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sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

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sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

Post by Guest on Sun Jan 17, 2010 9:07 pm

[ though this takes place on Earth, after a few posts eventually this thread'll be open. =D ]

it was forty-three degrees at the greenlawn cemetery in newport news, virginia. at the end of what was nearly a week-long journey, by the time pris walked through the four stone entrance markers that were barely as tall as she was, it was dark. there was no gate to deter her from visiting after-hours, only a small sign which advised mourners and visitors that the cemetery's hours were from sunrise to sunset and that violators would be prosecuted.

pris didn't pay attention to the sign. she wasn't a mourner, or a visitor. she was sig ganesvort's only daughter and she believed she had a right to talk to him whenever she wanted to.

past the entrance the dirt path immediately split into three - to the left, to the right, and straight ahead. the way to her daddy was straight ahead, but pris' first steps down that path were cautiously quiet ones. small hands clutching the straps of the rugged backpack donald had given her, she refused to look at the caretaker's house down the right path and she held her breath instead, imagining that she was invisible. she didn't have to look at the whitewashed house to know that someone was home - her eye corners could see the light coming from that direction. so pris kept creeping on her tiptoes as quietly as she could until she couldn't feel or see that light any longer.

now farther down the straight path, the only light she had to help her see her way was from the three-quarter moon. tonight it shone brightly enough that she could see her breath each time she exhaled, and pris knew that meant that everyone else here could see it too. "sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry…" she repeated quietly to the stones she passed, her wintery breath slipping out in short puffs each time she apologized to the unseen. pris knew she was one of the very few - if not the only - who had breath here tonight, and she didn't want the grave people to think that she was trying to show off.

the trees that lined each side of the path had clearly been planted there, and were stout trees that had no impossible dreams of growing up high enough to reach the sky. as she looked at the barren, leafless branches she remembered walking between these trees in the spring and summer time, when they were flowered and leaved and she was much much warmer. the last bus that she had taken dropped her off a half a mile down the road all the way down at eighteenth street, so she had walked with only her body movements to keep her warm. in this weather, most people would be bundled up in jackets, scarves and maybe even gloves. but not pris.

she didn't want to ruin the sight of her in her birthday dress. it was the first time she was here to see her daddy in over a year, and she wanted everything perfect. even if that meant chattering teeth and icicle eyes.

already there was another path breaking off to the right, but she didn't turn. the graveyard stretched just over fifty acres of land, and pris knew there would be no real turning for her until she reached the tall tall obelisk at the very center. for now it was just slight veers to the right and left to walk around small patches of grass and a few trees that had made their own decisions about where to go to grow.

it was quiet here, very very quiet. it seemed pris was the only one who had decided to not listen to the sign at the cemetery entrance. even the birds, squirrels and other small animals who called this place their home didn't seem to be very interested in hopping about during the chilly winter night. besides, if any after-hours visitors did happen by and saw pris in the nearby distance, they would probably proceed to turn and walk very quickly in the other direction. a young girl with shockingly long blonde hair and a dress that reflected eerily in the moonlight? most people wouldn't even think twice about it, and be sure they'd just seen a ghost.

a ghost that started humming a soft atonal tune as she used her winter-colored breath to blow warmth into her hands.

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Re: sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

Post by Guest on Mon Jan 18, 2010 2:46 am

left, right, left and left. those were the turns pris had to make once she reached the obelisk that was far taller than any the trees in the graveyard. it had taken her almost a half an hour to make it this far, and by now she had given up on blowing her winter breath on her hands. she was hiding them under her arms now to keep them warm, slowing her pace after the last left. soon pris stepped off the dirt path into the grass.

her daddy's plot was at the intersection of the two streams, so pris always associated visiting her father's stone with the bubble of running water. sig ganesvoort had arduously walked this cemetery and picked out the location himself, and while pris didn't know that she did know how important water was to him. maybe that was why pris didn't think it was strange that her father lived here now, tightly tucked in under the ground. with the sound of two babbling brooks, it just felt like he'd tangled himself up in rope so he would be ready to move to this new home.

unlike most of the other modest monuments, sig ganesvoort's grave had no blankets, wreaths or any other kind of decoration that was common for this time of the year. pris' mother was all too glad to forget her husband and the circumstances of his death, and her father's siblings and extended family were a long way from coastal virginia. so once dommy won guardianship over pris and decided to move them to rhy'din, her father's plot had gone bare.

once she arrived at her father's new home, the barren look of it was the first thing she wanted to fix. "hi daddy," she said clearly to the stone, nudging into the cold dirt with the toe of her ballet slipper. "i made you a winter warmer." kneeling carefully, pris squirmed her torso and shoulders until the overstuffed backpack finally shrugged free. her compulsions had proven useful while she packed it with donald, and she'd thought to put the warmer on top. shimmying on her knees to one side of the plot, first she reached forward to drag the backpack out of the way and then she shook the blanket out, lowering it carefully onto the grass like she was making her father's bed. "it'll stop the crows from landing on your stone and cawing rude things while you're dreaming."

it took longer than regular people would have patience for to straighten out the warmer and free it of all its wrinkles, but the task filled pris with a calm sense of purpose. once it was to her satisfaction, she dug six slim stakes and a small mallet out of a pocket of the camping bag, and she nailed the warmer down so it wouldn't blow away or be easily stolen. not that anyone would likely want to walk way with it - the thick white fleece had become a technicolor dreamscape, applied using fabric dye. while no shapes could be absolutely named, it looked like there two figures emerged in water, one tall and broad, and one petite and feminine. around them, and through the water, curled thick strong rope, and the floor of this water-world seemed to be made of a woven rolling landscape of pillows.

"purr." pris stroked the fleece lightly with her fingertips. she abandoned the mallet in the grass, and crawled to the foot of the grave where sig ganesvoort's tasteful grey marble monument stood straight and sturdy. pris settled to the left side of it, resting her cheek on the cold chiseled top of the stone. as always her fingers crept forward, tracing the etched lettering like she was punching in a code to unlock a protected door. the teenager had done this enough times that curling the pad of her finger over the letters was second nature: sigmund r. ganesvoort, b.1969 - d.2006, 'Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind'. after she traced the last 'd', pris told her father what she always told him when she visited. "i'm okay, daddy. i'm keeping my promise and staying okay."

she released her arms from around the stone, digging a hand into her big black shoulder bag. "this is roger," she informed her father matter-of-factly as she placed her sketchpad in front of his monument. it was open to the page where she had drawn the young priest on the day she visited the cemetery dressed in one of her possible halloween witch costumes. staring at roger's stone, she'd seen him surrounded by smoke, fire, and the angry looks and gestures of his irate congregation and that was exactly how he'd been immortalized on her page. "he was the first one to talk to me while i was drawing his stone. i couldn't hear him, daddy, but he drew his words in the smoke and that's how i knew his voice."

here the eccentric girl paused, shifting so that her chin sat on the marble now warmed by the touch of her body heat. after her emerald eyes stared imploringly down at the monument, she spoke in a small voice that was full of hope and vulnerability, "can you draw words for me, too, daddy? because i need you to tell me things. we need to father-daughter talk."

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Re: sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

Post by Guest on Tue Jan 19, 2010 12:42 am

pris didn't wait for her father to answer her back. why should she, when roger hadn't been able to speak to her until she started drawing what she saw inside of his stone? so pris pulled a second, more precious sketchbook out of her bag, along with the oil pastels that her most precious duck gave her for her birthday. each in hand, she moved on her knees to situate herself carefully on the soft fleece warmer. she flipped forward in her book until she reached a clean page, and nestled the pad securely in her lap so that it wouldn't shift while she was art making.

normally when pris began a drawing, she started with charcoal. this time she skipped the sketching step, and reached directly for the deep blue. squaring her shoulders with a slow exhale, pris closed her eyes and then reopened them to stare into her father's epitaph. to read those words, even trace them with her fingertips, had always been painful for her and her pain was something pris did not know how to handle. but she didn't see the words right now, she saw past them, so deeply that her eyes were invading the microscopic spaces in the core of the solid marble that were actually hollow. it was in those miniscule spaces that she'd found and drawn roger and the other dearly departeds in the new haven cemetery that she visited.

and it was in those minuscule spaces that tonight pris found her father. unlike her conversations with roger, sig ganesvoort didn't speak to his daughter by tracing his words in smoke. he used the object that he saw binding and tying him down all his life when he was unmedicated, the very same object he'd chosen to end his life with as a means of winning his own mind back through death: rope. and his similarly unbalanced daughter spoke back to him, not with words or sound but through the way she stroked and blended her colors across her page.

while that was how the conversation between father and daughter happened in actuality, this is the conversation as it crystallized in pris' image-laden mind:

the water stretched on forever.
it wasn't ocean, or lake, or pond or river or stream.
it was just water,
clear as quartz, deep as forever and still as a mirror.
maybe that's why pris didn't like it.
maybe that's why there was one single eroded brown tree stump that grew from the seeming center of the water-glass,
so that pris had somewhere to sit and be dry.

she sat with her knees drawn up,
her arms hugging protectively around them,
as she stared as sour and suspiciously as a cat down at her father,
watching him float on the surface of the water-glass,
his presence causing not even a single liquid ripple.
"i don't like this water, daddy," she protested.
"i don't like water," she corrected.
"i don't like where water takes you," she decided finally,
pressing her lips into an unhappy daughter frown.

"water is taught by thirst, cilly,"
was her daddy's calm reply.
as he quoted emily dickinson to her,
carelessly floating on the water-glass surface he opened a single eye.

"land by the oceans passed transport by throe
peace by its battles told love by memorial mold birds by snow,"
was pris' automatic reply in a quiet i-don't-wanna whisper.
her doctor-reared compulsions wouldn't let her leave the poem unfinished,
even in the world made of the in-between spaces of her father's marble stone.

"so what are you taught by, cilly?"
those words bubbles up all around her father, repeated in the risen water-weeds.
and pris frowned frowned and frowned, because she didn't have an answer.

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Re: sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

Post by Guest on Tue Jan 19, 2010 2:09 am

it was very quiet in this otherworld.
there were no birds to chirp,
there were no crickets to leg-rub songs,
even the water-weeds had nothing to burble as they floated,
and sig ganesvoort had nothing to say until his daughter had something to say.

"no one, daddy,"
came the girl's sullen and sorrowful answer.
"mommy's a bitch and dommy's a dunderhead,
and the doctor and my teachers just tolerate me for the dollar signs.
the bus drivers only teach me about here to there,
and…
i don't know if i'm taught by my most precious duck."
she rolled to her knees and bent down to grasp the smoothed edge of the stump,
bending so she could stare closer at her floating father.
what words came next she spoke in a whisper whisper,
hoping the quiet would hide her secret shame.
"it's very hard to keep my promise to you, daddy,
when there's no one to teach me what's okay..."

sig ganesvoort opened his second green eye to better watch his daughter,
waiting for the words that from her that looked like they would not come.
"show me the story of your sketchbook in the water-surface, cilly,"
he requested as the water-weed sank burbling its goodbye.
"you can use your fingertip to turn the pages,
and you have my word it won't get the least bit wet."

small form still bent on top of the tree stump crouching,
a thought-frown over pris' lips was the next thing to bloom.
she dropped her eyes to the clean clear water-glass, staring,
mumbling the worry that pulled her mouth down into that frown.
"but how do i know which page my finger-button will be pushing?"

"i'm your father, cilly," was sig ganesvoort's sly reply,
"and i say, young lady, you won't."

the whining sound pris wanted to make its protest died on the tip of her tonsils,
because the merry man afloat was right,
and her father.
'daddy's don't do whining cilly' he always used to say,
and even after death it seemed the rules still worked that way.
so slowly she made her right fingers stop their squeezing of the stump,
to touch her thumb-pad against the mirror-surface and make a smudge.
she didn't need to look down to see what surfaced,
she could feel the memory of the portrait in her artist bones,
tickling her in remembrance,
the first portrait she'd drawn of benjamin after he'd given her his birthday best.
"that's mister margrave, benjamin, my dearest dearest,"
pris squeezed her eyes shut as she heard her voice sound when she'd secretly hoped it'd fail.
"in front of his cave i asked him to be poof the parent,
but look at these insides, daddy, don't you think...?"
small fingers fluttered over the water-portrait to indicate
the wolf,
the fangs,
the nightmares,
the flame,

"when all these things say bad how can-he-does-he make things good?"

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Re: sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

Post by Guest on Tue Jan 19, 2010 4:02 am

it was her daddy's turn to be quiet for a long long time,
turning to watch the portrait that floated as lightly as he did on the clear quartz water,
taking time to consider its meaning before he questioned her question with a question,
"do you think your medication is good, cilly?"
and then questioned that question with a question,
"does your doctor think that medication is good?"
he didn't wait for her to answer,
instead a question was piled on top of the other questions,
with an additional question speedily placed on top of that,
"do your teachers think the way you change your looks is bad, cilly?
do you think the way you change your looks is good?"
sig ganesvoort didn't relent,
building a tower of questions so quickly his daughter couldn't fit in the words to make answers,
"is mimicking bad, or good?
is talking back at the walls when they whisper bad or good?
riding buses to nowhere?
glaring at people who glare at you?
what about a wolf eating a rabbit for dinner?
or a rabbit eating a just-bloomed flower?
mothers who leave their daughters?
fathers who strangle themselves free from - ?"

"NO," pris yelled long and loud to make sure his voice would be drowning,
defiantly splashing her hand through the water-portrait of poof.
the jerk of her gesture was accusing as she pointed an as-promised dry finger at her father floater,
shooting a tone at him that she'd never dared use during his life.
"DON'T YOU.
DON'T.
i'll rip the warmer right off its hinges,
fold it away and let the crow-caws keep you awake."

but sig ganesvoort was as calm as the surface of the water-glass,
staring serenely up at his one and only daughter.
"your reaction only proves my point, cilly.
there's no such thing as bad,
or good."
for the first time since their talk began her father proved he could sit up in the water,
body as buoyant on the smooth surface as a leaf or duck.
he reached his arms forward,
stretched them out like he was welcoming warmth wealth or the sun.
but he didn't touch his daughter,
he couldn't touch his daughter,
not even here in the land between the marble stone's cracks.
"in the world there's only what we like,
or don't.
and what other people like,
or don't.
and what the people we love like,
or don't.
and what the people who want to make decisions for us like,
or don't.
that's all the world's made up of cilly,
that's all."

silence.
pris didn't like the silence,
which was a problem since there was more silence.
she even tried to scrape the tree stump with her disgruntled fingers,
but it scorned her by refusing to make even the tiniest scritch-scratch sound.
so she had no choice but to break the silence with her voice.
"then how come i'm the puzzle piece that doesn't fit in, daddy?"

sig ganesvoort always felt,
like now,
that the hardest part about parenting was that every question posed needed to be answered.
"because almost everything you and i and your grandma priscilla like?
they can't.
or won't."

in this world of the tiny spaces between a cemetery stone,
a seventeen-year-old girl bowed her head and stared into a mirror for the first time in a long time.


but in the waking world where it was almost midnight in a cemetery with rules, the two newport news patrolmen at the foot of sig ganesvoort's plot saw his only daughter sleeping on his grave.

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Re: sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

Post by Guest on Wed Jan 20, 2010 1:40 am

[ this mess in Earth virginia is open =D. beware the naughty word below. ]

"i'll be damned. it is priscilla ganesvoort."
"that's sig's kid?! no way."
"she doesn't look so much like a kid anymore, does she? it's enough to make a man really feel his age."
"think should we give marlene a call?"
"no use. she left town a while ago, no forwarding address, anything. damn shame what happened. damn shame."

as she stared into her reflection in the crystal quartz water,
her daddy was telling her sweet things.
that she was okay,
and that all of it around her was also going to be okay -
sig ganesvoort promised that promise just like he'd made her promise.
but the most important thing,
the one he was just about to tell her,
that he didn't get to say.
because suddenly the tiny world in the small spaces of the marble stone broke.
it all broke.


"DADDY!!!!" the word ripped from her throat louder than any voice had sounded in this graveyard in months, probably years. when the two patrolmen had decided to pick her up from the cold ground after putting her belongings in the front seat of their patrol car, they weren't expecting her to wake up like this. they weren't expecting the petite teenager to give this kind of violent struggle, either. as pris did everything she could to lunge towards the grave they were currently walking her away from, her fists balled and her legs kicked and even a foot nestled sweetly in a ballet slipper could hurt like hell if it was aimed right.

and boy was pris aiming in spades this night at the greenlawn cemetery.

but the officers weren't trying to control some criminal, that was the problem. it was little cilly ganesvoort, who used to play with the the elder officer's youngest almost every saturday back in the day. officer donnelley had watched this girl grow up until marlene abandoned her out of the blue and her half-brother took her and moved away. so when his partner started repeating, "what the hell should we do?!" at the top of his voice donnelley snapped back angrily, "don't let go god damnit what're you doing letting go?!" for two senior officers who'd been partnered for the better part of ten years, there was a serious communication breakdown. and it was because half of what they yelled to each other was drowned out by pris' one ferociously belted word.

"but she fucking bit my arm!" the protest echoed clear as a bell in the field of graves, because it just so happened that the moment the younger officer screamed the retort was when pris had briefly run out of air to blood curdle with. "just get her in the god damn car, god damnit," donnelley managed to snarl before pris started a fresh verbal revolution and a reinvigorated round of incensed flailing. this time she wasn't just screaming for her father, she was screaming to him about the abandoned sketchbook the patrolmen had missed, laying open on her father's fleece warmer. "my BOOK. my BOOK. "DADDY!!!!"

it took all the strength the two men had to get the unwieldy thrashing teenager into the backseat of the patrol car. it was a task so monumental that officer donnelley didn't even think twice about slamming the door on pris' birthday ball dress. in situations like this, clothes were very low on the elder officer's list of concerns, and he didn't realize that the fact her dress was trapped was exactly what started pris on a fresh round of bellows, and that her trapped dress was exactly what made her punch at the metal grating which separated the front seats and the back, and what fueled her to pound at the windows as her face turned as red as fire from the severity of her stress. the visit to her father's stone, the sketchbook, her dress, they all meant something very deep to pris that the men just couldn't seem to see.

no, the well-meaning but erroneous officer donnelley attributed pris' behavior to the usual 'problem' of the ganesvoort line. "obviously, john, she's off her god damn meds. get the book. we'll go to riverside behavioral. after she's sedated we can figure out what to do."

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Re: sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

Post by B.D. Adams on Wed Jan 20, 2010 7:16 pm


Benjamin Adams was a man of many things: one of which just happened to be taking care of the things that belonged to him. Contrary to what some people believed he made a difference between the things that he owned and the things that belonged to him. In his mind Pris belonged to him, especially after what had transpired at her birthday, therefore when he felt her leave the realm of Rhy'din he was particularly interested.

Traveling between different realms was not a problem for him as his ability was not tied to one particular plane. Besides, he was born on Earth, following her was like taking a trip back home. There was only one condition - he couldn't physically be in two places at once. That's why minions were employed.

Benjamin stayed in the shadows as he followed Pris quietly, trailing her without being seen and even masking his presence from her so he would not be detected. He remembered that she had said she was going to go and see her father and he had wished her well -as he could in his guised form - and now he had a chance to see how she meant. As silent and still as the graves around them was Benjamin as he watched and listened closely to what there was to hear while he waited. The thought of her alone in a graveyard on a wintry night did not appeal to him. Spirits haunted graves at night and one could never tell when a spirit would try to take claim over another person.

He would watch over her until he felt that she was safe - even while she laid sleep on the grave.

It was during his watch on Pris that he had gotten the 'call' at the cave and while he engaged in the conversation there he smelled the scent of the two men approaching. That caused him to move, rising from his lax position to a more aggressive one. He didn't like the way they smelled or what he could feel of their intentions. When the confrontation between Pris and the men began he made his move.

Unseen he went to the car the men had driven and placed his hand upon the door, sending tendrils of electricity through the metal and effectively short-circuiting the vehicle. It would no longer run. Moments later the men were trying to get Pris into the car. She was yelling for her book and his attention was immediately drawn there. Staying by the car he crouched down and placed his hands upon the ground. A cool gust of wind blew along the dirt and grass as he cast an illusion over the area where her book had been. There one moment and gone the next - Pris' sketchbook may as well never have existed.

Donald -Thor - was coming. No matter how much he wanted to be the one to pull her away from the two men and take her to safety he knew that he wasn't the one she needed. Still, he was not going to simply leave without letting her know that she was going to be okay. Benjamin lifted his hands from the ground and eased back into the shadows of the night, at the same time releasing some of the masking that hide his presence. Pris would now suddenly be aware that he was near. Though she seemed slightly panicked he reached out to her through their connection and delivered a message. "You'll be all right, Oxymoron. Your book waits in your room."

He knew better than to send any emotional feel along with it, but he did pluck the strings that connected her to him and that would momentarily intensify the warmth of him that he had given her.

After he sent the message he settled back to watch and masked his presence once again. He had secured her book, disabled the vehicle the men were placing her in, and told her things were going to be okay. He still would not leave until assured she was safe but for now his part was done.

Cue the hero.
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Re: sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

Post by DrDonaldBlake on Thu Jan 21, 2010 1:57 am

The trip was not long; it was even across the barriers between the nine realms that the Lighting upon which the god commanded carried him with the greatest speed in which light could travel. As he neared the graveyard where Pris had been, the clouds above began to crawl in. Much faster then would be normal for any other storm front. But, this was no normal storm front. As evident by the fact that not once, but twice lightning struck the ground, not far from the police car.

The first strike lightning was meant to blind the officers while also announcing Thor’s arrival. The second strike gave way to the form of the very human Doctor Donald Blake. Who was practically running towards the police officers and their strangely stationary vehicle? He was still wearing his doctor’s finery white lab coat and khakis with a scrubs top underneath his lab coat. His name badge for the clinic clipped to the front pocket of his lab coat.

He didn’t bother trying to walk towards the cars using his walking stick, which would have taken too long, so it was a forced march at great speed. Pointing the walking stick forward at the police officers that had grabbed Pris. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” that was shouted when he got closer, lowering his walking stick and staring the two officers. “will one of you, please tell me why the hell you have that young lady in the back of your police cruiser like she is just a common criminal?” He walked right past the officers and leaned close to the window. “Pris… It’s alright, I’m here to take you from here…” and Donald stood strait and cast a glance back at one of the officers. “This young lady has diplomatic immunity… I demand you release her this instant!” punctuated with a stab of his walking stick on the ground. He had a plan, and it involved both his position as a friend to the richest man alive, the physician of a world leader, and the fact that Benjamin had bestowed upon her an official title of royalty.

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Re: sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

Post by Guest on Fri Jan 22, 2010 1:54 am

in times like this, life behaved for pris very slowly. she experienced every tiny moment in one of two ways - either as the greatest gift or the most terrible tragedy, rocketing back and forth between the two like an out-of-control pendulum. emotions affected her body like they affected every body. the problem with pris was that when the balance of chemicals changed, they didn't change with any level of predictability or uniformity, which in turn meant that when the cycle completed what pris said or did from second to second was also entirely without pattern or logic.

balance, uniformity, pattern, predictability, when it came to mental afflictions like schizophrenia that's what medication (that the newport news stakeholders of her life had never wanted pris to take) was for. the rest of the town - including good officer donnelley - had never butted-in and pushed the issue because nine times out of ten an unmedicated pris was a functional pris. her first psychiatrist had taught her compulsive behavior selfishly, but regardless of his motives he'd taught her well.

trapped in distress, for pris today was the rare ten out of ten. anyone who could see into the picture-theater that was her mind would be able to tell as much. between flashes of blank white were images of punching bags, colliding cars, crashing meteors, breaking glasses, wrecking balls. these didn't relate at all to what was going on around her - her mind had disintegrated into fixating only on what she felt. somewhere within those images was the truth that pris believed if she stopped thrashing and fighting against what had caged her up she was going to be literally crushed.

"timmy! the book's not here!" the younger officer stood by sig ganesvoort's gravestone and stared down at the weird grave blanket with disbelief. "like it vanished, what're we - ?" looking up he saw that his partner was already in the car, doors shut, windows up, and didn't hear a damn thing he'd said. "sonofabitch."

what the young officer didn't know was that his partner had his own problems. not only was the car not starting no matter how he pumped the gas, turned the key and cussed the piece of crap under his breath, but he felt like his ears were on the brink of bleeding. so when the ganesvoort girl suddenly went as silent as stone and still as a statue, he thanked jesus, mary and joseph for answering his prayers.

the silence was because poof the parent had arrived. his warmth and his words had effects similar to when an animal is stunned, and the window facing her father's grave was saved from being struck again by her two fists - they froze less than an inch away from the glass. only her eyes moved, scanning out into the darkness to find him, her dearest dearest who was here now. in that fragile, precious second of silence perhaps pris' debilitating episode could have come to an end. even the most emotionally crippled child relaxes in the blanket of safety that the arrival of a parent brings.

until that parent leaves.

when he wrapped himself in rope, her father left her. when she never came home, her mother left her. and now poof the parent had left her, too.

that's what the progression of sensations that benjamin had given to her told her, anyway. from pris there was a painfully released swell of heartbreak - her chest hurt like it had been cracked to pieces, and the precious vulnerable liquid contained there burned at her eyes wanting to leak out. first with her father, then her mother, pris had never been able to deal with these feelings that she was overcome with once again. so her illness took over. in her mind the crystal quartz of her father's water-world surged like a geyser, flooding everything. the power of the schizophrenic brain is the most common proof that the mind has more power over the body than the body itself. in this instance, as the water flooded her thoughts until her mind was a blank murky static, outwardly pris' body slumped as if she were truly sinking. as gravity took care of her, her breathing was languid and even her heart trudged along at a sallow pace.

lightening struck as pris shut down.

officer donnelley was a second too late to see the second streak of lightening, but just in time to watch his partner draw his gun. donnelley practically threw himself out the driver's side door yelling, "whoa whoa whoa!" to john as the doctor approached the window to talk to the unresponsive girl. as far as donnelley was concerned, if this guy was her doctor their lives had just been made a whole lot easier.

that is, until he heard what the doctor said. "diplomatic what now?" despite this damn ridiculous night, he found himself laughing. "doctor, i know priscilla's imagination can be catching, but she's a virginia girl born and raised. used to live not even a half mile away, came over all the time to have tea parties with my youngest. so we're all going to calm down," here he glanced at his partner gesturing for him to holster his weapon, "and you're welcome to ride with us to the hospital. i'm sure they'll be real glad to see you. the ganesvoorts' family head shrinker retired just after the new year, and i'm sure you know it takes a real special someone to deal a girl like her. it's a damn shame."

glancing towards the backseat, he gave his head a shake, thinking on the days when priscilla ganesvoort was a beautiful little girl that had her head on as straight as anyone else.

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Re: sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

Post by DrDonaldBlake on Mon Jan 25, 2010 2:36 am

Oh the look that the officer got from Donald at his condescending tone that he’d just had taken with him. It was one of ‘Do I look like an idiot?’ He then shook his head and started towards the officer. “I know, She hadn’t told me anything that isn’t true. But, she really does have diplomatic immunity officer.”

Donald reached into the pockets of his slacks and produced his cell phone. Which he opened and started to dial the number for one of his very good friends. “Under the articles written between the people of the United States of America and the people living within the Walls of Asgard, which until recently resided within Okalahoma. Any person on a American soil with diplomatic ties to Asgard is to be granted immunity to all laws governed by the people of this great nation.” And then he took a nice deep breath. Having said all of that very concisely in a single breath before adding in; “I stand as Asgard’s primary diplomatic tie. And as I stand in proxy of Young Miss Priscilla Gansevoort’s legal guardian my diplomatic immunity stretches to her.” And he tapped at the door with his cane, holding the phone towards the officer.

“I’ve got the director of shield on speed dial if you want to tell him why you’ve decided to cause an international incident.” Boomslam Donald; never walk into a situation without a plan, and always be thankful that your alter ego was one of the Avengers. Meant for a lot of easier experiences for him In the long run of things.

The ball was in the officers court now, phone offered forth, with donalds hand on the send button. The number in the screen stated simply “Tony S” his intense blue eyes watching the officers. “Tell him Dr Donald Blake says he’s late for his physical while you have him on the phone.”

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Re: sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

Post by Guest on Mon Jan 25, 2010 6:13 pm

oh the look the officer gave donald in return. john had seen that look on his partner's face before, and every time he did he was glad it wasn't him getting stared down like that. it was enough to make john slow his pace as he hosltered his weapon, suddenly in no rush to join the other two men. best let timmy handle this, he told himself as he rounded to the driver's side door of their patrol car, and i'll focus on getting the car running. it was the least john figured he could do, since he'd gone and lost track of that crazy girl's book.

speaking of pris, as the younger officer opened the car door and slipped inside, the girl didn't blink, stir or make a sound. even with donald's voice so close, there was nothing in pris actions (or lack thereof) which suggested she even knew that donald was here. once the flood had hit her mind, the brain-sick girl was shut off in another world entirely. one that was silent, static, and far far away from the feelings that would have overwhelmed her if she'd remained in the world of the lucid and real. she didn't feel anything there, she didn't think anything there, she just was.

perhaps what she was in this wherever-world was the very same thing that her father was when he floated on water. but pris wouldn't know anything about that.

nor would she know that next officer donnelley snatched the phone out of donald's hand. donnelley made sure to hold it at an angle where the doctor would clearly see his thumb press the 'end' button, effectively hanging up on whatever important so-and-so he'd called to try to bully the newport news law around. "let me explain something to you. we found cilly here sleeping on her father's grave, and while she's trespassing she is not under arrest so you can take your silly ass diplomatic immunity bull crap and stuff it. what she is is a minor. which means we are authorized by law to keep her in custody until she's picked up by someone authorized to by her legal guardian. and keeping her's what we're god damn gonna do no matter whose physical you're late for."

looking the doctor squarely in the eye, donnelley shoved donald's phone back at him. "so the only person i want on the other end of that phone is dominic hyatt and this girl isn't going anywhere with you until i talk to him."

good luck with that one, donald.

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Re: sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

Post by B.D. Adams on Wed Jan 27, 2010 3:18 pm


Wasn't this interesting? Watching the interactions of people was always, however, some things were drawn out and in his opinion the conversation between Donald and the officers had become drawn out. Benjamin was prepared to simply sit back and let the men dispute back and forth if it had not been for Pris. Ever since he had delivered the message to her she had changed, becoming stoic and detached from the rest of the world around her.

At the moment he was ignoring the jabber of the men and focused on his Oxymoron instead. He was supposed to be seeing her safe but he saw a lot of proverbial red tape and a drawn put situation. He moved to the other side of the car and to the door closet to her. kneeling down he flattened his palm against the metal and, using it as a conduit, spread his energy through the vehicle. Instantly it spread everywhere in the car, everywhere accept the space Pris occupied. By touch he created connections to people and he was not going to impose a greater connection on the girl.

The driver would not be so lucky. The moment Benjamin 'reached' the man unseen chains pierced through the man and targeted straight to the man's soul. In the blink of an eye chains were bound around what Benjamin now claimed as his and with a quick pull the soul was removed from the body. Without a soul - unless the man was something other than human or otherwise helped - the man would be dead.

Once that annoyance was taken care of Benjamin became visible. Still crouched down by the door he rose slowly all the while keeping his hand. He dragged his fingers up the window until he reached the top - then he pulled his fingers down and the glass followed smooth and easy to the command. Once the window was down Benjamin casually bent enough so he could lean in, arms crossed and his chin nearly touching them. Surely Pris would be able to feel him, all the others would feel a dark and evil presence.

"I've never cared much for politics," Benjamin said out loud as he looked at Pris. It was funny considering one of his roles. " I prefer quick ends. And you need to get back home." then he reached out cautiously and moved the back of his hand a mere hair breath away from her cheek in a caressing manner.

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Re: sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

Post by DrDonaldBlake on Thu Jan 28, 2010 4:06 am

“Listen, officer, I understand that you have a job to do… but you need to understand, that I do too, and that is keeping her safe… and you-“Donald broke off he did indeed feel that dark and evil presence. Rather the being inside of him did. Sending an alarm going off through the walking stick in his hand; an alarm that brought Donald’s attention to the car, and the man leaning in through the window. In a moment eyes went to the other officer, now slumped in his seat and then back to the man, who was not an inch from Pris. And Donald picked up his walking stick.

“See, you could have listened to me, but instead you had to challenge me, and now your partner looks dead and there is a child rapist trying to take her away.” Fortunately Donald was more about functionality then style. And instead of coming in through the window he ripped the door open, and took hold of Pris’ arm and pulled her from the touch. Moving in a position to lean over her and put himself between her and Benjamin. “You’re right… she does need to get home, but she’s not going with you.” Donald didn’t have much to defend himself metaphysically but the new things he had, where rather amazing. His position bore him immunity to all mental and spiritual invaders. (I mean, not many people could fight a battle of wills with a god). And the other was Thor’s ability to protect Donald through the walking stick. The walking stick still held in his right hand, and was brought forth, close to Benjamin’s body.

“Go, Now... She’s protected, and you’ve just committed a murder. Or you could try to talk it over with a higher power… though he’s not too talkative right now.” Donald’s angle, and the position he was in was awkward, and put a lot of weight on his bad knee he was doing a hell of a job with his poker face though. Pris was still in the car seat, and Donald had her pressed against his side. Here’s hoping that Benjamin’s sense of self preservation, would overtake his tremendous ego. There was an angry god on the other side of that walking stick, and despite whatever power Benjamin had; Thor was someone he still would not want to tangle with.

So, that’s where we where, Donald ready to strike Benjamin down, having put himself between Pris and the man. In a police car, with a dead driver and what was probably going to be an equal parts confused, and pissed off officer of the law.

Dear Abby… you would not believe the day I’m having….

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Re: sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

Post by Guest on Thu Jan 28, 2010 9:12 pm

despite what some people think, nothing that happens is trivial. a pebble kicked into the street can easily change the entire course of a day. how pris' moods operate is very similar. trapped in distress one moment, the girl could flip to great exaltation as quickly as a switch is flicked if the right tiny event occurs.

while she didn't hear what benjamin said, the closeness of his hand and warmth told drowning pris he was here. because her mistaken belief that her dearest dearest parent had left her had been the cause for the flood in the first place, now that he was here and near the flood-water was no longer needed. it leaked out of her eyes in a steady stream, running smoothly down her cheeks in an unbroken river of salt water before ceasing just as suddenly as the water flow began. it was much like turning a faucet on, and off.

tears. the flood in her mind was just the manifestation of the tears she'd refused to shed in her moment of heartbroken panic. it was so simple, and in an unconventional way it was very literal effect of her inability to handle her own emotions.

the second catalyst for pris' sudden great exaltation was of course her duck. when donald pulled her to him, from the reflexive way pris' body responded it was obvious that their relationship was one which included physical closeness. as soon as it clicked that her two most cherished people were here with her, pris blurted out the connection her mind made that swelled her excitement so.

"it's my birthday! first denny's then roller coasters but no waterslides. purrrrr." obviously it wasn't actually her birthday, she'd just celebrated her seventeenth two months ago. but to pris, there had to be a reason for the special occasion - she, her most precious and her dearest dearest all together. the only time this had happened to date (besides the time benjamin dropped her off in donald's room after her birthday ball when the good doctor was sleeping) was in her eighteenth birthday sketchbook. a special art making book, where pris daydreamed through her drawings daily about what portrait of her, donald and benjamin she would ask to be brought to life when benjamin asked her what she wanted for her next birthday present. the scenario of the three of them having a family outing that began at denny's with a day at the amusement park immediately following had been the most recent drawn daydream, rendered just before pris had left for this very trip.

so as she happily nestled against her donald, she peeped around her duck to give poof her most loving smile to date. it wouldn't take a rocket scientist to see that she was thrilled that benjamin was here, which is why she whispered to him the secret of what she could see when she looked at donald's profile. "boom. there's a storm inside my duck with thunder and lightening. boom." for the two men, being in each other's presence was probably less than thrilling. but for pris, this was the most wonderful moment in her life to date.

so why was the officer trying to ruin it?

as pris reached her hand around donald to make her traditional air fluffing gesture at benjamin, officer donnelley pulled his gun. "both of you, freeze!" what the hell was going on, he wondered, and where exactly this had all gone so wrong? he didn't know where best to point his gun, switching between benjamin and donald as he eased into a position where he'd have a better shot.

"john." his partner's name caught in his throat. "john." no gunshots, no punches, explosions or anything else. to donnelley, a regular mortal man, without those things he just couldn't believe john was dead. after all, this officer was convinced all that asgard crap was invented by the government to distract the public. "get out of the car, lieutenant. and you too, back away slowly." he regarded pris, speaking slowly and clearly to her. "cilly? you're going to be o-kay. just stay calm for me okay sweetheart?"

pris knew that she was being spoken to, but her fingers were still fluffing dearest benjamin and her cheek remained pressed against her precious duck. she had known the officer when she was a little girl, but if she remembered that fact now she didn't seem to care. all he got from pris was a warning. "the sto-o-o-o-orm is coming," she crooned in that eerie atonal way she had when she sang, and she punctuated her song with a mimic of a wolf's howl. boom and grandmother-what-big-teeth-you-have, that's who the officer was dealing with. the rest of the air in her lungs she exhaled in an impatient sigh. she squeezed her hands around donald, and turned her big green eyes to benjamin and whined at them,

"can we go to denny's now?"

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Re: sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

Post by B.D. Adams on Sun Jan 31, 2010 2:15 am


Benjamin decided that he liked Donald. Not in the way that made them buddies, planning trips to the local coffee shop or getting together for a game, but he liked him in much the same way one villain liked another. Not many people said things like that to him, not when they knew what he could do, because often times those were the last words they ever said. Or if they survived . . . they'd wish otherwise. Considering the lack of self-preservation Benjamin had the choice of whether or not to engage in situations had more to do with the logic surrounding it and what he served to gain. In this situation he would gain self-satisfaction in causing harm to Donald but anything he was trying to accomplish with Pris could be destroyed.

The options had to be weighed.

Benjamin pulled back his and let it rest upon the windowsill with the other. "She would not be here if my intention had been to take her away." It was truth. He hadn't come to take her away but instead to observe and make sure that she made it safe to whatever her destination.

He had his eyes straight on Donald while he spoke, his gaze unwavering and the pull of a smile on his face mocking. Poker face. Good show in trying to bluff. Lying was a sin. Sin was one of his areas. Not to mention that there was typically an emotional reason behind wanting to lie.

But that did not matter at the moment. Benjamin heard the excitement of Pris at realizing that both of them were there with her and it was quite possible that had the panic from the last remaining officer not been there he may have winced at the emotional rush.

"Pris, you know that I never lie to you, so believe me when I tell you that your most precious Donnie Duck came to my cave and told me to stay away from you." Even as he was talking to Pris he kept his eyes on Donald. "More to the point, to keep my teeth and claws away and if I don't the raging god in him is going to destroy me."

He may not have been able to physically attack him at the moment - he could, but making Donald out to be the wicked one in this situation was more entertaining. As for the other officer - with the demand that he back away from the car - he was ignored. "I've prevented these men from taking you away and insured your safety, contracted with you and he wants me out of your life. I must truly be wicked." And Benjamin grinned at the end of his words; the white and pristine smile of his out for display. It was an arrogant and boastful smile.

"As long as Pris wants me I will not abandon ties to my Margravine." During the time he was speaking Benjamin did not move from his spot in the window, not even to shift position. He may as well have been a part of the car. For a moment longer he kept his gaze and his stance, not doing anything to Donald besides the words that he had said.

"It is to late for Denny's, Pris." that was when he took his eyes from Donald and rested them on Pris while delivering a genuine smile. Then, without another word, Benjamin backed out of the car window and removed his hand from the door and set his attention now on the remaining officer. His intent was to get the soul of this man as well. Why? While it may seem he was doing it because he could that wasn't exactly true. This man - just like the other - had memories of a younger and different Pris. Benjamin had not been a part of her life then and therefore he was curious. Murderer. Those words from Donald barely registered in his mind. When you were an animal killing was a survival need. Besides, what was anyone going to do about it?

Benjamin approached the man with a purposeful stride, his eyes staying on him. The man would find that he was unable to moved from whatever position he was in. How easy it was to take over the feeble minds of humans - especially when he had such a wonderful gift at his disposal.

"You two should go." His back was to the two in the car, but that did not mean he couldn't hear them.


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Re: sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

Post by DrDonaldBlake on Mon Feb 01, 2010 12:09 am

Donald gave pris a squeeze, his eyes watching Benjamen while he gave his best stool pigeon impersonation, and if I do say so myself, it was a damn good impersonation. And if Ben was wondering why Donald could not keep the smirk from his face while he spoke. It was because nothing he said to Benjamen at his cave was news to Pris. He mentioned it all to her before, but it when he stepped around the car to approach the other officer that Donald released pris and stepped in front of Benjy , effectively cutting him off from his target. There wasn't going to be another one today. Yes, animals killed for necessity. but to kill a man who was only trying to start a car that Benjamin himself insured wouldn't start... that was not a necessity, he wasn't an animal, he was just a bully; attacking only those who couldn't stand up to him.


"Y'know what I really really like about people like you? its your extreme and total predictability. I've got you read like a book already and we've only spoken what... twice?" He wasn't the only one who could be boastful and arrogant. HE tried to make Donald look like a villain while twittering away on his stool. It was time for some of his own medicine. When Donald said Benjamin was predictable he meant it, and one of the things he knew for certain right now. is that Ben there wouldn't do a damn thing to loose face in front of Pris.

"No no, We're not going anywhere except Denny's... Afterall it is her birthday wish... We should go to Denny's... Isn't that Right Prissy?" That last sentence spoken loud enough for Pris to hear him. though his eyes didn't leave Benjamen's both hands on the walking stick which was positioned in front of him. Looked to be a neutral posture, but from here, he could summon Thor, or swing out with it, if Ben tried to get to the other officer. "I'm going to get a 'Moon's over my Hammy..."

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Re: sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

Post by Guest on Mon Feb 01, 2010 1:48 am

"it's not too late for denny's, poof. it's not." pris' words had an imploring insistence as she crawled out of the police car backwards. ballet slippered feet kicked at the layers of skirts as her softly nestled toes were tangled up in her efforts. she ended up sliding right out of the car because she couldn't see behind her, knees kissing the ground, the dress a mess around her. "the lights at denny's never die and we could all benefit from potatoes." the dive never closed and these two men looked very crankily posed in the cemetery landscape.

it was true. over the course of many conversations, everything benjamin told pris donald had said to him her precious duck had said to pris himself. her doctor duck made it no secret how dangerous he thought benjamin was, and that his worst fear was that benjamin was going to turn pris into not-pris-anymore. that was why what benjamin said to her hadn't garnered anything but pris' listening eyes, staring deeply into that big white and boastful smile as she continued to fluff the air with the belief that there was no reason the landscape had to change.

the men had been the ones to change it. benjamin left his window perch and donald had left the car. and now pris, still on her knees, was pulling open the front passenger's side door of the police car to retrieve her shoulder bag. she clutched it possessively to her chest as donald gave benjamin his rebuttal, and she shut the door with a force so great you had to wonder if the girl suspected the car was going to try to suck her back into it. door closed, she pulled her bag open, tugging out her special birthday sketchbook, which was thankfully not the one she'd left on her father's grave. "right," she answered donald with dreamy distraction as she flipped the book to the proper page. "right right right."

once she found the triptych of her, benjamin, donald and the denny's /amusement park birthday dream, pris tucked the drawing close to her chest. she made way through the cold grass so that she could stand between the two men, yet one step back so that she wasn't sandwiched between them. "delta," she said as her green eyes ping-ponged between both of them, back and forth and back and forth. she didn't look at either man for more than a second's glance at a time because she didn't want to miss anything. as for the delta, she was referring to the shape the three of them made - a triangle. "delta means change must happen. that's what mrs. science says." apparently poor officer donnelley didn't count in the shape. while pris could see him statued there in the landscape out of her eye corners, for what she was fixated on he didn't matter.

"this is what my daddy just told me. there's no such thing as bad or good in the world there's only what we like or don't and what other people like or don't and what the people we love like or don't and what the people who want to make decisions for us like or don't that's all the world's made up of cilly that's all." as was typical for pris when she recited something, she did so without any inflection or sense of punctuation. after the repeated her father's message she took a deep breath. she sighed it out using the following word which she drew out as long as her lungs let her, "huff……."

and then she pressed her lips together. and her eyes turned upward toward the sky. and for a single short moment, it looked like priscilla ganesvoort was about to cry. and even though she had to say this up at the night clouds, cry she didn't. she made it through these words without making tears. "he said i'm the puzzle piece that doesn't fit in because everything i like other people can't or won't. you can. both of you can but you won't. even though you said." on the word 'said', pris very bravely dropped her eyes.

she looked at benjamin first, her right pointer finger bouncing as if she was conducting her words to music only she could hear. "mister margravine. you said you'd never take me away from my most precious duck. you said." then pris turned her eyes and her pointer finger on donald and she spoke in a tone just as firm. "doctor duck. you agreed that if poof the parent is as wicked as you say but he always tries so hard to be good for me that he gets an 'A' for effort. you agreed. AND - "

pris dropped her pointer finger so she could use both hands to flip her sketchbook so the drawing she made was clearly visible to them. despite the globular, surreal style that was pris' trademark, there was no mistaking that there in the first panel she had painted her, benjamin and donald sitting at a denny's deep in conversation over diner food.

"my parents didn't like each other very much. but they both liked denny's." pris finished her closing argument in this way, firmly nodding her head. "i like denny's too. the lights at denny's never go off. no matter what." even when a seventeen-year-old girl sat at one of their tables between two adults who really didn't like each other. thanks to the many occasions there with her parents, that much pris knew for sure.

but as much as she wanted a trip to denny's, more than anything pris wished that her most precious and her dearest dearest would stop behaving like her should've-gotten-a-divorce parents.

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Re: sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

Post by B.D. Adams on Mon Feb 01, 2010 11:29 pm


Donald was wrong in a couple of areas. Benjamin already had the man ensnared and he did not need to maintain eye contact - or even see the person - in order to do what he wanted to them once he made the connection. Benjamin didn't even have to move. What Donald provided instead was a shield to block Pris from seeing the man and put himself in front of the officers gun - which just happened to be pointing directly at Benjamin. Correction: pointing directly at Donald. Well played.

The next area where Donald was at fault was thinking that he knew what Benjamin would, and would not do. He already had a plan set. He had already started on his path for the evening and in his own way he had already told Pris that he would not go to Denny's and there was nothing here they would cause him to have a change of mind. He means what he says.

And just to accentuate that point: "It's not her birthday." Who else would he be addressing other than Donald as the man was determined to have a quasi-battle of wills against him. As the man said, it was Pris's birthday wish and as such it should be granted on that occasion. Not on random circumstance. All this was notwithstanding the fact that Denny's was an enclosed space with close quartered people and that it was still an anomaly to many as to whether or not Benjamin actually ate on a regular.

It seemed that Donald was expecting Benjamin to be nice - Pris as well - and give up his objective to go and enjoy an outing. In another life he would have considered it and he may have even considered it now with the emotions that were running off of Pris.

But that was for another time.

"Enjoy your meal." was what he said to the both of them.

At the very same moment that Benjamin spoke, the officer soundlessly moved the gun and positioned it against the underside of his chin. Donald and Pris were watching Benjamin who might as well have been craved from stone. There was no movement, no change of features that were not already there when the two of them were talking, as the Officer acted in the way he was instructed. A hairs breath after the word 'meal' was spoken the sound of gunfire cracked the night and the sound of a lifeless body hit the floor.

The Officer was dead, but not by gunshot - bloody deaths disinterested him after so many years. After Benjamin had ensnared the man it was easy to wrap his chains through him, riding it along the back of the other spell. He had no regard for the man well being and therefore his attack was swift. The chains wrapped around the man's soul and he yanked it out at the same time the gun went off. The bullet shot past the mans neck, not harming Donald or Pris.

There was a flash in Benjamin's eyes and they would see his image turn away from them and start to head away. Some things were all a matter of perception. Donald may have seen what Benjamin had done this night as being a bully, picking on people who couldn't fend for themselves. The way Benjamin saw it, he had looked out for someone who may not have been able to take care of themselves. Kept the car from working so the men couldn't take Pris away and got rid of the ones who were hurting her. He even sought to comfort her when it appeared to him that she was trouble. Benjamin had even willing to take a backseat and let her 'Hero' come in and 'save her'.

People saw what they wanted and it rarely bothered him. If they tried to reach for him all they would feel is air. Benjamin had done what he set out to do and that was to see Pris safe - and she safe with her precious duck.

Task done, he was gone.

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Re: sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

Post by DrDonaldBlake on Wed Feb 03, 2010 11:07 pm

Actually, Donald wasn't at all wrong. Well, not entirely wrong as it where, while he had hoped that the man would live. And with the gunshot, Donald knew that hope was dashed away, But that was going to the beginning of an entirely new bit of trouble for Benjamin. Killing two people in cold blood in front of a God that fancied himself a bit of a doer of good deeds, was probably not the greatest choice he'd make this day. But this day was not a day to handle that; there where other day's and other times for that.

If Benjamin did anything by leaving right now, it was prove Donald right in most of the things that he said. Benjamin was a bully, and when he was up against someone who stood up to him, as opposed to facing the problem, he ran away. having killed the two men who couldn't stand up to the big bad bully. A nice slow deep breath and he looked down at Pris.

"For that...I'm taking away his 'A'..." Donald's shoulders slumped a bit and his posture relaxed. Donald himself kneeling down, facing Pris entirely now. "Are you hurt?" the walking stick set down on the ground beside him. and though he wasn't holding onto it, he could get to it quickly, if Benjamin hadn't actually left, after all he had shown a talent for invisibility.

The dead he would not bring up to her, she didn't need to talk about that, especially right now, of course before they departed, he'd have to call Tony and make sure the families where taken care of.

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Re: sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

Post by Guest on Thu Feb 04, 2010 12:43 am

once benjamin left, it was cold. the winter night finally caught up with her. pris desperately searched the landscape for anything that could help her straighten her tangled confusion. her compulsive fixating mind tried to help. through reviewing.

first. her mind dotted the fact that everything she'd said, when it came to poof's outward reply, hadn't mattered. everything he said or did he could've done if she'd chosen to stay in the car, hop on one foot, scream bloody murder or do a strip tease for the cemetery stones. none of it mattered, despite the fact that she'd said a lot more than just 'let's go to denny's'.

benjamin had warned her before about relying on words, but it wasn't his lack thereof that bothered her. if it had, the result would have been a very surly pris - as a rule teenagers don't like when adults talk over their heads as if they're not there, and that's essentially what benjamin had done with…

second. donald, donald, donald. her mind dotted that nearly everything poof the parent had done just before he poofed had to do with donald. as her mind re-sorted the dots and drew fresh new lines, the connection between her mother and father and their unhappy marriage and donald and benjamin and their unhappy…whatever you'd call it…grew much stronger. after all, how many times had pris stood in the kitchen and not 'really' been there, just because her parents were too busy having a fight?

that realization alone was enough to make her frown. but what really sank her lips downward in displeasure was...

third. that benjamin's actions had ignored her too. he'd told her once that it was not his word she should concern herself with but his actions. his actions had 'spoken' to donald. or to officer donnelley. not to her. he'd left without looking at her, or making a caressing movement, or giving her warmth. it had been a long time since he'd parted with her without doing any of those things.

…was he mad at her? had she been bad? was this all her fault? common questions that children ask when their parents are at war. looking to mother and father seeking some sign of love or assurance that they child still had a place in the family despite the parental friction.

"for that…i'm taking away his 'A'…"

it was like her duck could hear her mind struggling. her face scrunched up, distraught, and she pushed her sketchbook tightly against her chest. not caring if her dress smeared the colors or her colors smeared the dress. it had been a wish and it didn't come true. "who cares if it's my damn damn damn birthday…" she felt so sour she could almost taste it. "it could have been. it could have been." inside her, anger sparked. slamming her special birthday sketchbook on the ground, she dropped down, tearing out pages. with both hands. feeling satisfaction as her fingernails shredded the paper making a gigantic mess. like an animal on a mission.

she even growled. sometimes she stopped long enough to grab the book and smash it on the ground a few times, as if she expected it to crack like a mirror-glass.

pris wasn't expecting benjamin to be nice. she wasn't naive. she knew he wasn't like other people, she'd come to terms with that already. but he'd never given her the cold shoulder before. he'd never ignored her. and she'd grown used to him giving her some sort of affection before taking leave of her and the lack tonight just plain pissed her off.

donald asked if she was hurt and she didn't answer. she just continued her task. pris didn't stop until her drawings were a heap of scraps, every last one. when all was done she was flushed, out of breath, and shaking. sitting back on her knees, the movement made her momentarily dizzy. she had to blink hard to keep the landscape around her from warping. color-smeared palms rubbing her cheeks, it took her unbalanced mind a minute to catch up with what she saw.

so she didn't see fallen officer correctly the first time. "so you're delta," she said to motionless man. her hands dropped from her cheeks, and her head tilted back to look up at the stars. her mind needed that time. to realize. eureka. "that's daddy donnelley." and he was dead. that she didn't say, couldn't say. all she could think about was her once-upon-a-time friend, "mandy's not going to like that. mandy's not going to like that at all."

why had benjamin killed daddy donnelley? why had daddy donnelley taken pris away from her father? why had, why had…was there a 'why had' which traced back to her and made the two dead in the cemetery her fault? pris' swimming, warping state was cracking into something far more raw and vulnerable. as the water stung at the corners of her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, pris pressed herself against the one person in all the world that made her feel safe enough that she could cry without the tears paralyzing her by flooding over her and her mind.

her most precious donald duck. cue the hero.

[ end of thread! ]

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Re: sig ganesvoort's only daughter and his cemetery stone

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