#augustine parkhurst

[auggieparkhurst]

"If Max was the scalpel-sharp reason... ...Then, Augustine was the spark of inspiration."

Auggie by [Claina] on Twitter! LOOK AT MY NERD SON

[maxparkhurst]

Small and Dark

[Photo Credit: “Through the Keyhole”  Rick Harrison]

In this house he was nothing more than a specter.

         A mere shadow clinging to the walls…

                     Watching…

                                 Waiting…

                                             Craving more…

Moonlight through the port window cast a thin silver glow across the room. The same room he spent many a night lying awake in. Staring up at the ceiling, wading through waves of melancholy. A room within a house that never quite felt like home. Not when every trace of his existence was wiped clean. Banished to the attic. Left to gather dust along with the other knick-knacks. Even his shadow wasn’t allowed amongst the guests. Too dark to match the drapes. Too ugly for her taste.

He stood backlit before the room. A smear of a silhouette dancing across the walls as he gathered anything of worth to him. It wasn’t much. An extra pair of clothes, a few select books, and a dilapidated plush fox were all stuffed into a worn satchel. Nothing they’d miss.

Barely a whisper, he stole from the room on light feet. Crept down from the attic and onto the second-floor hall. A warm glow crawled across the floorboards. Light from the parlor peeked through the banister posts in winding strips. Laughter drifted up from the party. Carried with it a thick, salty tang of overcooked roast; it turned his stomach cold. The party sounded as if it were in full revelry. Glasses clinked and ladies chirped. An occasional grunt from a drunkard rolled in every now and again. He swallowed hard and ducked into a fold of shadows. Only his eyes were visible beneath his shroud, shining bright as he peered at the hall’s end.

The door stood slightly ajar. Inside laid vague shapes: a bed post and maybe two nightstands. Everything draped in a veil of moonlight spilling from an open window. A cool, crisp breeze slipped through. Came and caressed his cheek, eddying him on. He canted his head and listened for another uproar of laughter. When it rolled like thunder, he scurried across the hall and slithered into the room. He muffled the hinge as he closed the door behind him. The pictures on the walls watched as he drew towards the vanity with absent smiles. He threw them a rueful glance. Let them judge. 

On the vanity’s edge rested an ornate jewelry box that glistened without the aid of any light. His hands twitched over the lock. Desire and foreboding churned in his stomach; tumbling over one another in the endless expanse. His gaze crept up to the vanity’s mirror. 

The boy laid in the awkward in-between of child and man, hovering precariously over its precipice. Eyes too big and glossy to be handsome, but too sunken and guilt riddled to be cute. This boy rarely smiled. And when he did, they were forced and fake. He used those smiles to spit out lies and convoluted truths. Each time tearing a tiny piece of innocence from his chest; each time ripping a shred of himself. Eventually, he tore a hole in his heart. One in the shape of the Shadow which peered into the mirror. 

He hardly recognized the reflection; and neither did reflection recognize him. Nothing to each other but a stranger in the way. 

An acrid taste pooled behind his tongue the longer he stared the reflection. How he hated those sad, pathetic eyes. How he wished to dismiss the boy in the mirror. Throw something at him so he’d scurry back to the attic. But just as his hand curled around a brush’s handle, he heard the subtlest of sounds. 

The door creaked open.

Panicked chills danced up his spine. Tongue thick and dry in his mouth, he scavenged the room for a place to hide... 

Light pooled around the crown-molding as a beast of a man stumbled in. The floorboards protested his heavy-trodden steps towards the bed. Bleary-eyed and rosy cheeked, the man peeled off his shirt and threw it aside. Scratched under a fold of back fat. Cleared his throat of snot and spat into a washbowl left on the nightstand. A tired sigh rumbled from his chest as the man pitched forward and collapsed into the sheets. Nothing but silence to fill the air.

And hidden in a cove of shadows, He waited. He whose face was not pictured in any frame lining the wall. He who was little more than a shadow. Augustine waited until he forgot he was waiting. Until he forgot there was anything outside of himself but the dark and the quiet. For that was all he was… Small, Dark, and Quiet.

As he should be… 

             As it is written.

The quiet was short lived as a snore cut through the still air. Relieve warmed his chilled fingers. He gave silent thanks to the Tide before easing himself off his haunches. A final glance was given towards the mirror. The reflection had gone off and hid. Frightened by the man slumbering in his bed. A sly grin tugged at the edge of His lips. As all things should be, he supposed. 

He stole from the shadows and approached the silver box, licking his lips. Open the box....

His palms itched.

           Close the box...

His heart skipped.

            Open...

Nothing they’d miss.

[maxtartethepoptart]

Coloring is haaaaaard 

[auggieparkhurst]

Augustine Parkhurst by: @minoruru

[LOOK AT HIM! Love this commission so much. Mino did an excellent job making him look so soft.]

[auggieparkhurst]

Profession Inspiration: Alchemist

[auggieparkhurst]

Auggie art! Auggie art! Auggie art! 

[Done by Minemir] 

[auggieparkhurst]

Labyrinth

Perhaps he could not find respite in the shadows of their shared hearth, the second chair now occupied by someone else,  but he could still find it  within dust-filmed tomes. The bell’s chime welcomed Augustine into Stacks. It was  an old, decrepit bookstore. Haphazardly wedged between two towering buildings, as if it’s been an afterthought.  Even late in the evening, as Augustine had left the house at nine bells, the door to the shop remained unlocked. Ever confident was the Archivist in her security measures. The runes of her ingenuitive mind were etched into the doorframe, their lament light barely visible. He blinked up at them, flashed a smile, and stepped inside. Immediately the young man was met by the dower countenance of the Archivist. A gnome, who showed the first signs of grey as testament to her age, by the name of Tinkara, perched behind an adjacent counter. The ledger sprawled across her desk marked by a quill as she peered over horn-rimmed glasses.

“Hello again, Augustine.” She spared no time for pleasantries. Any kind word to be offered by him promptly silenced by an upheld hand. She licked a fingertip and flipped a few pages in her ledger. The crow’s feet at her eyes deepened as she strained to read. Her lips puckered in an indignant pout, nail tracing along a line of text. “Here we go.  Alchemical Principles and Runic Associations,” -she quirked a thin brow- “Just got it in, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

He forced his smile to grow beyond its limits, revealing a sliver of teeth, while he stuffed any misgivings down his throat. The passenger in his bag squirmed. “Oh,” he chittered, clutching his satchel’s strap in a  white-knuckled grip. “Um...Not tonight, actually. I was just looking to browse.”

“Hmph.” Tinkara squinted. Milky gaze traipsed up and along his length until it lingered on his face. Another chuff. She flipped the ledger closed with a satisfying smack. “Look to your heart’s content, I suppose.”

“Thank you.”

Just as he turned to leave, Tinkara beckoned him back. “One moment, Augustine.”

He froze in the aisle, gaze fixed on some distant point. “Yes, ma’am?”

“You don’t have that cat with you, do you?”

His laugh was effortless. Light and airy, he expelled it like any other breath as he shook his head- extra sure to jostle his curls just so. “Of course not.” He looked over his shoulder to the Archivist, canting his head. “Wouldn’t dream of bringing her inside. Not after what happened last time.”

“Uh. Huh.” Tinkara pushed the spectacles further up her nose. She gave Augustine another once over.  “I should hope so.” She waved him on.

Augustine dipped his head in gratitude and scurried down the seemingly endless aisle of books. That was the magic of Stacks.  It’s exterior belied little of it’s interior. A street view would lead by-passers believing the shop to be little more than an insubstantial accrual of second-hand books. Only those who ventured inside knew the truth-- that the shop was bigger on the inside. Augustine ventured down the aisle, hand trailing along the spines of leather-bound books, and veered right when the path forked. And continued to choose right whenever the opportunity presented itself.  Further and further, he dove into the labyrinth. His shadow growing into itself by glow of alchemical lanterns. The tension in his shoulders began to unwound as the thick shelves swallowed any idle sounds made by the Archivist. Sure that he had placed enough distance between himself and her, Augustine paused. Knelt down and opened his satchel. From its fold, a black coil spilled onto the floor. A pleasant purr rolled from the feline shade as she nudged his hand.

“Yes, hello.” Augustine ran his hand down Calcifer’s back, and smiled when she rewarded him with the languid swish of her tail. He rose onto his haunches, arm extended down. “Come on then.” A devious smile curled at his lips as he added in a haughty tone, “As it please you, my Shadow.”

Green gaze wrinkled beneath the weight of the cat’s smug grin. She plodded up his arm and curled herself around his neck- tail coiled just under his chin.  

The two continued their journey- always right, never left- until they reached the emporium’s heart. The endless line of books opened into a central chamber lit by alchemical lanterns and furnished with a handful of weathered tables and accompanying chairs. A few ink pots and quills dotted the separate work spaces for anyone who chose to use them, stacks of parchment kept at the head of each table. Everything always kept in order, no matter the occasion, by an unseen force which enacted on the Archivist’s demand for organization.

Augustine expected the space to be vacant, as it normally was at this time of evening, and found himself a bit miffed when a mysterious man occupied his favored spot. A Kaldorei reclined back in the chair closest to the trolley of books. One hand supported the back of his head while the other held a weathered-novel folded back on its spine. He read with an impassive countenance. Skimmed through the pages as if they were little more than filler.

Retorts churned in Augustine’s stomach. Unsure if he could muster them beyond a shy whisper, he continued to swallow them down. His fingers flexing as they worked the icy-pricks of annoyance from his hands. Resolving to leave the man alone and choose another spot, he turned on his heel-

-and froze when the gentleman cleared his throat.

“Master Parkhurst?”

Augustine bit back a crestfallen smile as he faced the man. “Oh. No. You must have me mistaken for my sister- Max Parkhurst.”

The Kaldorei rose from his chair with the shake of his head. Stepping out from the shadows and into the lantern’s glow, Augustine caught a better glimpse of the man.  He was such a miserable specimen. Ears cropped to a length far unusual, cheeks hollowed and eyes - faintly lambent and silver- sunken into his skull. Wisps of black hair, dull and a bit lackluster, pulled into a haphazard tail. Only the wire-thin hairs of a goatee brought softness to his features. Augustine might’ve thought him to be bitter with his ill-fitting clothes and slight limp. But then, the man’s thin lips curled in a beaming smile. All teeth and no eyes.

“No. I am quite certain I have the right man.” He dipped his head low. “Augustine Parkhurst, yes?”

Augustine cast him a dubious look. “Yes…” A tentative hand reached for Calcifer, finding remedy to his nerves in the down of her fur. “That’s me- I’m sorry. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Laughter eased the bite from the man’s appearances. He extended a callused hand out to Augustine. The chemical stains on his fingers contrasted against his ash-grey skin. “My apologies, young master. I am Hyleass Duskbough.”

An excited current danced up Augustine’s spine. “You’re...The Hyleass Duskbough?” he breathed, lips curling in a manic grin. He promptly took Hyleass’s hand in both his own. “The Glasswork Alchemist?”

“Anu’dora,” -Hyleass turned bashful gaze skyward- “That is one of my many titles. Though, these days I’m referred to as Councilman Duskbough.”

The sudden realization sapped the warmth from Augustine’s blood, and settled heavy in his stomach. He pulled his hands from Hyleass. Swallowed back the lump crawling up his throat. “High Alchemist…” He folded himself over in a low bow- Calcifer spilling from his shoulders. “I-I am so sorry for the disrespect! Had I known- If I was more observant… I’d wouldn’t have guessed you of all people would frequent- erm. Um! Not saying you couldn’t visit a bookstore,  but tha-”

Hyleass culled Auggie’s stream of incoherent babble with an upheld hand. His smile turned gentle. “It is quite alright. I am no more a man than you. Amongst these stacks, we are equals. So, please, just Hyleass.” He left no room for interjection as he canted his head.

Augustine nodded slowly as he rose. His gaze remained rooted to the ground. “Then it is an honor, Hyleass.” A moment’s contemplation passed before he cracked a meek grin, stealing a glance up at  the elder alchemist. “I am a big fan of your work.”

“As I of yours, young master.”

Inklings of warmth swelled in Augustine’s chest. “Really?”

The Kaldorei gave an affirming nod. Either of his hands came to rest in the depths of his coat pockets. His gaze found the young man’s, twinkling with aged whimsy. “Quite. Unique ideas with execution of equal measure. And your dissertation?” A breath of laughter filled the momentary quiet. “It I was none the wiser, I’d have sooner thought you a wordsmith rather than alchemist.” The gaiety all but withered from his smile. “A pity,” he lamented with the twitch of an ill-cropped ear, “That the Board refused to advance it.”

For all the praise in the world, Augustine couldn’t ignore the thin dagger which those words slid between his ribs. Old wounds never quite healed reopened with a simple reminder. The rejection still lived rent free in his head. Denied advancement. Try again next year. He tried to not let the disappointment show in his smile. Brushed it off with a half-shrug. “It gives me plenty of time to re-evaluate. To hone in on my research. As they say, ‘A jack of all trades is a master of none.’”

“Dora’ dor,” Hyleass remarked, “Though, you neglect the entirety of the quote.” He ventured back to the table, gaze thrown over his shoulder. “ ‘But oftentimes better than a master of one.’” A knowing smirk given as he began to collect his things. “You’ve remarkable potential, Augustine. Let not the word of a few pious individuals sully your thirst.”

The tailspin of emotions had begun to make Augustine dizzy. He entered Stacks with a seedling of resentment in his chest. So quick it shifted. Like the passing of a season. First to annoyance. Then annoyance rolled into excitement. To embarrassment. To pride then shame. And now, he stood in a dizzying stupor. Strength siphoned from the current dancing up his spine. Not a name to be given to this buzz as he merely beamed at Hyleass. For once, he was left speechless.

Hyleass filled the silence for him.

“It was a pleasure to meet you in person. Unfortunately, I’ve other duties to attend to.” He paused beside Augustine, casting the young man a knowing look. “Shall I see you here tomorrow, same time?”

Augustine blinked out of his stupor. Met the question with an eager nod. “Oh. Um. Yes, sir!”

A dubious brow was quirked at Auggie. He quickly checked himself. “I mean- Yes, Hyleass.”

The elf grew a face-splitting grin. “Excellent. Until then, ande’thoras’ethil.”

And with a departing nod, Hyleass ventured into the labyrinth of books. Augustine left to simmer in his excited buzz until Calcifer’s delicate chirp plucked him dust-filled clouds. He smiled down at his feline shadow.

“Tomorrow,” he echoed, reaching down to stroke Calcifer’s ear.

The cat responded with the deft thump of her tail.

Tomorrow.

[Prelude] | [Audience] 

[auggieparkhurst]

“...He found no solace in the home of the Light. Those cold, empty pews sent shivers down his spine. To believe in fate written by a sole force was to revoke one’s own agency in the coming of destiny. No. He grew more at ease the further he traveled from the Light’s touch. Felt at home in the warm embrace of the shadows. For it was in the small and the dark that his craft was recognized for all its worth. Augustine was a man of science. Equal parts philosopher to chemist. He was an Alchemist.“

[Commissioned piece of Augustine with Calicfer done by the amazing Kiyoshuki]