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 When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]

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By the By

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PostSubject: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Mon Apr 26, 2010 7:34 am

"GET OUT!!!"

Rafael stood. Confident. Defiant. Smile.

The priest opposed him, face maroon in rage and disgust. Steam poured out of his ears, earsplitting whistle, as if he was a kettle. The floor shook and trembled, the robes on his chubby body just about ready to light on fire. Yet no matter what he did now, Rafael was in control. No-one could run his life, his mind, his thoughts. He felt just like when he was with that girl, control.
Explode old man, he thought.

"GET OUT OF MY CHURCH!!!!" Bellow, bellow, bellow.

The grin upon the young man's face grew. He turned heel, purposely taking his time as he headed for the door. The walls towered over him, the nuns cowered at his whim. They held a young girl in their thin, thickly covered arms. Her eyes wide, blank, her neck black where the rope had sunk in. She was naked.
It took much force to get the heavy, old, damp wodden doors open. Rafael could hear their whispers, the angels, cast in stone, as they recited their exorcism prayers in his direction. He cast one last long look at them all; they seemed so tiny.
Not even closing the door behind him, he ran. His golden eyes blurred in the hard rain of the outside...rain?

A mere 30 feet from the door of his childhood his heart skipped a beat and he stopped flat. The rain sank through his clothe, to his fresh skin, right through to his soul. It ran down his hair, like a loving caress he never felt. He opened his arms, remembering the girl.
He had smelled the fear the instant she saw him, he wanted more of that. More fear, more fear, more control, more things he yearned for. But now he had no roof over his head, and the rain pounded every inch of his body, penetrating right through him. He knew there was a bus stop somewhere, far away from the doors to his childhood, and he always had a few dollars in his pockets. Was this rebirth?


Last edited by Xenomorph-Queen on Sat Jun 26, 2010 12:21 pm; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Mon May 17, 2010 8:07 am

For the next day to come, the warm rains never stopped. Soaking the ground, making every tree, every flower, every blade of grass surrounding the path he followed bend painfully low, their leaves and petals muddy from rubbing the soil. It seemed they were begging for mercy, kneeling under the powerful tears that kept coming, crashing down from the sky. Yet the young man on the footpath walked strong, not falling in the gloom, his beige shirt transparent and heavy from the constant downpour. He had to keep his head low, as the torrential rain blurred his golden eyes. The high humidity made Rafael feel lethargic, sleepy, warm, and wet. He had walked through the night, following the now small, spindly path. He knew there was a bus stop somewhere down the road, but knew not how much father he would have to travel.
The mud squelched beneath his naked toes, running in between them.

Then, the path stopped. Clean.
Rafael paused, looking down at his feet, on the edge of the path. Raising his head he caught a flash of a tall wooden thing, not even an inch from his nose. He fell back with yelp, into the tall, dirty grass. He had come face to face with a great big wooden wall. The path seemed to continue its way, underneath the old wood that stood in his way. Fear and excitement flooded through him faster than the downpour; what did this wall mean? What does it contain? Does it hold a bus stop? He stood back up, his buttocks now covered in mud.
Rafael put a hand on the structure, held his head low once more, and followed where the wall took him.
Through the crashing torrent, from afar he heard voices, people yelling. He looked around, or so he tried, constantly washing the rain from his face. Of course, the sound had to come from above him, so he made his hands go above his eyes in a baseball cap-like fashion. Above stood a great big wooden tower, with a great big man on top of it. The man spotted Rafael from below, shouting something incomprehensible past the walled area. He then vanished in a flash, almost appearing in front of the young, dirty, sinful man.

"Oi! You! Get outta here!!" he barked, his voice seemingly a whisper in the rain.
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Thu May 27, 2010 12:47 am



The earth squelched beneath the mans black boots as he took a single step closer to Rafael. The man was of heftier proportions- his wide shoulders draped in a rather nondescript beige windbreaker to protect him from the rain that pounded down on the pair. His hands, clasped firmly around what appeared to be some sort of baton, remained pale and tense despite seeing that this 'stranger' was nothing but some kid.

"Did you hear me? GET OUTTA HERE!" The man bellowed through the rain. Behind him the large wooden gate, much taller than even the man, swung loosely. The hinges whistled softly in protest, an eerie tune that broke through the thundering rain a lot better than the yelling adult. It was protesting ever being opened. The mans jaw tensed, his knuckles curling around the baton, "I said-" Another step closer- this time, his arms moved in the same moment, drawing the blunt weapon back, "GET OUTTA HERE!".

-"Andy, wait!"

The baton came swinging downwards, stopping short to float perilously close over Rafael's skull. The gate guard seemed momentarily dumbfounded before quickly lowering the baton and taking two hasty steps back from Rafael. His head had turned towards the open gate, where the figure of another man could hazily be seen jogging towards the two through the downpour.

The man slowed to a walk, stopping at Andy's left. It was hard to distinguish much in the rain, but the man, maybe in his 30's, already drenched in the downpour, seemed very surprised upon noticing Rafael- the conviction he had held a moment ago faltered, as if this kid had not been who he expected to be rescuing from the painful smack of a baton to the head.

"T-this..uh..he's a outsider, so-", Andy mistook the man's hesitation as a cue to explain himself, his ramble cut short as the other finally seemed to recompose his authority-

"What in gods name are you doing? Andy, he's a kid!"

"O-oh, yeah- but-outsid-" Andy muttered feebly for a moment, quickly resigning as the man mentioned something along the lines of 'getting back to his post'. With a final wary glance at Rafael, the gate guardian turned and vanished back behind the wooden gates. The man returned his attention to Rafael, seeming sincerely concerned as he quickly studied the unknown boy again. It was hard for either party to see the other in the horrible weather- there was a sharp, shriek of chilling wind, threatening that this storm would only be getting worse. The man raised his hand, trying to block the rain from his face, his voice finally directing Rafael with a grim tone,

"You better come inside"

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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Fri May 28, 2010 1:54 pm

He could barely hear anything coming out of the larger man’s mouth, of course it was obvious that he was yelling at the top his lungs; his mouth was open wide enough to swallow an entire cow, and the veins on his neck bulged from the strain. He looked like a constipated fish in the pounding rain. Rafael squinted at the man in an attempt to comprehend, but a soon swinging stick in the man’s hands caused him to flinch quite violently. He flailed his arms over his head, cowering below the hefty man’s stick, expecting a full out blow on the head. When it never came, he peered through his arms, catching a glimpse of the scene which played out in front of him.
Another man had joined the pair, younger than the first, smaller too, yet still bigger than Rafael. Suddenly the aggression in the air melted into embarrassment, felt by Andy, or so he was called. Rafael heard something about him being a kid, and he though it was possible they had mistaken him for one considering how short he was. He lowered his arms from his face at the same rate the baton did. With a few more words from the man to the left, the heftier one turned heel, shooting one last weary glare in the boy’s direction.
Rafael looked the man in the eye, unsure whether to thank him…but this feeling of relief was soon replaced by a sort of strange, uncomfortable one. There seemed to be a fatherly worry emanating from the man, even through the slightly disappointed look he gave him. The wind suddenly picked up in their direction, a cold northerly wind cutting through Rafael’s wet clothe. The rain was no longer warm and inviting; it was a shower of cold needles battering on the pair.
The only thing he heard was a grim "You better come inside", actually quite clearly, as if he had said it in his head. Rafael quickly followed the man’s step.
To his great surprise, the man waited to be next to the boy, putting an arm around him, herding him into the right direction. Rafael instinctively shied away from his touch, very aggressively removing himself from below the man’s wing. He stopped; his heard pounding furiously in fear. Rafael gave off an immense shiver, unsure himself whether it was from the man’s touch or from the cold rain.
What was even more surprising was the man's reaction; nothing. He didn't even seem to blink! Maybe the man was use to reactions like that, what was he thinking?! It was too personnal of a motion, so maybe it was normal the boy should react like so. But then again, there was no appology either...Rafael slowly began following him once more, after the man noticed the person following him had stopped. The insident was soon forgotten, seemingly having never happened.
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Sat Jun 12, 2010 8:50 pm

Within the confines of the fence, there was the village. The massive wall of wood spread from the gate, seeming to bound endlessly into the hazy blur of distance created by the storm. It was hard also, in the raging weather, to determine just how many of the simple square, single-floored buildings were scattered on either side of the main pathway. The surfaces of each humble home had been painted an immaculate white, safe a few, possibly two or three, larger buildings too far to distinguish any stronger details- asides size and darker colouring. Everything seemed to be in the place it was supposed to be. The grass was cropped, no forgotten objects lay strewn across the road, and if it had not been for the lousy weather, the pristine little village hugged between the plain, wooden fence would resemble the perfect post-card picture of strong community togetherness and simple, undivided integrity.

The man had only taken a few strides forward when he realized Rafael was no longer following. He stopped, turning halfway. Looking past his followers short stature, the man had to squint to see the gate slowly being closed behind them, the bulky silhouette of Andy laboriously pushing at its base. The boy was moving again, and so was he. The pause seemed inconsequential, but it couldn't help but be wondered if maybe in that moment Rafael had gathered the wits about him to run. No- not from this place. Not from post-card picture perfect. Whatever had stopped Rafael in that instance, the two were moving again. The gate finally snapped shut behind them.

The house they stopped in front of bared no difference from its surrounding neighbours. Single-story, white, one door. No windows, perfect lawn, boring. The man only had to turn the handle to open the unlocked door, and he stood outside with his arm on the frame so Rafael could enter first. From the terrible wet and grey world outside, inside- the room was an inviting glow of orange and red. An outsider looking in could skip the grand tour just by standing at the door. To the right, a sitting room with two cushioned chairs and a low, wooden table. Light flickered on and off the meek furniture, suggesting they faced an open fireplace. To the left, a normal kitchen. Another table and seats. The hallway in the middle of the building lead to another three doors, which were closed. The house seemed silent, still and empty.

"...I apologize for Andy's behaviour," He was still holding the door open, the wind howling at their backs. However- the man didn't seem to be in a rush to push Rafael forward, his voice calm and clear despite the conditions, "We don't get a lot of visitors".
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Tue Jun 15, 2010 11:34 am

The place was worse than the church.

Everything was absolutely perfect. The lawns were trimmed, the houses white and clean. Not a single thing that would remotely seem out of order, not even a chair on a front porch was out of it's place. the hairs on the back of his neck rose; at least the church had some cobwebs hanging around loosely, this place was picture-perfect. The weather seemed to improve things slightly, he didn't want to see the place while it was sunny.

They came to another house, this time the man that led them opened the front door. Rafael guessed it was his home. He wrinkled his nose ever so slightly, of course not letting the man see him do so; it was not proper etiquette to let some-one know you do not like their home. Everything once more was too perfect. Rafael imagined the man replacing things exactly where they belonged, following the lines in the dust (if there was any..). Rafael found himself bored. As expected.

The man did not touch Rafael this time, only beckoning him away from the storm on the outside of the house. He stepped in after a few moments of hesitation, he got the urge to displace one of the chairs from about an inch, but refrained in doing so.

He wanted to answer the man with a snooty "well gee, you don't say." but instead replied something a little more polite;
"Thanks. I thought I was a goner." Maybe he should have said something about his house, but somehow he knew he would not be able to say anything polite, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Um, I don't suppose you have or towel or something....I um, wouldn't want to get anything wet."
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Wed Jun 30, 2010 7:10 pm

Following Rafael inside the house, the man closed the door and brushed his feet once on the plain brown mat below their feet. Both him and his guest were drenching wet, and the immediate warmth of the house washed over the pair as the door to the outside was shut. Like the rhythms of a drum, the rain pelted against the small building's roof and the wind continued to howl outside. Despite the attempt to mask his inner thoughts, something in Rafael's voice seemed to have given him away to the man. The corner of his lip turned, a meek sort of smile that despite looking rather tired, also in a way had a charming and rather shared calm with the rest of the man's face.

"Don't worry about that. This place could do with being a little less clean", he was walking down the short hallway, leaving behind dark muddy outlines of his shoeprint on the smooth wood floor, opening one of the three closed doors. He reached behind the bathroom door, pulling two clean white towels from their rack and moving back towards Rafael. He handed one to his guest, the other already thrown over his own greying hair.

"Welcome to my humble little home," There was a hint of irony, the same small smile appearing from under the towel now drying his face, "I'm James".

It only took a few steps to be in the living room, resting the towel and his hand on the tall back of one of the chairs. His eyes lingered on the glowing flames in the fire for a moment, before turning back to Rafael. A simple statement, but one with obvious question weighing upon it, "Like I said before- we don't get many guests. It's a long way from no-where, out here."
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Fri Jul 02, 2010 11:04 am

Rafael's brilliant golden eyes followed the man's dirty footprints on the floor. He gave off a slight sigh of relief; no more perfect, thank...the lord, he guessed.
There was a sort of reassuring tone to the man's voice, and Rafael untensed his shoulders. He took the clean white towel, and rubbed his wet head dry. Through the towel, he took a good look at his host; the man must have been in his late thirties, maybe even in his forties. His hair was slowly greying, maybe due to the stress of having a keep a perfect house perfect.

Momentarily, looked away from his guest, and Rafael caught sight of a small mirror. He frowned, passing a hand through his jet-black hair. Thinking, he sleeked it back; it freed the hair from his face, showing his eyes, and the mad determination behind them. He liked his hair like that, and kept it that way.

He stood there, half in the living room, half in the entrance as the man sat down on a straight backed chair. There was a sort of question behind the man's statement, and Rafael almost felt obliged to tell him what he was doing here. He shifted his weight form one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable at the question.

"I was, well, looking for a bus stop." he paused, frowning, not truly wanting to say more, but the authority in the man kept him going. "I'm coming from..." he could muster the courage to say the truth. He knew it would get him kicked out. Rafael supposed he could say at lest part of the truth, it would definitely seem more credible. "...the church, out past the forest. I was visiting Father Andrews, to give him a hand around the church, and the orphanage." There, at least that was out of the way. He still felt as if he may not have said enough. Rafael made half a face, thinking about the church again, the angry whispers from the statues of the saints seemed to have followed him all the way here. He quickly glanced over a shoulder, stepping mnore into the fire light.
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Sun Aug 01, 2010 6:08 pm

Sound cracked through the room, a sudden harsh splinter of noise as a log from the fire collapsed beneath itself. The tongue of flames stretched upward, light dancing across the room. James remained in silence, obviously carefully deliberating even the simple explanations coming from Rafael. His face, a calm blank, watched the fire ahead. It was his eyes that gave him away; the mechanics of his mind, the winding gears and working ideas flickering through those hazel coloured pupils. Just as vivid and alive as the fire.

"Father Andrews," There was a pause of consideration in his words, "Yes, I've heard word of his church." His words lingered heavily in the air for a moment, as if he might continue. Whatever notion had been stuck on the tip of the man's tongue- stayed there. He stood again, leaving the towel behind on the back of the chair as he made his way past Rafael to the kitchen area. He must have noticed the face his guest had been making- the friendly smile returning. His hand momentarily meet Rafael's shoulder. A simple, reassuring sort of pat. "Make yourself at home".

"There is a bus stop nearby, just west of here," He opened the plain wooden cupboard, rummaging past the few boxes inside. Even the packaging was uniform colours of pale browns and beige, and all about the same size. Text less, imageless: whatever they contained, they did not look like they came from any major factory or grocery store. Finally deciding on one, James pulled down the package, placing it on the counter top as he knelt, disappearing for a moment behind the counter to find a pan.

He was already setting to work, manually igniting a flame under the cooktop of an older looking stove with a match, his attention away from Rafael, "But you won't be able to make it there in this weather".

He placed the pan on the stove, having already added a little water (supplied from a plastic blue jug already out on the counter), turning back to face his guest as he reached for the box.

"You must be hungry..." A pause again as he opened the box, pouring the contents into the pan. A mixture of what looked like dried vegetable and spices. "I didn't get your name".
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Mon Aug 09, 2010 7:50 am

The young man jumped just about three feet in the air at the cracking noise. He whirrled around violently, realising that the noise had simply been a log falling in the fire. He caught a glimpse of the man that was now sitting in front of him, facing the fire; there was a sort of calculating face going on there, and Rafael could almost smell the doubt. He spoke of Father Andrews; recognition in his voice, he knew the place. Okay. The sentence spoken hung in the air, like a bad smell in a small closed room. It made Rafael nervous, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. Best not say anything else.
His eyes followed the man's stride to the kitchen, then he turned back, placing a hand on his shoulder. He cringed, not as violently as the first time, suddenly uncomfortable. Yet the pat was not truly invading, it was friendly, and the man had tried to make it reassuring. There was a flash of a small smile on the boy's face; not the okay so I see you are friendly smile, but more of a oh my why are you touching me smile. He crossed his arms and stood ground. Watch him. Watch him carefully.

He had forgotten about the bus stop. He knew it wasn't much farther, and wanted to continue walking, but it seemed that this man, father, would not let him go in this weather. He wanted to protest, to tell him that he would be fine, that he like the rain, but the efforts were futile, as they did not even happen.

As James prepared some food which had come out of a few small, very plain boxes, he mentionned something about the boy's name. He had not caught it.

"Well, I never mentionned my name. It's Rafael. Or Raf, for short, if you like. Either or, it doesn't truly matter, I know you will not be speaking of any angel..." a sort of akward laugh, because that last part was sort of out of place.
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Tue Aug 31, 2010 10:43 pm

“Rafael.” His voice echoed, with a certain care testing the sound of the name across his own tongue. The man rested his palms down on the wooden countertop, welcoming the coolness of the surface in contrast to the quickly warming room. He raised his brow, the corner of his lip turning up slightly. He looked vaguely amused, but it was hard to tell exactly what was running through his mind as he replied, “That’s quite the analogy”.

The hissing pot called his attention away from Rafael, and for another minute James turned to tend to the bubbling pot. A mere spice was used before James was moving around the tiny space, pulling a set of dishes from the cupboard. Soft grey and handmade, he poured the contents of the pot into the bowl before setting it down on the small table to the left of the room. A spoon and a glass of water went with it, before James was back in the kitchen, rummaging again.

Simple, vegetable soup. Its aroma had already captivated the entirety of the home, thin waves of hot steam twirling up from the inviting food. With his back to the table, James was preparing another two bowls, as if expecting more company.
“Go ahead and eat; it’ll warm you up” He directed Rafael, his eyes still focusing on setting up the new plates.
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Wed Sep 01, 2010 8:19 am

The pot hissed, turning the man's attention from the boy.

Thank...god, he supposed. The tables seemed to be able to turn quickly in this place, and Rafael did not want to get in any trouble. Maybe he shouldn't talk at all.
The warmth from the fireplace washed over him, giving him the impression of stepping into a nice bath. The house wasn't so bad; with a bit of motion coming from James and the fire, it looked more alive, less perfect. Soon, the smell came tiptoing about the young boy's nose, tickling his hunger like a mouse does to a tiger.

Had his mouth been open, a dribble of spit might have come careening down his lip.

Decent food wasn't exactly popular back at the church. And this soup, no matter how simple, no matter how plain, smelled much better then what he had been eating for the past 17 years. He fidgetted silently. The man gave him permission to eat, but he was unsure how to proceed.
So he slowly made his way to the table on the left, sitting down quietly, not wanting to disturb the atmosphere. His hands were shaking, not from fear, but from anticipation. He was so excited at this bowl of soup, his eyes alight, forcing back a gigantic grin.

Rafael lifted the spoon, almost too eager. "Y-you have no idea how g-good this smells." he blurted out, dunking the spoon into the soft grey bowl, finally lifting a bite to his open maw.

Oh. My. God. Is that...celery? Could those be carrots? And is this....cabbage?! He swallowed the bite, barely chewing, and coughing the whole way down. The soup was hot, but he didn't care. He took more spoonfuls, letting each sit in his mouth, tasting the broth, feeling the texture of all the different vegetables...he paused. But, I don't like these vegetables...I have never liked them. Yet these were beyond anything he had ever tasted, very different from the plain, overcooked, and sometimes under cooked, vegetable back at the orphanage. They tasted...like vegetables! Not a single trace of carboard....

"Fank you DJames. Fis ish amaifing!" he said, somewhere during a mouthful.
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Sun Sep 26, 2010 12:10 pm

James chuckled lightly in response, his back still turned on the boy. There were no clocks in the tiny house- the walls barren of photographs or decoration of any sort- but the man seemed to be confident on an approaching moment. He filled the two extra bowls with the hearty meal, placing the spoon back in the nearly empty pot on the stove. Down to the second, almost- James turned with the ready bowls in hand as there was a banging outside the door.

There was the sound of footsteps, nearly too quiet to hear against the wail of the still raging weather. The door frame shook as if being fought with before it swung open, a violent wind racing into the room, matching the same bold ferocity as the tiny figure who entered along with it. The girl turned quickly, putting her entire body into shutting the door back against the storm.

"Noir. Welcome home, dear".

Noir. The girl turned to her name, brushing wet hair from her face, trying to get her short white bangs back in their proper place. The same shocking whiteness of her hair also framed her eyes, contrasting tan skin, nearly blinding against those blue, blue eyes flickering up to the sound of her father's voice. Her back, still against the door, seemed tense and beaten from a hard walk home- but her face, young and still holding a bit of roundness from youth, softened to the loving welcome.

"It is very w-" The girls sentence died in a soft hiss, any trace of tenderness quickly leaving her face as she became rudely aware of the stranger at the table. She had been approaching the table, but stopped short, looking almost like a deer in headlights. Well- an angry raccoon in headlights may have been a better description.

"We have a guest," James's eyes seemed half-shut, either not noticing Noir's reaction to Rafael of simply choosing to let it be for the time, as he set the food down at the table. He rested his hands on the back of a chair, not sitting yet, as he motioned to their guest.

"Noir, this is Rafael. Rafael, this is my daughter, Noir".
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Mon Sep 27, 2010 1:22 pm

A dramatic wind rushed past his young body, ripping the door open, ruffling his sleek still wet hair. It swam right through his damp clothe, biting on his skin, blowing the steam away from the top of his soup. He shivered violently, jumping even, looking up at the door frame from his bowl almost angrily; who dares open the damn door and make him cold again??

Bright gold eyes crashed with a pair of blinding blue ones. There was a tense moment. This instantaneously faded to silent delight from the part of Rafael. Oh ho ho~

Carefully, he studied the young girl's features; her white hair contrasted sharply with her deeply tanned skin, like white chocolate and milk chocolate, standing side by side, hand in hand. Yet it was the emotion that emanated from her body that enticed him to smile; it clearly spoke of disgust, distain, unwelcoming, and downright questionning her father as to why is HE here. That little frown on her face made his own grin spread wildly; he ran a hand through his hair, sleeking it back, forgetting that he was cold.
This was FAR more entertaining then the soup, no matter how delicious it was.

Now, being the polite child he was, he stood from the table, walking slowly to Noir, facing her. He...wasn't any taller then her, maybe they were the same height, not that he ever cared.

He knew he had to be careful. He did not want to raise her father's suspicions. Now he had a reason to stay here for a few days. He extended a hand to the young woman, keeping his posture friendly, open. However his smile had a nasty sort of quality to it, thankfully he wasn't facing James, so this would go unnoticed.

"Hello Noir, it IS a pleasure to meet you..."
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Thu Sep 30, 2010 7:23 pm

If only looks could kill.

Noir's shoulders tensed to the sound of the chair scraping across the wood floor as Rafael stood, now walking towards her. Mouth drawn in a thin angry line, the anger in her blood nearly radiating heat in the chilly room. Her eyes stayed focused on the male approaching. The mere disturbance of an intruder in her home, the passive welcoming her father seemed to be embracing the man with, was enough to have Noir silently seething, but-

That smile.

Noir actually took a small step back, filled with a great mixture of disgust and rage and even a speck of fear, and overwhelming distrust, moving with the same hast as if the man had been infected with leprosy. Yes. He was diseased. And that smile of his- which had spread across his face like an epidemic, nasty and filled with intention, a glimpse to his true self.

Her eyes slowly moved from his face, trailing down to the extended arm. She shot a look to James- still standing behind a chair- who was already carefully watching her. With Rafael's back turned- the man's expression had changed slightly. There wasn't the same anger or distrust Noir held- but his mouth mirrored hers almost perfectly, he tilted his head in a silent little nod. Moving away from that solemn gaze, back to Rafael. She's putting a minimal effort into removing that scowl as she reached down and took his hand, sharp little nails digging into skin as they shook.

Quickly, quickly, she pulls away from the contact and moves around Rafael without a word. The room fills back with noise as James finally sits, and Noir chooses the seat to his left.

Soup placed in front of her, but Noir's ignoring it for the moment and has returned to glaring at Rafael. A small breath of air escapes James, taking a spoonful of soup before asking nonchalantly in the obviously agitated mood in the room,

"Noir. How was your day?".

The girl leant forward slightly, hissing under her breath as if their guest only a seat down wouldn't be able to hear, "...how long will he be here?".

"At least until the storm clears," James's voice remained calm, but there as a defiant underlying edge to that tone, giving Noir another look before he turned to Rafael, adding much more pleasantly, "or longer. As long as it takes, Rafael. I can show you the bus stop in the morning, but your more than welcomed to stay as long as you like".
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Thu Sep 30, 2010 9:11 pm

Those little nails digging into his hand curled his lips farther, exposing his row of straight, white teeth. Such disgust, he could feel it, see it, smell it, almost taste it. It raised the hairs on the back of his neck, made him swell up ever so slightly.
As soon as it happened, it was over, and she let go of his hand. He held it there for a moment, injesting the feeling, wanting more. He knew he would have to wait, and he knew that patience was a virtue, that he would get his moment.

He turned back to sit down, his expression miraculously back to the nervous, jumpy child he was supposed to be. And excellent immitation of himself when he met James for the first time. It was as if he had never had that grin on his face, never acted strange in any way. Oh hey, he picked up his spoon, slowly, letting it sit in the vegatable broth, before raising it to his lips and taking a hefty bite.
Was there an offer for a longer stay? Normally, he would have stuttered and spluttered, and said no right off the bat. He thought that, to make it look as natural as possible, he should do just that. But instead, he paused. A quick glance up to Noir; her hiss of distain, and her general attitute.

No. He had a reason to stay. He then proceeded to do this exact set of moves;

He looked down at his bowl of soup, thoughtfully. Glancing upwards at James, he opened his mouth, hesitant.
"I...I think I would like to thank you somehow. I mean...you stopped that guy from crushing me...and you bring me to your household. You offer me food...is there...." there was an awkward pause, as he fidgetted in his seat. "...Is there anything I can do to repay this? I can...I can work! I can...help or something...." he put on a hopeful kind of expression, sincere to the untrained eye, and hard to detect for even the trained one.

The bus can wait~
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Fri Nov 05, 2010 9:02 pm

Noir leant forward slightly, her shoulders curling inwards like a protective little barrier over the steaming bowl. Eating with the same slow, wariness as she continues to fume silently to the stranger down the table. Twirling the spoon and ignoring anything but the broth- the warmth and taste of the meal filling her rain drenched body would have been so much more appreciated if not for Rafael's intrusion.

James, however, seemed perfectly happy with the boys presence. It was becoming hard to imagine the man having any relation to the livid little Noir beside him. He tilted his head slightly, offering Rafael a comforting little smile as the boy stumbled over words (All an act, and one that James seemed to have little knowledge of).

"You don't need to repay us in anyway, Rafael-", James stood again, collecting the finished bowls from the table (his and Rafael's- in the same moment, Noir had quickly grabbed her own still full bowl and carried it over the the counter with a little huff). He set the bowls down, turning with a thoughtful expression, "If you'd like, though, you can join Noir tomorrow and help her work-"

There's a strangled little noise from the girl, who's walked over to the living room, standing close to the open fire. Her head whips up, but seems too conflicted at the moment on whether this shocked death stare should be directed towards Rafael or her own father.
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Sat Nov 06, 2010 6:54 pm

"Yes! I'll help her!" he shot a quick glance over to Noir who was standing in the living room with an increadulous look filled with utmost hate. He passed her a quick wink, turning back to James in a flash, eyes alight, fire shooting from the back of these. He sleeked his hair back once more, giving him a determined look. The smile on James face this time really reassured him. It was not the same smile he had received previously from...other people.

The young Rafael was ravished, tummy filled with food, no-one here to bother him, and a prospecting and interesting young lady. This day was pretty good after all. But he felt he should further get to little miss Noir.

"You don't mind me helping you I hope?" he asked gently, turning rather smugly to face her. There was a sort of hunger behind his rather large grin, and his bright golden eyes scanned her through and through. All while he was turned away from James, naturally. He wanted to see if she would keep playing her father. He hoped James would not notice his act, this was always a slight lingering thought, he was quite close to a goal, a reward, he would have to play it smooth to keep his trophy.

He wanted to see her seethe. That hatred. He loved it. He wanted more. He wanted it to turn to fear. His powerhungry demon craved a reaction out of little miss Noir.
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Fri Nov 12, 2010 5:57 pm

The twisted little desires that filled Rafael's body were being met quite nicely. She was seething. Hating, hating, hating- Noir raised her hands slightly, open palms towards the flame, soaking in the warmth of the fire. Her hate was just as alive as the flames. Burning, burning at the room, radiating with a quiet intensity and glow.

But still contained. From the open fireplace in the living room the fire remained a hungry little beast, burning away at the logs beneath it, but growing no more and spreading its red and orange arms anywhere else. Just like little miss Noir. Contained. Struggling with this- but still.

There seemed to be words just barely being held back, fighting to be spat out at the boy. Noir raised her eyes behind Rafael- watching as her father nonchalantly began washing dishes, putting them back in their proper place, paying no attention it seemed to the two- before lowering her glare directly back to Rafael.

"I..." A constant struggle with words, trying to keep her voice calm, each syllable dripping with anger, "I wouldn't mind at all."

Obviously not the thing Noir truly wanted to tell Rafael. Yet even with her father's attention turned away- no, whatever little game was being played her, for the time being it seemed Noir would have to follow along.
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Sat Nov 13, 2010 2:06 pm

I knew you wouldn't. You have no choice.

He looked around the place, turning towards James. Maybe he should help? Give himself a name. A reputation. That might be a start.
"Do you want a hand with that Mr......James?" he asked, pouncing to his feet in a mock enthusiasm. His small body made it's way to James' side. This was his way to perhaps make little Noir jealous. He, a stranger, was helping Noir's father, and doing her job for her. He hoped this would attract the girl among them.

Suddenly he wondered where he'll be sleeping. He brushed this thought aside until James mentionned something about that. It was only evening, and Rafael wondered at what time these people went to bed. They looked like they might get up with the chickens, which was more then fine in his opinion. He had a hard time sleeping anyways. He'd have to see.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rafael eyed Noir. Yes. Eyed her. Through and through. He commited her angry racoon expression to memory, making sure that he would remember it forever. He stuffed the anger from her voice into a pocket somewhere in his mind.

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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Tue Feb 15, 2011 10:10 pm

"Thank you, Rafael," James smiled, glancing back to the boy as his hands remained on the task at hand. The same water provided for dinner much have been used in the sink, for there was no tap, and the simple blue jug was now sitting empty on the counter. A homemade bar of scentless, beige soap, and a hand-knit dish towel to dry. A simple place filled with simple objects, it seemed. The man pulled the last cleaned bowl from the soapy water, just starting to dry off the cutlery now, "But it's alright. You must be tired."

In the background of his words the scuttling footsteps of Noir could be heard, the girl creeping out of the living room. Rafael's clever ruses to spark a jealousy had worked, and she was now tiptoeing half-reluctantly back into the living room, stopping at a safe distance from the pair, to hover around the rooms table. Listening, glaring.

She remained motionless as her father moved away from the sink, towards the slight stretch of hall.

"I'll show you where you can sleep tonight. If you'd like to join Noir tomorrow morning, you'll have to wake up quite early."

He gave a slight chuckle, turning and leading Rafael towards the end of the hall, with its three closed doors.

"The washroom," He directed the boy with a small point to the door on the left, before turning and opening the one to their right, "Here".

The room revealed was tiny, dark, and matched the decoration (or lack) of the rest of the house. The light flooding into the room cast across a single-person bed, a short dresser, and in the corner, a simple writing desk with a chair. White sheets, white walls, plain, wooden floors. Noir's room.

The girl had fluttered back to her father's side, giving a sharp hiss. Obviously, she wished to share her extreme disgust at the idea of this stranger spending the night in her room, but didn't yet have the proper words to express this. James rested a hand on her shoulder, softly trying to calm the girl, his voice barely reaching a whisper as he murmured something down to her. Noir gave a small sniff, but whatever had been said, seemed to have worked for the time. She nodded, brows still crossed, mumbling back to her father with a quick 'alright'.
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Thu Feb 17, 2011 6:02 am

Out of the corner of his eye, the young man watched little Noir, who seemed to be avoiding the situation. He could feel a slight pang of jealousy, sparking from her little hating structure; and it was exactly what he was looking for. Studying the young woman, constantly analysing the situation between her father and her, and himself.

"A little," he answered after what could be interpretted as a moment to thing, but in fact was a moment to come back to this instant where someone was asking him a question. "I did have to walk pretty far...". And he stopped saying anything more. The sentence was cut off quite abrubptly, in a strange manner. As thought he ight have continued on talking. Instead, Rafael followed Jame's lead towards the smallish hallway of their home.

Why was everything so...clean and orderly? He didn't even step foot in Noir's room and the hairs at the back of his neck rose. This room was just like the one he was stuck in back at the orphanage. He made a small grimace, while James was talking and not paying attention to him.

"I-I-I'm slee-ee--..." the words that were coming out of his mouth were incomprehensible, nervous, and it might have sounded like his voice was having a seizure. Rafael paused, grinding his thoughts to a halt, and reorganising them into a sentence. "I'm sleeping here?" he questioned, the little episode forgotten in an instant and calmness returning to his person.
Of course he wanted to push Noir's buttons as far as he could, but this room sent his mind elsewhere, and he was back in the orphanage. Hedidn't even notice the small hiss from Noir, nor the reassuring murmur that he wouldn't have been able to distinguist anyways.

Slamming his brain back to reality, he caught a small "alright" coming from Noir, and this caused him to turn to little Noir, slightly confused, facing her directly. He shot her a smile, which only reached his lips, passing right through his eyes without stopping. A very unpresent smile.
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Mon Apr 04, 2011 9:43 pm

However well Rafael had recovered from his momentary stutter- the unhinged coolness to the boys words had not gone unnoticed. Behind him, James's brows raised slightly, processing this sudden turn of attitude in his young guest. Whatever the man had deducted- remained in his own, private thoughts. It could have been not wanting to embarrass the boy, or the simple fact that there was honestly no other rooms for Rafael to go in the tiny home- but James is returning to his calming, fatherly smile,

"Yes. I'm afraid we don't have that much room here, Rafael."

There's that whisper of a laugh on his lips again. Don't have much room. Don't have much at all. James, for an older member of this strange cult-like society, seemed oddly attuned to just how...external or outlandish this place could seem. Anyway- the conversation of where Rafael would be spending the night offered very few other options. The black haired youth had returned to his normal self after a breath- James was sure he would be fine.

Noir's head tilted away from the murmur of her father, attention catching back to Rafael. It was the girls turn to return the same easy, collected smirk he had been flashing all evening. Something in his clumsy tongue, the words of her father still warm on her ear, and little Noir was seeming to just brim with...well, you couldn't exactly call this a 'mentally-sound' sort of glee.

"Goodnight, father," Noir's voice is still low, but having lost all its edge, seems almost sweet in the low-light of the hallway. With a final glance to Rafael, Noir steps back from the two, and vanishes behind the last unopened door.
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Wed Apr 13, 2011 6:47 am

Such unnerving calmness; he must echoe them. There must have been something he didn't know going on between little miss Noir and her father, everything seemed too... or actually not enough raccoon anger exuding from her. There was a sort of sweetness in her voice, much like when a person speaks with their pet, little coos, the hairs on the back of Rafael's neck rose. He looked at James with a mask of cool collection, pursing his lips ever so slightly, this expression soon shifting into a light and fake smile, trying his best to demonstrate a hint of sleepiness.

"Oh..." he breathed, watching Noir slither away into another room. "Yeah, your place is kinda small..." was all he managed to respond about his house; once again biting back any snooty remarks.

With the a similar uncertainty to a small animal being presented to a new home, Rafael eased himself into Noir's room; it was so small, so bland, with a single place bed, clean and crisp white sheets, perfectly made and trimmed around the edges. The boy ran a hand through his already sleek hair, feeling uneasy about the whole situation. With another step and he was next to the bed, not daring to place a hand on the sheets. He turned to James again, this time forgetting himself and smiling a very detached smile.

"Thank you...I'm sure I'll be able to sleep." This was most certainly a lie, however it did not show. He carefully sat down onto the bed, repressing a shudder of disgust at the perfectness of it all, masking this with a carefully inserted yawn.
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PostSubject: Re: When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]   Thu May 26, 2011 8:10 pm

James's attention had been drawn away from Rafael, his eyes turned to watch as Noir gently shut the rooms door behind her. The soft sounds of her footsteps could be heard, fading as they moved further; there was the slightest hint of something being moved inside the room (a chair? a box?), before all noise ceased. Yet this moment was nothing but whispers and the slight shufflings from behind a blocked door. Nothing of interest, surely.

The palm of his hand rested on the wooden doorframe, watching Rafael slink uncertainly into the new room. He studied the strange new guest with his back now turned, eyeing the obvious unsettled behaviour caused by the eerie surroundings. The calm, aged face of James smiled back at that detached little expression.

The bed creaked as Rafael sat upon it, and James had already begun to close the door, parting with the words,

"If you need anything, don't be afraid to knock".

James left the door open a small crack, pale light flooding into Noir's room in a thin, yellow line across the floor. His hand disappeared from the frame, and the sound of James's footsteps could be heard, another opening and closing of a door, and then silence.


---


James hadn't been joking when he had told Rafael that Noir would be up 'quite early'. Without clocks or windows it was hard to tell exactly what time it was- but obviously, it was very, very, very early. Illogically early.

In the dead of this hour, the house seemed even more hollow; empty and void. Every quiet footsteps or muffled cough seemed like screaming into this sort of emptiness, any warm moving body a sure anomaly amongst the coldness of the bare walls. The other two doors at the end f the hallway were still closed, and the fire had long gone out, leaving nothing but ash and burnt, greyed wood.

It was only little Noir awake and moving through the house now, standing and tending to something on the kitchen counter. A plain grey bag, which she was just now closing the clasp on. She had not bothered to knock on Rafael's door and see if the boy was awake. If Noir had her way, she would slip out the door without meeting a single soul this morning. Go to work, come home, never see Rafael again. She doubted the possibility of that- but hey, a girl could dream.
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