WHAT DOES YOUR CHARACTER WANT? IS IT MATERIAL OR ABSTRACT? DOES YOUR CHARACTER FEEL THAT THEY DESERVE TO HAVE WHAT THEY WANT? DO THEY FEEL ENTITLED TO IT OR DO THEY FEEL THEY MUST EARN IT FIRST? WHAT DOES YOUR CHARACTER NEED? IS IT DIFFERENT?
andromeda wants security. this can be both material and abstract. as the middle child, she lean(ed)s on both of her sisters for support - emotionally, mentally, physically. after being cut from the black trust and her family’s will, she’s struggled (even still) to adjust. however, dependence on her family pivoted towards dependence on her partner. oh, how even in rebellion she cried for help. he leaves, and without him, the temporary foundation beneath cracks. she’s self-sufficient now, proudly so. but nothing compares to the ease of living without a price, without a care. a part of her feels entitled to her name, so she clings. yet, something darker inside wants something more.
what she needs is almost the same. it’s security in her decisions. she needs to break from claiming neutral. it’s what occupies her mind: whether to go left, whether to go right. she wants to make her own decisions, to believe she’s a true neutral. but there are blank spots that the right words can fill. she’s on speaking terms with her sisters. she’s reaching out to ted, to her cousins. picking and choosing what will keep her in the in between. but she can’t stay there for long. she needs a secure answer.
To say that Emmanuel was at least a little drunk was an understatement.
A seance board? Really?
Ouija board.
Same difference.
He supposed he had borrowed this on a whim when he was in one of his moods -the mood where he thought that the spirits of the dead could really be contacted and his mind went rampant with the possibilities. Once that had washed over him, he shoved it in the back of one of the rooms in the lodge and forgot about it.
Until he had a few drinks in him
It was always when he had a few drinks in him.
His mind drifted back to that board -ese maldito tablero- and a sad thought jumped into his head. Was he… was he still alive? He had been alive, all those years ago, and he was alive in his head but was he alive in real life? It wasn’t something he hadn’t really thought about until that moment (he didn’t like to dwell on what was real) but when it did he was overcome by the urge to use the board. So, he crept back to the lodge in the dead of night and tore apart the room he had first hidden said board in until he found it.
It was raining outside.
He was soaked to the bone.
Chilled, shivering, frightened.
But also exhilarated.
Not that, you know, this would actually work. Su Madre siempre le decía que mantuviera la cabeza por encima del suelo. He was just drunk. Just being silly. It wouldn’t actually communicate with him, would it? Dumb fairy tales… that he liked to dream about. The world was his oyster and the sky his stage in his mind so why not dream a little? Nothing would happen and he’d joke with the other rangers in the morning about what he did -after he got scolded for making a mess of the room he was currently occupying. He was alone. By himself. No one else was…
His train of thought was interrupted. He had put in the name and then asked whatever question the instructions told him to ask. Simple stuff, almost as though this was all bogus. But when the planchette moved on its own, his hands shook. That was… this was some sort of prank, wasn’t it? Hijo de puta, this was rigged! It had to have been! How else could it do that?
The lights went out. His hands flew off the board. He let out a drunken yelp and shouted, “¡Joder! ¡¿Qué está pasando?!” He scrambled back, heart pounding in his chest, as he continued to hear plastic scraping against board. He lunged forward for a flashlight, that he had uncovered in his search for the infernal thing moving on its own, and he attempted to turn it on. No luck at first -he tried smacking the object with his hand while uttering some curses in Spanish. Nothing nothing nothing success! ¡Sí! He flashed the new source of light, squinting all the while due to his eyes not adjusting to anything, and caught the board spelling something out.
He barely caught it, mind you.
Just enough.
No. Go away.
And with that the board ceased to live. It settled, now jostled in whatever madness had overtaken it -or had overtaken him- just moments prior. The lights in the room flickered back on, the flashlight in his hand being made redundant. It was still raining outside. Tap tap tap tap tap lightly against the window. He was still shaking, arm raised with the flashlight still on (still redundant). Well, that was… an experience.
Was it?
Maybe it was all in his head.
After all, he had one too many drinks tonight at the bar.
This was just his imagination on the fritz, as it always had wanted to do.
He shook his head, going opposite of his shaking body. No, naw, nada… no (that was the same in his first language, funny enough. Also, why was he entertaining explaining things when it was just him in his own mind?). He was just being over-reactive. The board hadn’t moved; only he had. The lights were a problem, of course, but that could easily be explained by a rat chewing a wire or something. He’d have to explain that, and the state of the room, to the others tomorrow. For now, he just wanted to go home and curl up in bed.
Dreaming about him.
No…
He was just drunk.
He was just being stupid.
He would never, ever, ever be coming back.
Translations:
that damn board
His Mama always said to keep his head above the ground.
WHAT DOES YOUR CHARACTER WANT? IS IT MATERIAL OR ABSTRACT? DOES YOUR CHARACTER FEEL THAT THEY DESERVE TO HAVE WHAT THEY WANT? DO THEY FEEL ENTITLED TO IT OR DO THEY FEEL THEY MUST EARN IT FIRST?
he believes he would empty his vault to possess a cure for his arrested aging affliction. a secret weapon to end the decades long conflict between the warring halves of his being. a victory for his wizarding half, and a final rejection of all he’d inherited from his mother. he’d be just like everyone else, and wholly accepted for it. it’d be a chance to grow old with someone in the link of a single lifetime. instead of standing still while time took everything and everyone familiar. sadly, that can’t happen.
he wants, very much, to get his hands on a first edition copy of charms of defence and deterrence by catullus spangle.
WHAT DOES YOUR CHARACTER NEED? IS IT DIFFERENT?
is it different? it feels a bit like comparing an artery to a vein. he needs to feel accepted. he needs to know that he belongs to a place and to a people who take him for what he is and without expectation. it’s something so fundamental, yet it tends to keep its distance. still, he understands that this need isn’t something that he can force on anyone. but, he is ready and willing to receive it with an open mind and discerning hands.
there’s a part of him that believes he found it since he received an offer ten years ago. he isn’t sure, though, because ten years reads differently for him. he is hopeful, though. he likes this bunch.
