open slowly with the exiting of his breath.

He flexed his left hand, moving his fingers out, then into a fist, squeezing tight. Once that was done, he let his hand relax as he moved the fingers up to his lips and bit down. His teeth made contact with each other, but the tips of his fingers rested against his pearly whites. The glyphs on his his shoulder shimmered slightly in the pale light of the room as Meville started to pull his head back, as if trying to remove a stubborn glove. His head move side to side, easing the invisible glove off of his shoulder, slowly easing it over the elbow. Soon, his left arm fell limply into his lap as his teeth released what they had been gripping.

The glyphs along his left arm now had a silver glow to them, though it was nothing flashy, Meville had always enjoyed the way they lit up whenever he detached his astral from from his physical one. Working the fingers of his ghostly appendage, Meville used it to scratch the difficult section of his back to reach. He let out a content sigh as his invisible fingers found the itch and promptly removed the problem. Moving his right hand to his mouth, Meville did the exact same motions, this time moving a little bit faster now that he was more awake and alert. With both of his arms now folded over each other in complete uselessness, Meville turned his head to focus on the chair.

Though it was far too heavy to move, he had been practicing building up the strength of his astral body. What better way than resistance training? Biting his lower lip, Meville placed his disembodied hands against the chair. His right was positioned in a straight push, while his left bent at the elbow to provide support. It was always a strange sensation to be facing one way and to be pushing in a completely impossible direction. He drew a concentrated breath before he began to push. Meville employed a steady flow of Dhjed to his arms, not too much that he was straining, but not so little that his push had absolutely no effect.

The chair slowly began to scoot along the smooth surface of the desk at an agonizingly slow rate. Meville slowly removed his left arm, leaving his right to struggle in vain against the now immovable object. Very carefully, Meville reached behind him with his left arm, turning his gaze now to the dresser were the journal lay. He lifted the book with his left arm, grimacing slightly under the weight of the object. Once he felt he had a firm grip upon it, he brought the book over and let it hover in front of him. Leaning the book into the crook of his arm, Meville gently pulled open the pages so he could read it.

His right arm had begun to feel a bit strained, so he adjusted his pressure to let it relax slightly, but still maintained his push against the chair. His left arm felt fine holding the book now, though he had to keep it at an odd angle to keep the book from falling. Meville looked down onto the passage he had opened to, clicking his tongue as he checked for the date in the upper right corner of the page. There wasn't a title for this one, but it didn't seem to be the middle of an entry. Good.

He busied himself with reading the journal, moving his mouth in silent words as his eyes perused the slightly faded handwritten scrawl. The back of his mind paid close attention to how much Dhjed he was expending, but he was mainly focused upon the story he had read at least one hundred times before. It was the first time his mother, Alira, had kissed a man. Alira's handwriting was, usually, quite neat and clean, but this particular passage suffered from the giddy hand of his love-struck mother. The words moved up and down, grew larger and smaller, revealing just how nervous she was simply by the appearance of her handwriting. The words themselves were filled with the love-musings of an absent-minded woman, but they brought a strange kind of warmth to Meville's heart. He smiled as sweat began to form on his brow and slowly snake its way down his face. She had been such an interesting, vibrant young creature.

He was able to read several more entries by closing the tome and letting it fall open as he had fist done to other pages. About halfway through the second story, he switched arms, letting his right support the book and his left push from the opposite side his right had been. It didn't take too long for his mind to alert him to the fact that he had begun to approach the point of over giving. Releasing the chair, Meville used both his hands to slowly close the book and replace it upon the dresser. Once that was done, he held his left arm straight out in front of him, the shoulder facing his physical shoulder. His right arm gingerly held his physical left arm and began to wiggle it into the astral one like the glove he had first taken off.

He carefully reattached the arm to his body, taking a bit longer than he had when he had removed it due to it being out for so long. Once he was certain he hadn't done anything improperly, he let the shoulder merge with the rest of his astral form. The glyphs slowly faded back into their complex black patterns as he regained the use of his physical left arm. Turning to his right, Meville repeated the process in the same fashion. Once both arms were reattached, he flexed both arms and hands to make sure everything was operating correctly. First his left, then his right. Good.

During his time, the light had changed from the pale glow of morning to the brighter hues of midday. Meville felt his stomach complain about his absolute neglect of its needs. "Oh, time for lunch already?" He wiped some of the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his wrist, running his other hand through his hair. Placing both hands on the ground, Meville pushed his legs out straight, stretching the stale pain from being crossed for so long out of them. Once that was done, he staggered up, patting some feeling back into his bare behind.

Bare. Oh. Meville looked down to realize he was completely naked. He had forgone clothes last night upon a whim, choosing instead to stack all the blankets and quilts on top of him to compensate. He shuffled over, stooping slightly to access the wooden drawers that housed his single set of clothes. Uninterested in anything other than his undergarments, Meville drew them out and slipped them on over his chilly body. It felt nice to once more be housed within the safe confines of fabric. Glaring down at his breeches, Meville grudgingly removed them from the drawer as well and pulled them on. He quickly shut the drawer and ambled over to his bed, picking up one of the lighter quilts and wrapping it around himself. The cloth was cold against his skin, but warmed as he made his way to the door to forage for breakfast. "Will you bring me something back, Meville?"

He stopped, his hand upon the door as the words slipped from his lips. Slowly, he turned his head to face the bed he had just left, his eyes swimming with a quiet sadness. "No... Not today, mother." He blinked back his sudden onset of emotion as he pushed open the door, leaving behind his half-lit room in favor of the kitchen and living quarters that adjoined it.

by **Meville Brightshade** on June 8th, 2013, 7:26 am

Shutting the door behind him with a soft thunk, Meville leaned against the sturdy wood. His eyes closed as he inhaled, letting them stare at the ceiling as he exhaled. "You really should stop that, Meville. It's not funny at all, you know." Meville rapped the knuckles of his right hand against the door twice, letting the sound of flesh covered bone meeting wood sound through the kitchen, before pushing off of his resting place and heading for the icebox in the corner of the room.

Much like his sleeping quarters, Meville had asked to have the kitchen and living area sparsely furnished as well. Short of an icebox, a simple wooden stove, and a stone water basin that consisted of the kitchen, the rest of the room was empty. When there had been couches and tables and chair and all the clutter of usual life, the room had seemed a little small. With everything gone, it proved to be much larger than it seemed. It also proved to be an extremely effective area to partake in various activities, so that was a plus.

Once Meville was standing over the simple wooden box, he squatted down a rapped his knuckles on the lid twice, as he had done with the door. Satisfied with the result, Meville lifted the lid and peered into the frozen contents of the little square space. There was a fish and a very unappetizing looking pile of seaweed he'd purchased the night before but had forgotten to eat. He snaked his hands into the chilly container and withdrew both flora and fauna, letting the lid slam down as he contemplated the two objects in his hands. Both fish and seaweed shook slightly from the minor exhaustion he suffered from having worked himself a little harder than usual that morning, but the jitters had little effect on his decision.

Meville brought the frozen clod of seaweed up to his lips and proceeded to gnaw away at it as he set the fish in a pot on top of the stove. "Stove" was a nice word for a stone box with a hole in the middle for a fire. There was, at least, a ventilation system that allowed the smoke a place to escape to other than Meville's sparsely decorated home. Glaring at the fish in the pot, Meville managed to break off an isolated section of his wad of ocean vegetation. The frozen plant slowly regained some of its slimy texture as the familiar flavor spread over his tongue. The seaweed helped to assuage some of his frustration at the frozen piece of meat that lay helpless in his pot.

Breaking off more bits of the seaweed, Meville shuffled around the room in search of firewood while gripping his quilt with his non-seaweed hand. Usually he stacked the wood by the door, but there were only a few bits of twigs and plenty of little woody pieces. "Did you forget to get firewood again, Meville? Honestly! You must be one of the most forgetful little boys under Syna's smile." Meville stood there for a good while, suckling on the bits of seaweed that had started to melt back into the watery mess he had tossed into the box in the first place. If there was no firewood, there could be no fire. He wasn't dressed to go out, nor did he want to. Despite this, his stomach insisted Meville stop whining and get some firewood so the fish could be cooked so Meville could eat it so his tummy would stop its grumbling.

Shoving the rest of the seaweed into his mouth, Meville flicked the water off of his fingers in the general direction of where the wood should have been. It had been a bit more than he anticipated, and he found biting through the tough, chewy "leafs" to be exceedingly difficult. Pulling the quilt higher over his shoulders, Meville moved a bit more briskly back to the pot of fish. "Ah'll coo' you lahtah." Some vigorous chewing and several steps later, Meville was back in his bedroom, pulling his shirt on over his head. He'd managed to get most of the seaweed down, and was not absent-mindedly chewing on what was left as he searched around for his boots. They were hidden beneath the pile of blankets he had knocked off the bed earlier, so Meville dug then out and pulled them on.

Now fully dressed, he pulled his jacket out of his dresser, throwing it around his shoulders. Once more he opened and shut the door, knocking twice, before heading to the main door that led outside. He stopped then, swallowing the rest of the seaweed before pulling open the heavy door with both hands. The chilly breeze of morning cut straight through his shirt, sending goose bumps down his spine. He let the air run over him for a few moments before closing the door, letting his jacket fall to the ground as he pushed it so the latch clicked.

"Stop it. Stop it right now." He leaned his forehead against the firm, unyielding wood, his words half-whispered as his hands clenched and unclenched. "Meville, you can't go out. Not like that. You'll catch a cold and then-" He drew a quick, wavering breath, trying to continue, "And then I'll be-" Meville slid down to his knees, hot tears starting to burn his face as they ran their course. "Alone." His fist slammed into the door with a sickening crack. A short, pained yelp escaped Meville's lips before he drove his fist back into the wood again and again. Each time, he couldn't help but shout out as his hand smashed itself uselessly against the door.

Slowly, Meville slumped over into a half curl, cradling his broken hand against his chest and whimpering like a small child. The tears covered his face, their salty trails invading his mouth as they passed over his cheeks and nose. "Alone, alone." His voice was nothing more than a whisper between the choked sobs of his breathing. A dark, crimson bloom had spread itself across the floor. His shirt was splattered with little sanguine dots from when his fist found itself repeatedly forcefully shoved into the same spot over and over again. Meville didn't seem to notice or care that his blood now covered the wooden floor boards, or that his hand was smashed beyond recognition. He could only repeat the word, "Alone, alone, alone..." over and over and over again.

His head jerked back from where it had been resting on the door. Meville's hands shot up to his face to check and see that both hands were still in proper working order, no blood. A sigh of immense relief whooshed from his lungs as he twirled to lean his back against the door he had just been facing. It had just been a day dream, a waking vision of madness. Despite the circumstances, Meville's face twisted into a tired grin. He shook slightly, trying to stifle the laughter. Though his hands covered his mouth, the inevitable sounds of mirth erupted from between his lips in a jovial cacophony. It lasted for several chimes, and when he had finished, Meville let himself sink to the ground.

His smile had faded and had been replaced with a weary grimace as Meville rubbed his temples and leaned his head against his knees. "Are you all right, Meville?" His voice was a little hoarse from his excessive bought of laughter only a few moments before. Shaking his head, Meville's hands covered his ears as his eyes clenched shut. "Stop it. Just stop." He began to rock back and forth, as if the rocking would provide the desired result he had just asked for. "But Meville, I-" His pace increased as his muscles tensed, pushing harder against his ears to the point where it hurt. "I said stop it!" "But I-" His hands slammed down onto the ground with a solid sounding thud. "Stop it, mother; you're dead!"

Meville's voice seemed to echo in his ears, the final word lingering in the still air of empty room. His hands stung slightly from the force with which he had thrown them to the floor, and he now gently massaged the tingling sensation out. Slowly, Meville's legs extended forward as his back relaxed into the door. His breathing, which had become fairly frantic during the rocking, slowly returned to normal. There was nothing but the sound of his own decelerated breathing for a good while. Gingerly, Meville stood up to once more examine the room before him. It was completely void of any other living creature. "Meville, you're just plain being rude now."

"Yes, perhaps I am." His blue eyes rested on the fish that still leaned against the interior of the pot like some strange plank of wood. "I really should work on my bedside manner."

by **Meville Brightshade** on June 17th, 2013, 7:14 am

Meville had decided not to eat the fish after all. It was far too much of a hassle to brave the cold for a few chunks of firewood to cook a single, measly creature such as the one so stiffly trapped within the iron sides of the pot. He lifted the frozen animal with his thumb and forefinger, letting it dangle slightly in the still air of the empty kitchen. His curious blue eyes were met the stone dead grey orbs where true eyes should have been. A slight frown spread of Meville's face as he brought his nose so it just barely touched the frozen skin of the fish. "In life, mayhaps you were the fairest fish in the chilly waters of the sea." Flicking out his tongue so the fish swayed back and fourth in his grip as he moved his head back in reproach, Meville finished with a sigh. "But now, sir, you are naught but a withered husk or your former glory."

He ambled over to the ice-box, knocking twice upon the lid and hesitating a few moments before opening it up. Once there was a clear portal into the freezing depths, Meville casually tossed the fish. It landed with a clattering noise, shaking the sides of the box slightly until it found rest at the bottom. Satisfied with the result, Meville let the lid slam down, slapping his hands together to remove the little bit of fishiness that had lingered. Now that he had nothing left to eat, he realized his stomach was no longer whining about being empty. The seaweed had been enough for the moment, a chewy, slimy substitute for something more substantial.

Since there was little else to do, Meville removed his shirt, roaming aimlessly around at a very slow pace as he fumbled with the fabric until it finally fell to the floor where it remained. Once his chest was free, Meville sat down and removed his boots. He was very deliberate about the whole process. First the laces were completely removed from one boot. Once that was accomplished, the boot was removed from the foot and the lace was once more strung through the eyes. It was repeated for the other side, and once it had been finished on both, the boots were set right next to each other in the middle of the room.

Meville wiggled his toes as he scooted out of his britches. Once those were removed, Meville sat in his undergarments for a short while, staring at the discarded clothes with a casual disinterest. He rubbed his shoulders in a self-hug, feeling the bumpy chill of skin protesting against the frosty conditions of his kitchen. Standing up, Meville gently slapped the sides of his face before taking a deep breath and letting all the air flow out of him. Once he'd done that, he left himself fall straight to the floor, arms extended out to catch himself. He began doing push-ups at a steady rate, inhaling as he rose and exhaling as he fell. The physical strain the exercise began to put upon his body as the number of "ups" increased felt nice, much like when he had been training his projection earlier that morning.

When he had reached the point where his arms shook and breath came in rattling shudders, he left himself lie upon his chest, his face facing to the right. Meville was never entirely sure how many push-ups he ever did, though it was certainly enough to warm him up when he was wearing nothing but his skivvies. He let his breath gradually return to him by doing absolutely nothing but letting his body rise and fall with the increase and decrease of air. When he no longer felt physically ill, Meville rolled himself over to his back to stare straight up into the wooden planks of his ceiling. There were several cobwebs that lined where the ceiling met the wall. They were a direct result of Meville's lack of desire to remove them, thus they stayed with their gossamer threads to collect the particles of dust and whatever else floated unseen in the air.

"It's the first, you know."

Meville rolled over to his left side, staring at the lower half of his bedroom door with a tired look upon his face and a dull glint in his eye. "Is it?" He picked at an irregularity in the floorboards where a corner was slightly higher than the others. The gentle scritch of his nails filling the empty silence with an eerie tone. "It certainly is. I wouldn't have told you that if it wasn't true, Meville." He pursed his lips together in concentration as his nail was able to dislodge a small splinter for the larger plank of the wood he was fiddling with. The sliver immediately lodged itself into Meville's intrusive digit, causing a surprising shiver of pain to jerk through his body as his hand quickly pulled back. He turned his hand to examine the new intruder who had forced its way beneath his skin, clicking his tongue at the dark piece of wood deeply embedded in his forefinger.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten what the first is, Meville."

The finger was, after a few moments of deliberation, popped into this mouth whereupon a furious sucking began to remove the intruder from his sensitive finger. Meville felt the tingling pain of the force with which he tried to remove the sliver, but when the finger was removed, the splinter remained. "It's the beginning of summer?" He moved his other hand over now to pick at the entry wound, wincing each time his finger agitated the injured area. A small trickle of blood had begun to run down the length of the afflicted digit, making his attempt to dig out the wood all the more difficult as the bright red served well as a distraction from his goal. "Well yes, but it's also-" Meville interrupted himself with a quick yelp of pain as he broke the splinter in half, removing the slightly exposed section a bit more suddenly than he had been expecting. Sticking the finger back into his mouth, Meville used his good hand to push himself up into a seated position.

His eyes fixed themselves upon the ice box while the coppery flavor of his own blood slowly filled his mouth. Using his hand to help push him up to his feet, Meville made his way back to the box. Once he'd arrived, he knocked twice and waited. "It's also my birthday, Meville." He then lifted the lid and took the fish out for a second time. The use of the fish was much different than it had been the first time, as Meville removed his injured finger from his mouth to press it upon the frozen scales of the deceased, aquatic animal. He winced slightly at the cold and the sensation it created between his warm, painful finger and chilly frozen friend. "I knew that." Meville rolled his eyes and let the ice box slam shut for the third time. "Of course you did. Meville, you're so forgetful sometimes! It baffles me. It really does."

He turned and sat down in front of the ice box, leaning against it as a support for his back. The fish rigidly rested upon his lap, sending an unpleasant sensation of freezing fire blooming out from where the fin and tail made contact with his more delicate flesh of his inner thighs. "You wouldn't be the only one baffled then." The pain in his finger had dulled to the much less noticeable numbing chill that came with holding various parts of the body to something frozen for an extended period of time. "So..." Meville pulled his finger off of the fish, leaving it resting between his legs, as he squeezed both sides of his finger to try to remove the splinter. There was some movement which was promising, so Meville continued his pressure, increasing it even. Wiggling the skin back and fourth, he was eventually able to get the blasted thing out. With a sigh of happy relief, he slumped back against the wood of ice box, letting his finger return to its now customary position upon the fish.

"So?"

He glared up at the ceiling. "So where's my gift?" Meville clicked his tongue as he let his gaze fall to the fish in his lap. "Why it's right here!" His chilled hand gripped the fish and raised it above his head in a triumphant salute. Having been warmed by his body, the fish was beginning to drip, a fact Meville experienced first hand as the first few drops landed as chilly reminders upon his exposed chest. The fish was quickly tossed across the room where it landed with a crack as a piece of it broke off and skidded into a corner. "That's it then? Just that?" His blue eyes gazed sadly at the broken body of the little fish. "Well, it was." Meville's body shivered in the cold and damp that he'd exposed himself to. He curled up into a ball, pulling his knees up to his chest with his back still supported by the ice box. "You never really like anything I actually want to get you anyway."

"Not true!"

Meville played with his toes, placing his nose into the makeshift crevice between his knees. "You never liked those books, or that dress, or the sculpture I made, or-" He scrunched his toes against the intrusion of his fingers, trapping them in the grip of his feet. "Yes, all right, I suppose you have a point." The toes released the fingers, and Meville was free to fiddle with them once more. "What if, this year, you gave me something instead?" Here, his hands wrapped around the opposite ankles, gently pulling his legs into a tighter ball as his back rounded even more against the wood of the ice box. "Oh? And what might be that something?"

A very long stretch of silence passed then. Meville continued to stay in his ball of warmth, clasping his ankles with such force his knuckles turned white and his finger nails painfully dug into the skin. His nose slowly rose out from between his knees so his chin could rest upon where the nose had been. "You could come back." The words lingered in the quiet. Meville's eyes were completely dull then. There was not a single spark of expectation or excitement contained within them as he scanned the room for the hundredth time. The quiet slowly grew into a silence which seemed to press itself down upon and around him. It grew to such an extent that Meville could barely hear his own breathing.

The deathgrip he had had around his ankles relaxed then, allowing his legs to extend out in front of him and his back to more comfortably lean against the ice box. His body slumped, no longer wishing to support both his physical weight and the burdens of his mind. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly in the oppressive stillness. It was eventually broken by Meville's giggles. The giggles slowly faded into a soft sigh as he pushed himself to his feet. Slowly, he collected his various discarded garments and put them back on his body. Fully clothed, he leaned against the bedroom door, pressing the right side of his face against it. "Happy birthday, mother."

by **Noblesse** on July 27th, 2013, 7:10 pm

Meville Brightshade :

True nobility lies in being superior to your former self

If you have any questions or concerns regarding your grade, please send me a PM and we can figure it out. Heehee.

Solo A Madman's Mundane Morning