The Amaryllis Project [Chapter Four]
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
So, it was fifteen minutes later when Iriel arrived back on his door step, with the two twin brothers standing by. Since none of them actually had a legal driving license, they were stuck having to get Letitia to give them a lift. So in they piled into the battered old Toyota, and down the road they went, retracing the path Iriel took just several hours earlier.
"Aren't you worried about your daughters?" asked Iriel when they first piled into the car, with him stuck in the back seat with Kichirou.
"What daughters?" Letitia had sniffed, though she did sound a little puzzled at the question.
Iriel watched as she checked the rear view mirror and reversed the car with immense caution before speaking, "Oh, Amaia and the rest?"
Kichirou snorted, "Those are her grandnieces, darling. She's entitled to the guardianship of us and them, since our families are... ahem, ill-fitted to care for any of their children."
"Oh," Iriel muttered.
"Don't worry about it," Katsurou responded from the front seat, as he fiddled restlessly with the seat belt, "We have a confusing family."
The silence that ensued lasted them till they arrived. Iriel didn't even need to give any instructions to the grandaunt. She, being a true resident of Iturius Lane and knowing almost everyone there is to know, was so sure about her interpretation of who and where he lived and was that she simply drove to House Seventeen. Which, was exactly the correct house. The three individuals then opened the door and clambered out. Kichirou, upon sighting the house, whistled appreciatively. Iriel could almost feel Katsurou's intense glare prickling his own neck as well, though he could hear the ever-polite voice of his as he negotiated with his aunt.
A little embarrassed, Iriel pulled up his knapsack and headed towards the iron gate. Sure, it was a relatiely large house. Three storeys and a basement, that was what it had. Though on the outside, it looked as though it had four storeys with its strange architectural pillars and arches. There was an insane amount of glass and wood in the construction, with louvres of highly polished hard wood masking the coloured one-way glass that made up about three-quarters of the third storey. There was rough burnished stone lining the outer walls to the left, giving out a strange impression of an abnormal plant or perhaps a kind of fungus infiltrating the entirety of the outer building. There was no roof in sight, or there was, if one considered the flattish top this quadrilateral building had as a roof. It would be a poor excuse of a roof, but it was a roof it would be if you really wanted one. Overall though, the seemingly disjointed elements of an obviously mentally inane architect came together in one piece of astoundingly modern and even futuristic take on the landscape of urban landed property. Iriel loved this house, but he as of recent times, a knot of foreign anxiety and dread would somehow find its way into his gut when he stood here where he was.
"Come in," brusquely this was directed to the brothers. Hell as if he was going to speak and reveal to the whole wide world out there that he was starting to secretly dread coming home. Most people felt safe at home, it was supposed to be a place that was safe, secure and warm. What kind of sissy would he have been thought to be if he'd admitted, or even shown, that he didn't enjoy coming back to a safe haven? And, heaven forbid, that he was somehow frightened by the prospect of returning to the place he had lived in for the past eighteen years? No. Just, no.
This however, nobody commented on. The elder of the two simply clapped his hand firmly over his shoulder and steered him through the gate and towards the porch. When they reached, all Kichirou did was to halt suddenly, and stop short of slamming Iriel's entire five foot and eight inches into the door very painfully. Half-irritated, Iriel took longer than usual to get the key in the lock, perhaps fumbling with it for a good solid two minutes before the lock finally clicked and could be swung forward to admit them both.
The insides of the house was certainly not lacking to the exterior. It was heavily furnished in the white and brown department, with more than enough wood to sustain a termite mound for say twenty to thirty years. The floor was a regularly waxed, highly polished hard wood, the coffee table had a wooden base and legs, the small little table to the side of the off-white sofas was burnished wood, even the portraits and photographs that tastefully adorned the walls were rectangular, flat slabs of finely-grained wood. His parents, or their interior designer actually, were either serious wood fanatics, or they simply hated trees. Either way, this family had very blatantly done some serious shopping in the glass, wood and leather section of furniture stores.
Kichirou raised an eyebrow at the overwhelming amount of wood he could see from where he was, looking past Iriel's shoulder and into the home. The first impression he had of the home was apparently a fair one, judging by his slight nod of approval; it did smell and seem like a very respectable home with decent occupants. Though who could actually tell, from just the pungent, but not unpleasant, scent of lemon-scented polish and leather. Iriel however, made no comment nor so much hinted that he may have noticed. Neither did he look particularly comfortable or relieved upon stepping into the house. If anybody could hazard a guess, they would probably suspect that he was far more comfortable in the presence of the general public than he was here, at home. He looked tense, unrelenting so, and somehow lost in this sweet and secure space. And this unconscious poise of his character probably reflected what he felt inside, judging from his slightly anxious expression. "Welcome," he added, somewhat tersely as he pushed past the door, failing to so much hold the slab of heavy mahogany open for his visitors. There was a minor scuffle as Kichirou attempted to duck the swinging door that he found swiftly descending towards his face, though his sense caught up with him half a beat later and he caught it squarely with his forearm and followed Iriel past the entrance. Katsurou too obediently followed him past the doorway, waving at his aunt before he entered the home, as though in reassurance.
It was to be noted that his aunt only gave him a rather peculiar look before she revved the engine, coughing, to life and went driving down the Lane.
When both the brothers entered the home however, it was to the sight of Iriel nodding in greeting at two women seated on one of the larger of the two sofas. Both of them, bore an immediate resemblance to the eighteen-year-old. What with the dark hair — though theirs, due to their lengths were slightly curlier than one would expect from Iriel's own mop — and the distinct green eyes that was so dark it bordered nearby the boundaries of a dense brownish shade. Like moss. Or, closer to home, an olive that had been left out too long and was starting to brown. Both were not particularly endearing or flattering descriptions, especially so for the two women, but it was about as near the truth as it was going to become. Their skin tones too were similar, a rather sallow shade of skin that was more yellow than white, or brown. From what they could see however, the teenager amongst the three, Iriel, spent an inordinate amount of time baking in the sun. All the little freckles on his arms and face, had been pale and unnoticed when they had seen him alone, but now, next to his sisters with almost exactly the same characteristics as he did, these little specks of darker pigments seemed glaringly obvious.
The two women themselves were quite a picture to look at on their own. Not to be admired as one would a pretty flower, but in a way that would warm the hearts of the viewer, to actually connect. A simplistic portrait it would have been, with no deeper or underlying motive, just plain and outright. Two women, visibly comfortable in each other's presence and in a way they seemed warmed by it, radiant and happy. This pair didn't seem too surprised by the appearances of them either, with both of them barely faltering in their bright smiles.Even when the foreign pair of blond twins appeared on the doorstep, violently contrasting with their snugly familiar presence. The fact that they looked like warm motherly figures probably did something to affect the overall psyche of the living room as well. They were, fairly mature when compared to Iriel's frivolous nature as a teenager, though their maternal presence probably tacked on more years than they actually experienced. Judging them from where Katsurou and Kichirou stood, they looked to be in their twenties, either early or somewhere in the middle.
With such warmth exuding from their general exteriors, it was really nobody's surprise when they were greeted familiarly. Perhaps the younger of the two more so than the reserved elder. "Hey," she began brightly, "Victoria here. And this, is Brianna. We're his sisters." The last statement was accompanied by a friendly prod in Iriel's stomach, to which the latter acknowledged with a small complaint and shuffling back a few steps. The slightly embarrassed, slightly apologetic look he threw in their direction was rather uncalled for however, as though he was closely monitoring their responses. "Well, us two elderly women better not hold you bunch of youngsters back. Go on ahead, I and Brianna'll be here, discussing us old people talk," joked Victoria, if a little flippantly. Brianna scowled at her mildly, her eyebrows contracting with what seemed to be disapproval. Appreciatively however, both of the twins had chuckled and nodded agreeably.
"Kichirou," the said individual quipped, pointing at himself with a pat on his own chest, "Katsurou," he added, ruffling the mentioned character with a rough messing of his hair. "We'll just be dropping by," he assured, as he nodded amicably at them and gestured at Iriel. While the women shared a small laugh amongst themselves, Kichirou had approached Iriel, who bluntly jerked his head.
"I think they're somewhere in the kitchen. Irene always is," he stated gruffly as he tucked his thumb under the strap of his knapsack, looking the most awkward he had since the twins had seen him that morning. Both of the individuals only glanced at each other passingly as Iriel went on to cross his arms and turn his heel, heading towards the back of the house with a sort of forced pace.
He never noticed Katsurou shaking his head sympathetically.
.x.
As Iriel kind of expected when he entered the kitchen, Irene was present. As well as her soon-to-be fiancé. They were giggling about something, and there was that awkward moment where Iriel was stuck at the doorway, wondering if he was allowed to interrupt them. When they looked like they were about to start to get even more lovey-dovey however, he decided that it was time up for his accidental voyeurism, and knocked politely on the door. Irene and her love interest broke apart immediately, though the arm around her waist stayed as it was. She however remained unperturbed.
"Hey Iriel, where were you yesterday? Mum was getting worried," the cool voice this was said in made the dreadful stone in his gut twinge.
"Not much. Hung out with friends, lost track of time. Pulled a night over at their place. Where're they?"
"If you mean Mum, in the bibliothecum. That, by the way, means library. Dad's going to be in the bedroom, he's having a headache and just took some aspirin. What he really needs though is some paracetamol." She finished off in her annoyingly lofty manner, as she resumed whatever she was doing with that cookie tray. "I think they're discussing the accounts and all. You know them, Inverberg tends to get its reviewing and stuff at this time of—"
"Mm," Iriel muttered as he abruptly left, lumbering out a few steps and attempting to close the door. Then he paused midway through, "I've people over. Don't be too loud." With that, he shut the door with a firm click as Irene let out an indignant squawk from the other side of the now closed door. With a smirk, Iriel inclined his head at the twins. "Upstairs," he offered in a considerably better tone. Without waiting for them however he simply turned right and took the stairs two at the time, up the landing and ascended the stairway with more enthusiasm than the reluctant pace he had had just moments before.
Iriel watched for a moment as Katsurou tilted his head to follow his path up the stairs, before turning around to confront his brother. "Oi, Kichirou, we should be—No! Don't touch that, it looks fragile!" Shaking his head however, he went on up the staircase, ignoring the little amusing snippets of conversation that ensued.
"Pft," Kichirou muttered as he retracted his hand from the vase, "I thought these flowers looked like those Joseph gave to you. The pink and white and all."
Katsurou threw him an exasperated and mildly annoyed look as he stepped on the first stair, as though it wasn't the first time he elicited this response from him. "Technically, it was for Auntie Letty. He simply asked me to pass it to her. You know, you're sick. Doctor Channing, is married." He stressed the last words of his ending two statements at Kichirou, deliberately. A dire enough warning.
"Never said he wasn't. And it's not like I'm that twisted," he protested half-heartedly as he took the stairs, skipping them so that he walked abreast with Katsurou.
"Says the person who's dating a psychopath."
"You're biased. Reisa's not psycho, she's just highly emotional and tightly wound up."
Katsurou snorted, as though that settled the matter. Though that didn't stop the conversation. It simply evolved into an internal monologue session for Kichirou as they both ascended. While Kichirou did a good job at keeping up his end of the conversation, Katsurou was equally competant in ignoring his obvious role in the same conversation and was silent as he checked the first landing the came to. He paused then, and Kichirou did too.
"Reisa's really not a psychopath," Kichirou announced out of the blue.
Katsurou's expression was an outright portrait of "couldn't care less", though in spite of it all, he didn't remark. Instead, he focused on trying to locate Iriel, since after all, they were just visitors. Thus, it was pretty lucky when he heard a particularly loud outburst just that moment. Katsurou rubbed the back of his neck, and continued to do it as he left the stairs and proceeded towards the room. He perhaps may not have known exactly why he was tiptoeing, but he absolutely didn't know why he refrained from knocking on the door later when he arrived. It was only when Iriel suddenly opened the door in his face that he took one step back with surprise.
"Oh, you. Come in then," he said, jerking his head towards the inside of the room, and this time he actually remembered to hold the door open for him and his elder brother.
The walls in this closet like room was cheerily splashed with a creamy off white. There was a mild gust coming through one of the open windows, stirring the veil-thin white curtains. Despite this, it was surprisingly dreary, what with the inordinate number of books and the cocoa brown shelves all crammed into this would-have-been-vast room. There was the musty odour of books, overpowering even that of the typical hospital smell of disinfectant. In an over-sized office desk right at the end, sat the woman they were looking for. She, Iriel's mother, was the exact image of the three children they had met previously. Brunette and light eyed, like Brianna, like Victoria and very much like Iriel himself. Although the brothers had not previously met the referred "Irene", they somehow knew, innately, that she was probably a brunette as well. With curly brown hair, light eyes, olive skin and slight freckles maybe. Katsurou inclined his head politely; Kichirou waved. "Good day, Iriel's parents," Kichirou quipped, cheerfully. This, seemed to barely elicit a response, though Iriel's mother did raise her head slightly to acknowledge them.
"So I heard from Iriel, about the summer school thing. Care to elaborate?" she asked, still scribbling on the pad of lined paper. It seemed a flippantly rude response, as though she hardly gave a care.
"It's called the Amaryllis Project, Mrs..." here, Katsurou glanced at Iriel who immediately mouthed the word at him, "...Azrael. It was founded by Doctor Joseph Channing and his wife, Alice. This is actually literary training for college-going populace. Though it's open for anybody above fourteen. It's a famous program for it's high success rates and very realistic approach to writing. It's generally a very widely-attended program for the summer."
Here the scribbling pen stopped, and Mrs Azrael looked up, peering past her oblong reading glass at him, "So Iriel is telling us that he wants to attend a writing course?"
Katsurou floundered for a moment, "Well, yes."
"I suppose that's fine." She said, sounding pensive for a moment before she resumed her writing. "We're going to be extremely busy throughout this July, what with my three daughters... I suppose it's better that he's devoting his time to something responsible. And useful in a way. As long as he stays in it all summer and not back out of it like he always does. Keep an eye on him will you? Mister...?"
"Ka... Adair. I'm Adair, and this is my brother, Aiden Yamasaki," he spoke quickly, though the minor slip was obvious, "We're friends of the Doctor, we'll try our best to make sure your son is in the best care." Kichirou elbowed him in the ribs, looking as though he wanted to laugh. Katsurou shot him a warning glare, though it didn't seem particularly effective.
Tersely, Mrs Azrael smiled. "You sound so business-like Mister Adair. How old are you?"
"Seventeen years this September, Mrs Azrael," Katsurou continued, as he went on glaring at Kichirou. Before he quickly shifted his gaze back on her and settled instead for stepping hard on his elder brother's foot. The sharp intake of breath in response was a fitting response that made Katsurou fix a satisfied smile on his face in response.
"Right, I'll check up on this... Amaryllis Project then Mister Adair. I'll send on the costs necessary. Oh, Iriel," she directed her voice at him, though now she had gone back to writing, "I'm going to pretend that nothing happened yesterday. Do something practical for once and follow through this course. Mister Adair," Katsurou tipped his head to indicate that he was paying attention, "The course, it takes place... when?"
"Tomorrow morning, Mrs Azrael."
"Ah, then..."
"It's alright, he's welcome to attend a day earlier," Kichirou stated quickly, making his presence heard for the first time since they entered the library, "A headstart can't hurt anyone."
"Indeed it can't. Now I apologise, but I do have a lot to accomplish..."
Iriel coughed, clearing his throat loudly, "Come on then, I'd better get packing."
"...Right," Kichirou agreed as he laid a hand on the door handle and gave the terse Mrs Azrael a long hard look, before opening the door, "Have a lot to do!" He said, a little too loudly as he exited, ignoring Katsurou's frown.
When the door click tightly shut behind Iriel however, Katsurou dropped all pretences and formality, snapping at Kichirou almost immediately. "That, was in bad taste Kichirou. It was rude!"
"She's not a particularly good mother if she's going to keep ignoring her son. You saw, you saw how she was giving Iriel the cold shoulder. You know damn well," Kichirou responded heatedly, "You know very bloody well that no mother treats her child that way."
Katsurou was about to protest, but Iriel cut them short with another loud clearing of his throat, "We could stand here arguing, but it's better we head up and start packing. I am leaving today." Katsurou paused, looking both slightly startled and flustered for a moment, though Kichirou appeared nonchalant and unrepentant as always. With as much stiffness as Iriel's mother had had, Katsurou nodded his agreement.
"Right... right."
.xxx.
Labels: T.A.P.
about one xREDballoon
about meIt was the username that was adopted either in late August or early September of 2009. It was the combined effect of too many games on Orisinal (especially High Delivery) and also her long-time love for how the large red carnival balloons when they fly away.
about meFinalized as a digital signature only in November of the same year, it has since been used everywhere: her previous Gaia account, her account on bubbl.us, and of course every recent endeavor on web and graphic design. It was an aim of hers to use it as something of a brand. From her sketches to simple blog layouts, one xREDballoon presents is her favourite signature as of now.
about meone xREDballoon is the internet handle of a girl, born on a wet day in the early morning of late February. Although astrologically she is a Pisces, she displays many of the Aquarian traits, possibly as a result of being born near the time. She likes the concept of beauty in its most primitive classical form, ruffles layered upon each other generously for flounce or decor, detailed black lace be it crochet or woven, a whole palette of colours from turquoise to grey. She is charmed by the way an old well-read book smells on a wet rainy day, and the way the pages feel, all crinkly and wise under her fingers as she turns the page. She loves the inviting appeal of a blank notebook, and a good gel-ink pen in the colour of the sky.
about meLearn more about her in her personal blog.
about And Then She Fell
about meAndthenshe-fell@blogspot was named as such in October 09, on a whim and on a wish to match the layout that time. And Then She Fell was a lot of things back then: a roleplay layout (in bbcode), a roleplay idea (which was never developed) and also the words emblazoned in huge Ruritania upon an image which showed a falling girl. That was the beginnings of this writing blog as the all-new concept of And Then She Fell.
about meFrom the start, And Then She Fell has always been a semi-personal blog. While visitors are not unwelcomed, no particular effort is put into censoring the content or to sound polite. Just as well that the blog touches on intangible unimportant things, for if it were to talk of life and its nuances, things would sour quickly and it would become a blog of cynical views and criticism.
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