Joined: Thu Feb 01, 2007 11:00 am
Location: Buckinghamshire, England
Broth, YTMND... er Psypoke. WATCH THIS SPACE.
Name: The Lights of London
Rating: T (13+)
Genre: Adventure, I 'spose
Setting: London, England
Time Setting: 2008
Feel free to tear it apart, it'll do me good!
The boy's hand: Chapter 1
Gethsemane watched as Ryan’s brush danced gleefully over his canvas. Although he spoke to Geth, his piercing blue eyes remained firmly riveted on his work. Geth’s eyes, however, were somewhat prone to wandering. They eventually fell on one of Ryan’s previous paintings, which wasn’t hard, considering that they were plastered all over his wall like some sort of rudimentary wallpaper.
This one was of a pleasant forest clearing with a single beauteous flower in the centre. A girl with a sky blue dress and red-brown hair was crouched over this flower, with her back to the observer. Ryan joked many a time about how it looked like Geth. So much so that he name it Gethsemane’s Flower. Geth smiled at this pleasant spell of hindsight and resumed watching Ryan. His was a picture of a beautiful girl in a dark purple dress, her pure white hair was caught effortlessly back in a sanguine red ribbon.
“That’s beautiful,” she said, “what’s her name?”
“Lola,” Ryan replied, still consumed in his painting, “she was in my dream last night. I can’t remember what else happened.”
“You never can.” Geth sat up, her legs crossed, “You want to go to the café?”
“Yeah, I’m starving” Ryan stood up and slipped on his jacket “And,” he continued “I’ll pay.”
Ryan hated his paintings. No one else did, though. Everyone else though they were wonderful but that was because they did not understand why they were bad. He painted, or tried to paint, the things he saw in his dreams: dragons and faeries, witches and griffons. He knew what they looked like and he could paint them with all the right colours and everything. But they had something that his paintings did not, could not. An aura, a living light that set them apart from everything in this world.
He bit the inside of his lip as he stepped into the café, running his hand through his tangled mess of chestnut-brown hair. He listened to the friendly jangling of the bell and felt comfortable, safe and at home.
“What’re you having?” he had almost forgotten that he had brought Geth with him.
“Um, the usual.” He looked to Geth and remembered why he had asked her out a long time ago. They were still friends, mind, and he often daydreamed of one day when she would come to realise how much…
“Ryan? Are you OK?
“You were daydreaming again, weren’t you? What was it about?”
“Nothing.” He lied. Gethsemane was wearing a pink tank top and her trademark grey skinny jeans. He watched her with longing as she confidently strode through the café and chose a table on impulse.
Ryan was always daydreaming. But Geth could hardly say that she found it irritating. She actually thought it was somewhat sweet of him. Ryan was a dreamer; that was what was wonderful about him and his paintings: dreams. Geth loved dreams, but never had them. She didn’t want to tie Ryan down, no matter how much she liked him. About ten minutes after they sat down and ordered, their food arrived. Geth, in a typically thoughtful manner, chewed on her sandwich and began a prolonged conversation with Ryan.
As they were leaving, her eyes caught something golden in the café, a hand, the owner of which was an attractive looking young man with black hair and green eyes. Gethsemane pondered this as she stepped out into chaos.
“The target has moved,” said the boy, “they're in the street.”
“Then follow them,” said the girl on the other end of the video call “and stop gawking at me.”
“Sure thing, Lola.” replied the boy with the golden hand, “just so long as you can take your eyes off of me.” Lola laughed, her snow white hair falling in her eyes and her shoulders.
“Fat chance.” She said, but the boy had already hung up.
Ryan and Geth were caught in a swirl of panic. Ryan looked down the road and saw a column of smoke in the distance. He stopped.
“Ryan,” said Geth in a soothing tone, “I'm sure it's not-”
Ryan ran. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Something didn't feel right. He feared the loss of his home.
As he and Geth ran, their path was blocked by something. Someone. A wild eyed boy with violently pink hair. He was holding a knife.
“Dylan!” Ryan yelled, “what are you doing?”
“The time has come, Dreamer! I will end you and all you love!”
“What? WHAT?!” Dylan replied with a lunge, but as he was about to make contact, the boy from the café appeared, as if from nowhere, and caught Dylan's arm with his left hand. Geth inspected his right, but it was flesh. It was no longer golden. With this hand, he drew a knife, which seemed to be emanating a strange, pearly light. The boy from the café thrust his knife into Dylan's forehead, and a thick, black liquid spilled down his face.
“Relyk!” he spat, falling into his initial death spasms.
“Demon.” replied the boy, calmly, “has Typhon returned?” Dylan the Demon cackled.
“Typhon is dead! He burned in the Great Fire! We march under Cifer!”
“Impossible,” said the boy, as the demon burst into flames. He took his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number. “Marshall, it's me, Noah. I just got another one, it said the same damn thing as the others. I think they might not be lying.”
“And that is why,” said Marshall, “you are not a member of the Order. You are naive, a child. Your talented house-mate knows fully well not to contradict their judgment.”
“My talented house-mate is a bitch.”
“Fair point.” Noah flipped the phone shut and turned to Ryan and Geth.
“Ryan Clark, Gethsemane White, I'm Noah, come with me. There's something I need to tell you. Now.”
They approached a seemingly derelict building. Possibly a warehouse from its design.
“Who are you?” asked Ryan “Why have you brought us here? I don't trust-”
“If,” began Noah, coolly but firmly, “you don't trust me, why did you follow me here?”
Ryan attempted at a protest, “I want answers!”
“No answers until we get inside.” said Noah, putting on a pair of thick-framed, black 'shades. He span around and threw the doors open in one graceful motion. Geth already looked completely and utterly in love with him. The doors revealed an ornate hall with intricately carved features,
All Ryan could manage was “Whoa.”
“Ain't she a beaut'?” said Noah in a rather corny impression of an American cop from an equally corny eighties film.
“Yes! It is!” replied a quite flustered Geth.
“Geth!” whispered Ryan, “I think it was a rhetorical question!” He turned on Noah, “I still require answers.”
“Yes,” said Noah, rolling back onto his heels and grinning as if he were glad to have finally met his match, “right. This way!” he continued, cheerfully.
He strolled ahead at a speed considerably faster than Ryan or Geth.
They reached an impossibly long corridor and heard a piano playing a wonderful piece of classical music.
“Ha!” shouted Ryan, “The Inspector Morse theme!” he was smiling wildly, but that smile faded when Geth and Noah both looked at him strangely, “My... er... Mum watches it.”
Noah winced. “Ah.”
“Ah”? What does “ah” mean?” Noah turned away.
They had found the source of the music, Ryan and Geth stepped inside.
“It's... Lola!” they remarked, simultaneously. Indeed, Lola was in the room. She was wearing a deep purple dress and and red ribbon in her white hair.
“You... know her?”
“Ryan saw her in a dream last night!”
“Then it's true,” a kindly looking old man had appeared from behind the piano “he is the Dreamer!” Ryan remained perplexed, “welcome, young Ryan, young Gethsemane, welcome to the Orphanarium, I'm Marshall.”
“WHAT?! WE'RE NOT ORPHANS!”
“I am.” Geth reminded him, “I live with Uncle Will.”
“I'm afraid you are, Ryan Clark. Didn't you see the smoke?”
“YOU KILLED MY MOTHER?”
“The demons killed her, Ryan. And your Father has been missing for years. Is that correct?” Ryan collapsed and began to sob. Geth tried to comfort him, but Lola was inspecting her unblemished nails, and Noah was busy flipping his phone open and shut.
“Because you're the Dreamer, Ryan. As prophesied. They tried to get you. It's lucky you have such a large appetite.”
“There, there.” murmured Geth, not helping at all.
“Lola!” she looked up from her nails, “take them to their rooms.”
“OK.” said Lola, sulkily.
Geth, and in fact, everyone else, could see that Ryan was distraught. Just Noah and Lola were experts at hiding it.
“So, I saw Noah at the café. His hand....”
“That was his glove. He's a spellcaster.”
“Never mind. Make sure you make yourselves at home.” said Lola, indicating two doors on the opposite sides of the corridor. Geth and Ryan each peered in through their respective door. Ryan's room had in it a canvas with a pile of drawing and painting equipment, Geth's had a big pink wardrobe and a shoe rack filled with the finest shoes money could buy.
“How did you know?” they both inquired at the same time.
“The Order keeps a record of all our personal preferences in case of emergencies.”
“The what?” asked Ryan, he was, by now, used to asking questions, “And who are “we”? Why are they stalking us?” Lola laughed, but didn't answer. Each room also had in it: a heavy wooden desk with a computer, a big, black, leather chair, and a comfy looking bed. Ryan's was laden with blue sheets, Geth's, with pink.
“You two get yourselves to bed; we've got stuff to discuss tomorrow.” Lola said lovingly. “And Ryan, stop looking at me like that.”
Geth didn't get much sleep. She was thinking about the day. About Noah, and his glove, about Dylan and his shocking pink hair. Damnit, she thought, I forgot to ask where he got that done!
But poor Ryan! His Mother died today, and he could scarcely let it sink in, when he was swept away by some narcissistic bitch. Now, he's the only Clark left.
“THERE IS ANOTHER!” Ryan's eyes went wide. The voice came again. “ANOTHER DREAMER!” It was a combination of a million whispers and screams, its harsh, rattling tone sending a chill down his spine. Then he saw it. Something in his room. A flash of pink hair, the glint of a blade, coming towards him. Then, he woke up.
BANG! BANG BANG BANG!
“Ryan! Get up now!” Ryan knew Geth's voice anywhere. Bossy and squeaky.
“Mmrrrrr!” was all he could be bothered to say.
“You need to get dressed for breakfast!”
“I'll take that as an “OK”!” Ryan got out of bed, looked down at his makeshift pyjamas: a grey t-shirt and boxers, and sighed.
He got changed into some jeans, and a blood red shirt. He checked the Orphanarium map that Lola had left on his desk, and headed out towards the kitchen. On his way, he spotted Geth, and pulled her off to one side.
“Ooh, Ryan! I'm not even sixteen yet!”
Geth looked deflated. “Oh.”
“I had a dream last night, about Dylan.”
“No!” Ryan desperately tried to keep his composure, “he said there was another Dreamer!”
“What's a Dreamer?”
“A prophet and a saviour, all in one. Like, two people combined.”
Geth was puzzled, “How do you-”
“These nutters are on the web. Except, it all makes sense. Visions in my dreams, demons, magic, it's like I've heard it all before, somewhere...”
“Me too,” said Geth “look!” She turned around and lifted up the back of her top, revealing a symbol which resembled a ring with vines twisted round it.
“Weird.” said Ryan, showing her a similar mark on his shoulder. Except this was one of three stars in a triangle formation, with a swirl in the centre. Both designs were done with black ink, like henna tattoos.
“Eww,” said the voice that belonged to Lola, “fetishists.”
The silence over breakfast gave everyone a chance to think. Ryan, for once, had many available distractions. Like how hot Lola – NO! Bad Ryan!
Geth was the first to become bored of silence, so decided to ruin it for everyone else, “I love toast!” to her astonishment, this remark earned her a few strange looks.
Just then, Marshall appeared.
“Marshall! There's something I need to tell you!” Lola whispered something in his ear. He gave her a look that was a mix of surprise and elation. After that, he sat down and feasted on toast and jam, like everyone else.
After breakfast, Ryan and Geth were escorted to Marshall's office. First of all, Ryan was sat in a comfortable red leather chair, opposite Marshall, and Geth was told to wait outside with Lola.
“Good morning, Ryan. I'm going to be quite frank here,” Thank goodness, thought Ryan, he was thoroughly sick and tired of Noah's question avoiding, “we're Demon-hunters,” Ryan didn't look at all surprised. “as were your parents,” again, no effect, “and Gethsemane's.” no, nothing.
“I know all that! But what is my purpose? My cause, as a Dreamer, is non-apparent!”
“The Dreamer, or Dreamers, as some Prophets mentioned more than one,” Ryan bit his lip, “are born to end wars. Some sort of “Chosen Few”, if you get my meaning.”
“OK. But what's this?” Ryan presented Marshall with the mark on his shoulder.
“That is your class mark for the Relyk. You are a Warrior class, as am I,” as he said this, he showed Ryan the mark on his neck. It was the same as Ryan's, except he had a sort of bowl shape underneath it.
“The mark of the Order, the elites. Whereas the class mark goes on your skin at birth, this is branded on with admission. It grants knowledge, power and respect among the other Relyk. Lola is the youngest Warrior to be granted access. There have been younger Spellcasters in the order, though. Like Typhon.”
“Dylan mentioned him.”
“Typhon is... was a traitor. But he was a skilled Spellcaster, he was admitted to the Order at just twelve.”
“How old was Lola?”
“Fourteen. It's taken her two years, but she's only just started treating Ryan as an equal.”
“Hang on. She was elite by fourteen? I'm sixteen and I've only just found out about it!”
“Young Relyk are usually notified at eighteen. Except in emergencies. Anyway, there are two other classes: the Destroy, and the Blessing.” He looked excited, now, “the Destroy were banned from the Order after they followed Typhon in 1664, they wield uncompromising strength and resilience, but lack intelligence. The last of the Blessing burned in the Great Fire of London, they made magical weapons for fighting the Demons, so we have to preserve the weapons we have. But Gethsemane, she is the first living Blessing anyone has seen for four-hundred and two years.”
“That's all your answers for today, Mr Clark, send Gethsemane in, please.”
Ryan did so, and made his way to the lounge that he'd seen on the map. There he met Ryan.
“How's it going with Geth?”
“Oh, come on, Ryan, it's obvious you fancy the pants of her!”
“Only you could get the pants off her.”
Ryan looked smug, “True.”
Lola, at that point, appeared from nowhere, which she seemed to be an expert at.
“Noah, Crybaby, Marshall wants to see us all in his office.”
At least Geth knew what was what, now. She was a demon hunter, and a special one, at that. Ryan and Noah came into Marshall's office with Lola. Lola had opted for a more casual look than yesterday: a white t-shirt and baggy jeans seemed to do the trick.
“Rolin has organised a party, I wanted you to go and show Ryan and Gethsemane the ropes.” “Rolin?” thought Ryan aloud, “Becky Rolin?”
“Party?” said Geth, obviously keen on getting her priorities right.
“Yes, Ryan,” answered Noah, “the girl you were chatting up in the café.”
“What?!” Geth looked heartbroken.
“It was while you were staring at me, though.” Noah had evidently chosen Ryan's side.
“Silence!” it obviously didn't take much to aggravate Marshall, “Rebecca is a colleague of ours. A Spellcaster, who organises parties for us. She sometimes stays here, but mostly remains at her brother's house.”
“To wind down?”
“Demons love parties, because they feed off life force. And, to be quite frank, sweaty, drunken teenagers have more life force than you can shake a glow-stick at.”
“Congratulations on the awesome analogy!” said Lola, not looking at all sarcastic.
“The party's tonight, at nine. I want you all back by midnight.”
“It's OK, Gramps,” said Lola, leading the others out of the room, “I'll look after the kiddies!”
“And no alcohol!” he shouted after them, “you're only sixteen!”
“And fifteen!” added Geth over her shoulder.