Pris and the Mysterious Cave -][- Invite Only Please!

[Guest]

][ hi hi! i made this invite only because i thought it was only fair to give ben first option to post, since he seemed interested in this scenario! cheers! ][

pris was a girl who wasn't afraid of wandering. nearly all the bus drivers in the area and its local beyond knew her by now for two reasons. one, it was hard to forget a girl like pris who dressed as eccentrically as she did and behaved as oddly as she did, and two...she was a girl who didn't like being alone when things were still and quiet very much at all, because that's when stuff tended to happen. so whenever her brother went to work - and his night shift started at ten at night - pris was usually on a bus shortly after, using her pass to go from bus to bus until something she saw out the window compelled her to get off and wander around. horse tracks, malls, cemeteries, churches, 'that side' of town...anything could catch pris' interest, just about anything. it all depended on what kind of mood she was in at the time.

but for her journey today there would be no bus. she'd just finished her lunch with doctor donnie duck and he had to go to work at the clinic. even though he'd invited her along, she decided there was something else she had to do first. so she told him she'd be at the inn when he got home - if her brother would let her sleep over one more night, that is. so while donnie was at work pris had a mission. he'd said the night before that he wanted her to draw him a new picture for his wall, she hadn't forgotten that. so she was going to go exploring, and see if she could find something interesting to draw.

on her way out of the inn she stopped at the bar to order a loaf of bread. she had to find her way back somehow, and that's what the children did in that one fairy tale, and it seemed to work out okay for them. with her loaf of stale bread pris went out the back door, looked around, and chose a path. as she was walking, she kept looking back over her shoulder at the inn. since she didn't know how far she was going to end up walking, she didn't want to start using her bread until the building was nearly out of sight. that way, she'd have more bread to use if she went really far.

now. she turned around to face the inn, peering at it nice and hard. she wanted to remember it. while she was staring at it - well, technically her eyes darted away every few seconds or so before looking back to the inn because pris couldn't really stare at things without her vision doing its odd tricks - she called her brother. and had a talk with him. where she used tactics. sweetness, pouting, pleading, whining, guilt, all of them were part of the conversation with dominic until he caved to the whims of his baby half-sister and agreed that she could stay at the inn another night, but just because tomorrow wasn't a school day.

once she hung up her phone and slipped it into her big black leather shoulder bag, she pulled off one of the pieces of bread and dropped it at her feet. "stay there," she said to the bread, "i'm going on a trip and you're my return flight so don't cancel yourself even if there's bad weather..." to pris, telling the bread that made complete sense. surely it made sense to the bread too, because pris watched it closely and it didn't budge an inch, even when the wind picked up and blew past them angry and cold. satisfied, pris continued on.

the sweet sixteen year old was not hard to spot. even though she didn't have one of her wigs on today, she'd twisted her mostly ash brown hair into little curly q's which she fastened all over her head with mismatching clips, but left all the bleach blonde strands hanging down and long, including the strands that framed her face. she wore a dress that looked like a tie-dye inkblot, which reached to her knees and she had a petticoat underneath it so it belled out nice and puffy. she wore her white apron over it, smudged with all sort of colors from her artmaking, and her patchwork coat over top of that even though she didn't bother to zip it. the coat was a nonsense coat, pris sewing little bits of fabric scraps onto it over time, many of which clashed with each other. she was still wearing her pink and black stripped tights, and because she didn't have any other shoes with her she wore her yellow go-go boots from yesterday.

she walked a long time, a very long time. and she'd certainly went off the beaten path, because things were quiet. there wasn't really anything or anyone around, and that was part of the problem. pris' deep green eyes were darting here there and everywhere, looking for something anything that would make a good portrait that she could draw for donnie duck's wall at the inn. when pris had only about a rock sized amount of bread left in her hand she slowed, wondering if she should just turn around and head back the way she came. "hm. hm. hm-hm-hm-hm, hmm hmmmmm."

the thoughtful sound she made to herself evolved into one of her strange, dissonant humming sessions. pris twirled in time to her humming, and that's when she spotted it. something she'd never ever seen before. an entrance to a cave. "oh," she said to herself, with a bit of surprise. "oh. oh. oh." those three were whispered, as if the dark mouth of the cave told her that the proper way to act around it was to be quiet and mysterious.

"you're it," she whispered to the mouth of the cave as she crept closer, "you're it it it. stay still for your portrait. i have to pastel you for doctor donnie duck."

[B.D. Adams]

Everything had a scent. It was that one indistinguishable part that made up a substance and gave away so many qualities, whether it was emotions or a temporary state of being. For those who had superior senses, and knew how to utilize them to cancel out the unwanted for the good, the scent of things could be euphoric. Of all the scents there was nothing more pleasing to him than that of innocence.

It was always amazing, the actions of these creatures. Some of them were bold and brash, others ditsy and irrational, and there were even those who pretended not to be as innocent as they were. Untouched and full of potential, for him the innocents were ripe; and there was nothing like it.

He smelled the scent of an innocent.

Out of all the caves in the Eastern Forest, Pris happened to point out the very one he had taken as a retreat. Perhaps that is why she had chosen that particular cave, because it was alive and it spoke of things that were happening within. Deep within, out of sight from the passing eye and out of hearing range for any but those with the heightened sense, a man of good frame clung to the cave wall and was working with a pick-axe. It was during this process of excavation that the scent of the innocent hit his nose. There had not been anyone around the caves for miles when he arrived, but that had been hours ago and things had a way of changing. Young and vibrant, the scent grew stronger and soon became visualization. It was a female; she was alone. Best of all – there was no trace of confusion that often came when a person was lost.

This was worth checking out.

The pick-axe was returned to the loop on the left side of his belt before he placed that hand on the small ledge in front of him. A quick upward pull and a push of his legs, he let go of the rock to drop the ten feet to the ground. Dust fanned upwards as he landed, knees bent and on the balls of his feet to absorb the impact. The scent was still there, and it was close.

The folds of his dark jeans, now brushed with dust, smoothed out when he stood to his full height and he headed to the mouth of the cave. His supplies rested at the inside fold of the cave and he spared a moment to pick up his white tank top and wipe the sweat from off his face and pop the top off of his water bottle. The drink was cool and refreshing but that is not what he needed to quench the thirst that the scent had sparked. Setting the bottle down he stretched the top over his head and over his toned torso.

A step or two more brought him to the mouth of the cave and, if she were looking closely, she would catch a glimpse a dark skinned man, dressed in dark jeans and a white tank top, climbing boots, and a pick-axe watching her from within the darkness.

This was not where he stayed – what would be the point – but he stepped out from the cave and started towards her. His walk was not rushed; neither did it hold any need to hurry. What it did posses was the natural sway and gait of a predator who saw something it wanted. His eyes stayed always upon her, though he did manage the smallest of smiles upon his lips. Even with that, his overall feel was not one that most would deem friendly.

The young girl, for indeed she was young, was an artist of some sort by the looks of the pastels and papers in her possession. Creative types were always the best for they had unique energies. Not a word was spoken from him until he was near enough to see what she may have put on her paper.

He studied her for a moment more and when he spoke his voice was deep. “Hello, Lovely.” His head turned slightly to the side, a hunger rested behind his black eyes as he looked at her. “Don’t you look scrumptious.”

The scent was even better up close and now, that he had allowed it to fill him, he was not going to forget her any time soon.

[Guest]

][ still invite only until further notice! =D ][

ching. ching. ching. the sound of benjamin's pick axe working inside the cave was distant, but audible. the first time she heard the sound she started back, as if the tip of her nose had been burnt by an invisible cinder from an even more invisible fire. but a sound-cinder was nothing when you were pris. if anything, it made the dark of the cave even more interesting. she wondered if you could chitter back to it, like you could with squirrels, cats, mice and any other small animal who seemed to enjoy a nice conversation in their own language...even if you couldn't speak it well and had no idea what you were actually saying.

"ching. ching. ching." pris said back to the cave. she sounded like a clock almost, chiming an unknown hour as she talked to the mouth of the cavern. when it said nothing back to her but its same sound, she decided to change her tactic. "ching-ch-ch-ch-ch-cha-ching-ga-ching?" those nonsense sounds burst quickly from her lips in an urgent stage whisper. and just when she said such to the mouth of the cavern, that's when the sound of metal to rock ceased entirely - the moment that benjamin had picked up her scent and stopped his axing, no doubt.

pris straightened up, her head canting to the side slowly as she regarded the now silent cave opening. perhaps, she thought to herself, it would be best to switch to a language she knew better. her green eyes darted here and there and here over the dark entrance, careful not to fix on any one point yet. she would save that for when she was drawing. "oh don't be like that it's only a portrait, it's not as if i have a camera, it's cameras that steal souls or that's what the feathered people used to say back home....well not back home now, back home before the old men with the powered white hair beat the feathered people silly until they moved to different land." a pause. maybe she thought the silence from the cave was an unspoken 'huh?' because she added with a shrug, "well that's what my teacher said. look i'll just show you my sketchbook and you'll see there's nothing to worry about..."

it was when she was searching through her big black shoulder bag that benjamin came to the mouth of the cave. her head was still bent even when he started walking towards her, pris humming to herself one of her usual nearly atonal melodies as she flipped through the sketch pad trying to figure out which drawings were best to show to the cave. as benjamin came closer the first thing he might notice is her medium was oil pastels - which certainly explained the smudges all over the apron, she wiped fingers on it all the time. the second thing he'd probably notice was her color palette. all of her colors were very rich, deep, saturated tones. the style varied from drawing to drawing, depending on how lucid her sense of sight was when she was doing what she thought was a straight portrait, and what everyone else realized what anything but.

the sketch she decided to show the cave was done in a mosaic style, very complicated to do in oil pastel in a technique clear enough that you could make out the subject and details. but this chemically off little savant had executed the technique flawlessly, and the subject of the portrait was clear. a man. who had a heart that bloomed out of his chest like a rich red flower with tons of petals. but the man who was holding his arms up towards his chest clearly had no hands. it was a drawing of her therapist. who'd gotten really, really angry when she showed him the portrait. it was the only time he'd yelled.

she was all ready to speak when the cave spoke first. at least she thought it was the cave, in that initial moment, before her deep green eyes locked on benjamin. "oh," pris said with that dreamy sort of surprise she managed. she was still stage whispering, too. her eyes didn't stay in one spot as she looked at him, glancing to look at eyes to mouth to shoulders to wherever on him and back again. she never kept her eyes in one place for long. unless she was doing a portrait.

"oh," she said again. dropping her sketch book to her side as those eyes darted to look between him and the cave opening. "ching-a-chiiiiii-ng?" that was said to the cave opening, of course. when all it gave her back was silence, she knitted her brows and looked back to benjamin. "man of the cave? we learned about those too.....i tried to make a diorama about it for homework, but all my grass died."

what grass had to do with the unit at school on nomadic people, who knows. at the very least, hopefully benjamin would see that nothing in her tone and posture was trying to insult him by calling him 'man of the cave'. he'd just emerged from a cave, after all, so it was completely logical to her.

as logical as someone like pris could be, that is!

[B.D. Adams]

It was all so very lovely, even the way she spoke for it told of her innocence about things. People like her were hard to find, so often were they pushed aside by society or kept under wraps from people not wanting to deal with them. Sometimes they were even infused with chemical mixtures in order to make them socially acceptable. No, not this one. He didn't smell any such substance on her. This patch worked girl was pure.

When she spoke, his smile broadened but it was not one that reached his eyes. Very few smiles ever did that for him but that did not mean his smile was not a pleased one. He displayed a set of pristine white teeth with no trace of his inward bestial natural. He was simply a man, even if a hungry one with a myriad of hidden agendas.

She had called him 'man of the cave', indeed he had just emerged from the grotto and thus the title was correct. Over the years he had made acquaintances with a few people like her, and they made a lot of sense when the time was taken to actually listen to the things they said.

Benjamin listened. He had spent many years listening to the subtlety of people’s words, even if he did not act on what was said.

Her eyes may have shot all over him, but his stayed focused on her face. Clearly he was studying her; perhaps that is why her eyes darted so much. Then again, she did not appear uncomfortable.

The painting had fallen and after she finished speaking her took his eyes from her and looked at the fallen art. Bending at the knees he reached down to take the picture, now that he had it in his possession he could look at it better. Interesting art. If he was any judge of art – and he wasn’t – he would say that the picture was of someone who had a good heart. Or even of a person who she held in high regard.

With the picture in hand Benjamin made a forward movement, right knee pressing upon the ground as the left foot planted itself firmly on the ground. He had moved closer to her, almost in a lean. Now, he was closer to her level and taking in more of her field of view. He liked to have the attention of the people he held in conversation. Of course, she could still look away from him only it would require turning her head or moving back.

“Earth child, you are all alone out here.” Benjamin slowly tipped his head upwards as he spoke and breathed in deeply. Hers was the only scent he had caught in the near vicinity, but he had to make sure. “What is a delicious thing, like yourself, doing out here all alone and in the cold?” His question was soft, his words holding an alluring edge.

He set the book back upon the ground, picture side up so it would not face ruin by the grass. Benjamin shifted again. This time the left knee came down to press against the ground as the right knee rose and its foot became planted in the ground. Closer to her still, it was not a bother to him.

Benjamin was looking at her full on once again. “I am warm,” here he gave the slightest of pauses as his left hand rose from his side and he held it palm out towards her. His looked like any other hand, but there was energy moving between the fingertips that were invisible to the naked eye. While it could not be seen, if she had the ability to feel she could feel slight warmth from his fingers, like a person with warm hands. “Allow me to help stave off the chill of the day.”

[Guest]

wasn't it a very ironic thing, that when it came to chemical substances adults wagged their fingers at most children and sternly said 'just say no', but when it came to pris those same adults wagged their fingers at her and said, 'just say yes'? and on both occasions it was about the very same thing - keeping the status quo. which for 'normal' children meant the best thing was keeping them away from substances, but for 'abnormal' pris it would have meant the best thing was drowning her in them.

except for her single savior - that strange savant-quality talent that kept her from getting chemically touched. so yes, pris in that way was pure.

it was funny. she wasn't looking at benjamin for more than a few seconds at a time but she knew just when he looked down at her sketchbook. her attention snapped to it as well, with a focus you might not expect from her. pris watched the journey of the sketchbook as he picked it up, her eyes resting on the portrait of her therapist longer than her gaze had on anything else thus far. she now had three focal points her eyes were trading between - the sketchbook, benjamin, and the mouth of the cave that she now had to turn her head to see clearly. "ching ching-a-ching," she said softly to herself, a reminder that the cave when she first got here had been talkative and had since fallen silent.

but why? pris' odd little mind had just enough time to ask her that very good question before benjamin spoke again. what he said and the question on repeat in her mind melded together, affecting what she replied. and his tone affected how she replied, her own voice soft and trying to tickle his ear back. a storytelling tone. "no, no no not alone, not here, the cave's here and it was just going ching-a-ching until i asked if i could do its portrait and then it stopped, but i have to do a portrait for doctor donnie duck because his inn walls are bare and he doesn't think they'll let me paint them...."

when she said the word 'inn', pris' gaze and the point of one of her index fingers indicated the ground at her feet, to draw attention to the rock-sized piece of bread there which started the bread crumb trail back to the tel'ranaemyn inn. the direction the trail traced would be familiar to benjamin, maybe? and there went the babbling priscilla taking a few steps away from the kneeling benjamin, as her finger continued indicate the path of the bread. it was a good thing he spoke to her again so soon, because if she'd had a chance to fixate on following those bread crumbs....down her path gretel would have gone.

each sentence someone spoke to pris put her mind on a new course. too often people didn't learn that, so when they asked her three or four questions at once, they were left wondering why she only ever answered one or two of them. benjamin's "warmth" turned her away from the bread trail to face him, only two or so feet away. her finger was still extended, now pointing at him, as she briefly gazed at him with curiosity. between her pointing hand and his extended one there was only a precious inch or two of space between. they were so close to touching, was she was going to take his hand?

no. for her gaze and finger dropped lower, and he'd realize it wasn't him she was pointing at. it was her sketchbook. "oh no, no no see that there for that i need these, both of these," pris shifted her arms so that she could watch her own fingers wiggling as she talked about them, like she was playing the keys on an imaginary piano. if there was one thing she was watchful over it was her hands. precious. "they're art-making fingers, portrait creating fingers, and that's why i'm here to portrait the ching-a-ching cave, and you can't even wear gloves when you need your art-making fingers. they get in the way, gloves don't like cooperate as well as fingers so they get into arguments with each other, and then your portrait's not telling the truth anymore it's telling a lie, an argument lie."

pris' gaze shifted. she looked him the eyes long enough to say, in a tone that was even closer mimic than before of the tone he was using on her, "a portrait's no good if it lies. lovely." then, as pris bent down to pick up her sketchbook from the ground her eyes darted away, to consider the mouth of the cave once more.

[B.D. Adams]

It was never that easy, getting the things that he wanted, and when it was he lost interest. What good was easy prey? It provided no fun for the hunter and robbed him of any opportunity to advance skill sets. Easy prey can be found anywhere.

This girl, this earth child, was not easy prey and there were many opportunities to be had. She was not one that he would give up easily, even if he left this meeting empty-handed.

Once he had his position if it were not for the very slow, almost indiscernible, rise and fall of his chest from breathing it could be argued that the man was a statue. Perfectly still, a carving made from that cave and placed outside was he. Listening was not the only skill needed by a predator, patience was essential and definably more than a virtue. His patience was near impeccable. Honed and refined over hundreds of years, this man could wait years to achieve his desired result.

He waited with his hand outstretched and watched her finger draw near. Watching her as she watched him he maintained his statue-esque position.

There was no disappointment in his features, no inward sigh or breath of air passed by his lips as the girl lowered her finger to point to the sketchbook he had dropped. As she began to speak of her art project and about the cave his own hand began to draw back to its place at his side. The movement was very smooth and fluid, like water running. There was something he picked up in her voice as she spoke, it was small but it was there.

She mimicked. Perhaps she was a mimic, a copy-cat in the raw sense of the term. He wondered what else she could copy, the thought of her growing ever sweeter to his taste. Could it get any better?

The cave had spoken to her, she said, and sudden became shy. That made him smile. The pick-axe still rested at his side though had been hidden when he adopted the kneeled position from his arm being in the way. The speaking she thought she had heard was merely him, chipping away at the walls. He was not going to tell her that fact. His arm now pulled back from his leg and the head of the tool was revealed, a matte silver that could never reflect light even if were directly in sunlights path.

His fingers curled around the tip of the pick-axe and with a singular action he pulled it from the loop. A fraction of a second the tool left his hand and was suspended in the air until his fingers were upon the wooden handle. "If you want something to talk to you, earth child, you must know its language."

Now did his eyes leave her to slide to the tool he held. "I can speak its language," came the smooth tones of his voice. Pressure placed upon his feet he began to stand, his eyes back upon her, the hand with the tool sinking down to his side. "You have the words, 'ching a-ching ching'?" At any other time he may have laughed at himself for using such simple words.

"Now you need the tool." Stepping back with his left, then his right, he always sought to keep the distance between them to a minimal. Reaching distance. "I can show you how to talk to the cave," free hand rose and stretched out toward her side, in the area of her right shoulder. While he spoke, he maintained general eye contact given that her eyes darted every which way.

When his hand passed the area of her shoulder it looked as simple as a sweeping motion, that he was ushering her forward. However, in the space and seconds that it took for the action to be completed she was subject to a single thought: "Come." A brush against the mind so faint it could have been imagined.

The same word was echoed aloud and while it still held all the grace and subtly of his other words, this one word possessed something feral. A command wrapped in a friendly smile. "Come."

[Guest]

they were both kneeling on the grass now. because of that closeness, the fact that the taller he and the shorter she were now pretty much the same level, his actions would speak louder to pris' attention than any of his words. with a gaze that was never still unless she was transfixed on something, pris was hyper aware of movements no matter how tiny. the heightened sensitivity was akin to a frantic squirrel, though none her life so far had made that connection - or if they had, they certainly hadn't had the gall to vocalize it to her!

so just as kneeling pris clutched her sketchbook to her chest, out of the eye-corner she saw silver. focus shifted eager as a cat's pounce to look at the revealed pick axe. slightly, slowly, as she stared at it her head tilted a little to one side. pris' expressions, most often colored with a dreamy or detached distance, were always a challenge to read. it would be hard to tell from her expression alone if she had ever seen a tool like that axe before. it was her words, spoken under his in a soft mumble, that would tip him off. "tip tip two tips for the toothpick, a big pick, pick the biggest tooth to keep it from decay when the cherry pits are stuck..."

one of her nonsense answers, murmured when her mind asked a question she had no answer for. her compulsions weren't picky - so long as she answered it in some way, even if it the words when added up together were untrue, she wouldn't fixate. but even when she spoke at the same time as a person speaking, she still heard their words. it was why her nonsense answer to herself slid straight into a half-echo of his words peppered with her reply. "...stuck to speak, speak-stuck, hm. hm. hmmmm..." that sound drew out into a sing-song, dreamy and lyrical with her gaze still on the precious pick.

until he moved. then the staring spell was broken. "ching a-ching ching?" was echoed as the focus shattered. green eyes going back to darting here there and everywhere, just because to her mind the act of benjamin standing entirely changed the world. which made sense, in an eccentric way. the oddities of her mind manifested in artistic talent for that reason - the way it had come to process the orientation of objects in space. now pris was standing up too, still hugging the sketchbook as he continued to speak. to priscilla his energy was smooth like a river. smoooooth, yes that's exactly what the quality of her blending would be if she ever did a portrait of him.

so far, at least. who knows how actually staring at him would change everything. but that has yet to happen.

for now, smoooooth. that feeling that her mind told her surrounded them here in the middle of nowhere was bleeding into the girl once she stood - posture relaxed, her weight sank down to a lax shift to one hip and a bend of knee. her expression mellowed from distant to more dreamlike. even the pace of her darting eyes slowed, changing their focus regularly but not quite so often.

in this state of smoooooth when "come" pressed into her mind it translated as "flow". glide...like a river. it was why her hips wagged in a languid sway, from one hip to the other and back again when he made of movement with his hand over her shoulder. like everything was a dance. like benjamin was making music that had no sound. come (flow), come (flow), said her mind as the next wag of her hips included a forward-moving, flowing dance step. a second step followed, and a third would have if only she hadn't swung her arms out.

because when she did add her arms to the dance? snap went her focus to the sketchbook in her hand. it reminded her of her task as strong as the smack of a metal mallet on rock. "the portrait," were her next words. "for my darling duckie doctor donald, he has bare walls and i need to save him even if the cave is shy."

plop was the sound of pris' backside kissing the cold ground, the girl settling into a familiar indian style so she could place her sketchbook on her lap and sink her one hand deep into her apron pocket where her oil pastels were, while her other hand flipped pages to a clean one. eyes set with a determined focus on the dark mouth of the cave, and just like when the pick axe was first revealed those emerald eyes didn't wander this time.

but benjamin didn't need to worry. she was still very aware that he was there. pris didn't bother to look down as she started her art. and she addressed him as the first pastel hit the page, a smoooooth tone speaking her simplest sentence to him yet. "you can watch."

that's right! ben had just been granted permission.

[B.D. Adams]

The oddity of the situation was that, when Pris prattled off her string of ‘nonsense words’ when the pick was revealed, Benjamin understood. It is true that everything is open to interpretation, and he had his own. “tip tip two tips for the toothpick, a big pick…” She was referring to the pickaxe: a toothpick with a double head tip. “pick the biggest tooth to keep it from decay when the cherry pits are stuck...” That spoke of the cave. Picking the coal and treasures from the cave to keep it healthy. Sometimes mountains had to be chipped, parts of it taken down in order to keep it from falling apart and damaging the good things down below.

It may have been a nonsense answer to her mind, but often time the words spoken in confusion can be the truest ones. They can even make sense. If he made sense of her nonsense, then what did that say about him? One thing it did tell him was that somewhere in her mind she had an understanding.

He enjoyed the way her body moved. Normal men watched women with a sexual eye, thinking on how they would look in one position or another. Benjamin was a man, but his focus on watching movements was different. As a predator, studying the way a person moved conveyed many things that were taking place in their mind, and emotions. It was as the old saying goes: Actions speak louder than words. Pris had displayed a lot of actions during their brief interactions, but one particular action spoke very loudly to him and that was the attention she put on the sketchbook.

It had to be special to her, either for the picture she drew of the man, or that the man had given her a task to do with said book. This man could be the key.

Had he expected her to follow him blindly when all he had done was brush a suggestion across her mind? No. She wasn’t so simple minded as that. He would have been slightly disappointed otherwise. It would take more than a passing thought to get through to her. Therefore, when she stopped her forward movement and had planted herself on the ground, his lips once again curled into a smile. “I have known the cave to be shy,” he stated, his eyes moving from the direction of the cave and back to her. He could wait. He had her scent, and he knew the place she liked to visit.

Wait, what was this? He could watch? Perhaps he wouldn’t have to wait. Focused on the cave, she might have missed the devilish smile that took over his face. He had just been invited into her company, how perfectly delightful.

The pickaxe was still in his hand as Benjamin took a step off to the side, he wanted to give her as clear a view of the cave as needed. He stepped backwards, once twice, moving off to her side then back slightly move. Essentially now, he was looking over her shoulder while watching as she put colors she put upon the paper. This was a new view he had of her, from the back. It was not too different aside from the fact that he couldn’t see her face or her eyes. At the same time, unless she turned her head, she couldn’t see him either.

Slowly Benjamin eased down on the balls of his feet, dropping low, but staying high enough to continue looking over her shoulder. She had invited him to watch her work, and that was one thing he intended to do – even if it would only be for a short time. His position made him close, careful of the outward flare of her log patchwork coat so his feet were not on it, and close enough to be in her personal space. Just as before.

The fingers of his free hand flexed and rose up to the level of his knee. When he spoke again his words had the alluring tone. “Thank you for letting me watch,” words were just as smooth with their hypnotic tone. “It’s very admirable that you want to save the doctor.”

Benjamin’s hand rising once again, almost in slow motion as his hand stretched out to her back. He wasn’t touching her. Yet. There was no rush. Let her compose some of her picture. “But tell me, my most scrumptious earth child.” His fingers were widespread, the hand inches away from her coat. If she but turned or moved back more than a few inches, contact would be made. Clothing or no, it made no difference for what he would do. All could be done just as easily.

“Who is going to save you?”

[The Odinson]

Stand back everyone; Nothing here to see, just imminent danger and in the middle of it...

"Me..."

The single word Booming from the Thunderer's lips, The great Hammer Mjolnir was already in flight by that point, and its current path found it a split second later impeded within the ground next to Benjamin followed by the massive god himself, drifting carefully to the ground, the god drifted upright so the landing was taken easily with a step forth towards the pair standing before the mystic caves.

Near seven feet tall and built as a refridgerator Thor was a rather imposing man. Arms and legs covered in layered steel scales. covering his chest as well though over his chest was a wraparound tunic, close with two large stone buckles. The cape draped over his shoulders clasped with matching stone clasps.

Long Golden hair rustled in the growing winds, though it was mostly hidden underneath a winged silvered helmet, which can be seen as having its share of battle scars.

"Think not on placing thy vile grasp upon the child of Midgard... Lest you seek to incur the wrath of Asgard."Simple words spoken, seldom a man of many words, unless he deemed one worthy of such graces. voice carried not magic power, simply a powerful tone, command carried with it. As if nothing could waiver this mans resolve.

A massive hand rose from his side, the hammer in the ground leaping from its place the large stone hammer taking its place in his hand before said hand was once again lowered. The winds now bringing the rumbling of thunder along with it. was he attempting to be threatening? Well of course he was.

[Guest]

save the doctor, her mind echoed benjamin who had echoed those words she'd said to him. the words stayed in the very center of her mind as her eyes kept their rapt attention on the mouth of the cave. when her gaze didn't even shift for a second, did pris know that benjamin had settled so close to her? nothing indicated that she did, and only the tone of her voice and its deepening level of mimicry would suggest she knew he was still there. save the doctor, save the doctor, save the doctor from white walls, save "the doctor white walls tell white lies white lies tell black secrets, mix white lies and black secrets and the world turns grey, grey is the world with no colors and the mouth of this cave is dark like a secret it needs color to save - "

boom.

everything that was before the god's arrival was shattered. the rapid streak and smudge rhythm that she'd established to the point where the watching benjamin could already spy the start of an otherworldly but recognizable representation of the cave suddenly ceased. the breathy, almost hummed transcript of the thoughts bubbling within her warped mind that she'd been speaking underneath the hypnotic question benjamin posed to her abruptly silenced. and maybe most lamentable for him was that just when she'd started to move - an encore of that side to side dance-like sway she'd done before when he'd said 'come' - her body was seized with stillness because of the single word.

boom.

that wasn't what the god said when he entered the scene but that was all priscilla heard. to the point where the strange girl dropped all the pastels in her hands to clap her hands over her ears as her face screwed up into a grimace suggesting distress. her handful of oil pastels littered the winter grass, but that was the only repercussion of pris' movements. for she had the very lucky luck of hunching forward away from ben's hand as she covered her ears, rather than leaning backward into his hopeful reach. so for now, from benjamin, in that little moment pris was 'safe'.

but to her, the situation was suddenly anything but safe. which was very ironic - this whole time she'd felt no danger with the man who sought to put her in danger, and now priscilla's mind was warping from the frenzy and panic because of the arrival of a god who came to keep her from danger.

boom.

she knew that boom. when the god spoke her mind flooded. it was the painting she'd made on doctor blake's wall in his office at his clinic. except now, trapped by the will of her mind, she wasn't seeing a painting on a wall. she was in the painting. they all were. a land were two hands burst from the rock of mountains, arms stretched out and trying to escape. a place where the two clouds in the sky were eyes glaring down at the ground. where the bush and tree were each an ear, where the roots in the ground were a made of a man's legs and the feet rooted in deeper than one could even imagine the ground could go. a land where she could see her precious doctor duck missing all those arms, legs, feet, eyes and ears. because they all belonged to someone else who'd taken them from him, leaving him nothing but a half-finished shell used by the god who went

boom.

when priscilla grace ganesvoort painted these portraits there was always a detachment from what she saw. to her twisted senses the world was just a world full of portraits to her when she stared at or even interacted with things-people-places. but now with her mind stuck in this panic-mode episode thanks to the boom she could feel constantly coming from the god, there was no detachment at all. it was a horrifying picture to live in. her precious darling donald duck doctor ripped apart for this hammering man to come out. and all she could see was what was left of donald's body in her mind. even when pris forced her eyes open while the god continued to speak the picture was still there.

boom.

while the thunder rumbled, it was the picture of doctor duck which wouldn't go away that made her shriek like an animal in pain as she lurched forward suddenly away from both of them, scrambling to take refuge inside of the cave.

[B.D. Adams]

It just keeps getting better. Everything was going smoothly, he and the earth child were having a good -if not somewhat nonsense - conversation about a cave, and he thought that she was somewhat comfortable with him. Why? She had invited him to watch her work.

True, he had engaged in conversation with her with malicious intent, and also true that he had had a perfect opportunity to strike when her back was turned to him. But he had been interrupted and this particular interruption had sent his prey running. Benjamin didn't like interruptions. This is situation needed to be handled with care. If he wanted another opportunity to capture what he wanted, he had to put on the role of the 'good guy.'

Benjamin could often tell when a person was coming, the scents and feel in the air always worked to his advantage. Though this . . .man, had appeared out of nowhere, striking the ground next to Benjamin with a large hammer. The way this guy had of appearing was almost as good as his own. Wait? Was that Thor? He surprised himself by even knowing the name of the large man who stood before him.

Years ago he had meandered into a bookstore and into the comic book section. It was there that he first saw the ink and color representation of the Norse god and was surprised, he had never seen anyone put a god in a comic before then. With that in mind, imagine the thoughts that went through his head at seeing this particular character in the flesh. Nevertheless, this was Rhy'din and stranger things have happened.

None of the shock registered on his face as he listened to what was said, he reached out and picked up one or two of the dropped pastels before slowly moving to stand on his own feet. Pris forgotten for the moment. The onset of the wind cooled off any trace of moisture that may have been left due to his excavation in the cave, and he looked the large man dead on, both of his hands flexed at his sides, and he made sure to keep hold on the pastels. "Thor." The name was almost growled, and anyone looking could see the blades he was staring with his eyes.

Thor towered over Benjamin in both height and girth, but that did not mean that he was going to back down. He may have been there to save the innocent earth child from the big bad wolf, but Benjamin felt a massive wave of fear spring from the girl, followed by her shriek. Next he knew, she was running to the cave.

The cave. She must not go into that cave, for if she did . . . But how to stop her when Thor was standing in his path. Better yet, how to stop Pris and not frighten her more in the process. There wasn't much time to spare, she may be a fast runner and he wanted to reach her before she even reached the lip of the cave.

"She got away." In low guttural tones he stated the obvious to the god who stood before him. If all Thor had wanted to do was stop him from claiming Pris, then task accomplished, for his sights were now on something else. "She mustn't enter the cave."

Hardened, dead-set eyes were set upon the god, then the next instant he was gone. Where did he go, where else to the mouth of the cave. Benjamin stood there, arms down and looking at the frightened girl who was running. "Stop," he spoke though it was not said very loud, simply in conversational tone. Seeking to influence the frantic mind of someone he was not connected to was not an easy thing for him to accomplish when there was no physical contact. If time were spent perfecting this particular ability it could be honed, but right now it was more hit and miss. If she was calm like before it would have a higher chance of success.

"Stop." He said once again, sending that thought to her mind. He had been able to brush a thought against her mind before, though the instance was different, she was calm then. Perhaps it would find footing somewhere in her panic, or perhaps she would simply run into him as he was standing at the caves entrance. Benjamin was braced for impact if that was the case. "Stop."

Or, just maybe, Thor would once again intervene.

[DrDonaldBlake]

When she turned and left, maybe Thor was hurt a little on the inside. someone he'd come to protect simply running from him. Maybe it did, but the Gods did not show such things when in the presence of others. and as such, all he did was raise his hand to the sky, and brought forth a bolt of lightning.

A second after the bolt of lightning hit the large hammer, it fell to the ground as not but a stick, though it was a stick, that no man aside from the good doctor blake himself could even move from its place on the ground.

Dust clouded the gods form, or what was the Gods form. No longer was he in the presence of a god, Benjamen could probably feel that in the decline of power. From the dust however darted a much smaller,but by no means weak looking young man. running towards the girl, favoring his right leg in the strides."Pris! Pris!" shouted after her as he neared her. sliding arms around her waist and pulling her back, tilting his head against hers- Pris... pris its Donnie Duck, Donnie duck is here... he's here to save you." whispered into her ear, before turning her body so that she could see him,a and that he was perfectly well.

Ben, he was ignored right now. the wolf wasn't the reason doctor blake was here. the doctors eyes watching the girl with earnest."See Pris... Doctor Donnie duck..."

[Guest]

the moral of today's story seemed to be that she was a very lucky girl, and that things lucky or otherwise really did happen in threes. for pris was about to have her third strike of lucky luck all the palm of one afternoon. but not just yet. before the lucky luck some unlucky things had to happen first.

this was the first time pris' mind had ever went into shock to the point where the sensory overload got her 'trapped' in one of her own paintings. it was a powerful hallucination that was far too real for her and that she had no idea how to stop. and it kept being real because when she looked to the hammering man he made it real all over again before it got the chance to start to fade away. there was a very simple reason for that:

pris was human as any human could be, with no incredible mutations or abilities or powers that could help save her from big bad wolves. but because of the imbalance of the chemicals in her brain - that mild strain of schizophrenia - she did have one extraordinary talent that made her art so singular and great. she could see people - all of them. the reason that priscilla's eyes never stayed in one place was because when she stared, her vision went beyond the flesh and arms and legs and eyes and all of those tangible things, and it opened up the intangible things. like her therapist whose vulnerable heart bloomed out of his chest like a flower, like her lost english tutor who was drowning in a rain of gin and money and had nothing inside his chest cavity, like donnie duck's portrait of the hammer man stealing all of him to get free.

what everyone called surreal art was what priscilla grace ganesvoort saw with her very own eyes when she stared.

so poor soul-scarred thor should think twice about how he enters a scene in the future if he doesn't want to get his feelings hurt, because the shock of his voice, his thunder and just his existence was keeping pris trapped in her own mind right now. a glance over her shoulder to see if he was still there was all it took to make a second shriek fly from her lips as she scrambled up to standing. when she did that, yes, she was running rather fast towards the mouth of the mysterious cave. that cave had spoken nice things to her earlier, so right now to her it was the only thing that was safe. even though to her warped eyes it was dripping with runny paint that looked like weeping, it was safe.

until benjamin was standing there. his sudden appearance in front of the cave was just as bad as thor's surprises. poof!, her mind said. poof, like magic tricks. tricks aren't nice safe things. poof and boom, and right now she didn't like either one of them. but even though she didn't like poof, he was her third stroke of lucky luck today because he kept her from going inside that cave. mostly.

"no!" she spat that reply to benjamin's first stop, mad as a kitten as she skidded on the snow dusted grass, trying to pick a path where she'd be able to squeeze by him like a mouse through a hole in the wall. but she was hesitating now in her forward stampede. "you're poofing he's booming stop!" a panicked echo from pris after she heard benjamin's command in her mind with a clang. her body twisted with indecision, jerking awkwardly between the choices of playing mouse and running past benjamin, falling to the ground, or running in a new direction. pris' hands clutched her head, and she yelled right in time with benjamin's last command, "sto-o-o-o-op!" she was trying to drown him out. or maybe everything out. at this point, it was probably everything.

screaming like that, did she hear donnie duck yelling her name? no. but neither she nor her body could make its fight or flight decision still, so pris' staggering steps were much easier to catch up with than her sprinting would have been. so donald caught her, he did. at first when she felt someone touching her she lashed out, hands swatting. but when he whispered, and when he turned her, it was like the answer to a riddle that broke an ancient spell. the painting world shattered because the painting world wasn't real anymore. holding her wasn't the hammer man, it was him.

her most precious doctor donald blake. the formerly swatting pris was now clinging on him for dear life, babbling in earnest whispers and looking near to tears, "he had you he had you the man that goes boom and then the man of the cave went poof and they were caving me in and you were gone you were just a blank face with no arms or eyes or ears or anything torso you were just torso with half legs. . ."

but really, there was a fourth strike of lucky luck - that pris' didn't see benjamin when her eyes went warped. that lucky luck was probably for the benefit of all three of them.

[B.D. Adams]

The main of his focus was on Pris as she ran at a dead set in his direction. With focus concentration he was breaking through to her on some level, even if was only surface. How did he know this? Her response. Even through her scared state of mind she had been able to hear him and even try to fight back. Needless to say he was impressed; on another occasion he would have to analyze her more carefully. He never wrote anyone off as plain, not even the very mundane of people. Everyone had something to offer.

His command was working; the earth child was slowing down. If he had that type of influence on her now . . . what if he put more force and effort into it?

Then something happened that he wasn’t quite expecting – there was a tremendous drain of power in the air and a for a quick moment Benjamin’s focus was taken off to Pris and re-directed to Thor. Obviously one of the things he had not remembered the comics had been that this god had another form, a secret identity that turned him into an entirely new person. A mortal man. Still. That this man was the vessel of a god was worth investigation. After the transformation from a god to a mortal man, would he remember what had been happening only moments before?

This was the man in her sketchbook, the one she had called Donnie Duck, and the man she had been so intent on saving from blank walls that his earlier suggestion to her never had a chance to fully absorb. Even if his name was a nickname, Benjamin had caught his scent and would know him.

Attention went back to Pris and then she was echoing his command again. Before she was able to reach the cave the Doctor had saved her. Benjamin let out the smallest sigh of relief, or was it disappointment? He had her now and that was probably for the best – for now.

He watched them for a moment or two, knowing that his time would come later. In his hand he still held on to the few pastels of hers that she had dropped on the ground. The ‘feel’ of her was on them and it could be useful. He knew where to find her now, or at least an area she frequented: the Inn. Sure, there were a few Inn’s around the area, but only one would strongly carry her scent.

With that knowledge he smiled and stepped backwards into the darkness of the cave.

[Guest]

...her most precious doctor donald blake. the formerly swatting pris was now clinging on him for dear life, babbling in earnest whispers and looking near to tears, "he had you he had you the man that goes boom and then the man of the cave went poof and they were caving me in and you were gone you were just a blank face with no arms or eyes or ears or anything torso you were just torso with half legs..."

"he did, he did have me pris, but not anymore, no one has me anymore, I have you now pris... and you're going to be alright." and he lowered her to the ground, sitting with her on the ground.

pris' eyes were darting all over him, especially his face and his shoulders and torso, but it wasn't because she had to dart her eyes everywhere or else her sight would go funny. it was because she was watching him to see if it would be too good to be true, to make sure he was staying just as he was, even his words weren't very important to her it was that he was just like he was. when he moved to sit her on the ground she allowed it, a soft yowl escaping as she was poked in the leg with one of her pastels. that was fine though. she'd pick it up later. "oh...." was all she managed to say, "oh..." a frown touched her features, a frown and slightly narrowed eyes as she was trying to think over what had just happened. "was i not alright? i was...." her gaze started to drift now, as she looked around trying to place the last few minutes.

you where acting very out of sorts pris..." he was watching her, bringing a hand up to pet down her hair, his eyes wandering now as well. The man was gone now and that was very good for both her and the man himself. tilting his head to the side slightly." how are you feeling now?"

"out of sorts, out of sorts...out of sort of? sorting? sorting hat? acting out of the sorting hat, was i not in my right house?" there was a tiny smile on pris' lips as she glanced to donnie duck when she said that, she knew that wasn't the right answer. at least her very strange sense of humor was showing? out of sorts, though, that wasn't concrete enough for her to really understand. the frown returned, and she continued her gazing about. it wasn't until her deep green eyes landed on the mouth of the cave that dawn came. "oh. oh. the ching a ching, i was trying to get the cave to let me paint its portrait and it went quiet, it went quiet just before....oh." click-click-click-click-click went pris' mind, which seemed to make at least a partial connection. "before poof came."

"no, no you're not... they put you in hufflepuff... supposed to be in ravenclaw." he said with a smile, eyes looking back at the cave as well. watching it for a moment before eyes where back on the girl. "poof? oh! the other man? he's poofed away it seems... did the cave let you paint it?"

a dreamy lofty little laugh as she turned and looked at donnie duck over her one shoulder, a very cute little pose from pris as she looked him briefly in the eyes. "that's her house," she said in a very soft whisper, as she leaned in to give his shoulder a bitty bump with her own. "are you saying i'm loooooney, donnie duck, loony like toons?" she was shaking her head at him, an almost rhythmic sway back and forth as he kept speaking. "poofed," she echoed with at that same little frown. there was something about benjamin going poof that she didn't like, something wasn't setting right with all of this. poof went a magic trick, and tricks aren't nice. but why? "no, no portrait yet of the ching-a-ching cave, i said he could watch and then everything went boom. boom-ah." she over enunciated as she looked back towards the cave.

"no! no I don't think you're a loony toon Pris... I just don't like yellow that's all... " a firm nod, eyes wandering over to the cave again. "you should try drawing the cave again... and I'm sorry everything went boom-ah. even i don't like it when things go big boom."

pris was about to say a lot of things. she was about to say why don't you like yellow and she was about to say that she didn't know if she should try to draw that cave again, she was about to say that maybe this cave wasn't such a good idea and she was about to say maybe ching-a-chings that sounded nice could be deceiving. but because she couldn't explain why she was getting that feeling when she started to stare at the mouth of the cave, when he said that about his boom those words disrupted all other things she nearly said. she looked at him, a brow-knit look and she leaned back against him to see him better over her shoulder. "you don't?"

"sometimes no... because sometimes, it scares my friends, my friends that aren't his friends..." he said with a firm nod, offering her a small smile and a squeeze before releasing her entirely. leaning back onto his palms.

a soft yelp from pris. donald moved away, and that moved her straight to the grass because she had been using him as her wall! a soft little whining sound from her before she rolled over flat onto her stomach. her chin on the ground, she was eyeballing two of her pastels now, both sticking up in the grass. "oh. there you are...cerulean and canary, trying to run run away from home." little fingers reached out and plucked them up, and pris pulled herself into a sitting position to slip them into the pockets of her apron. and there was donald, when she sat up. and he'd be able to nearly see the lightbulb go off above her head. "oh oh oh OH, me. me you're talking about me, oh...." she suddenly looked upset. she was even flapping her hands, like she was trying to shake something off.

"hm? yes, well there are other people he scares... but you are in that too... and I am very sorry he scared you..." sitting up and turning to face her now. "are you alright Pris? everything okay?"

"i...well i...well i....didn't know," she finally spat out desperately after she finally got her thoughts and lips past the stammer. "i didn't know i was just starting the ching a ching cave and there was poof asking me and then there was the boom, and the voice banged and the thunder replied and there was no you and i got trapped in your office wall and i didn't know how to get out and what boom wanted i didn't know..." all of that flew from pris' lips very rapidly as if she was trying to apologize for being part of the reason that he didn't like his boom, which she was trying to do.

"Pris, pris, its alright, it really is alright... I promise... It doesn't matter what boom wanted... boom really only cares about himself... really." he smiled and leanedtowards her, reaching forth to take her hands. "you're fine pris, everything is fine alright?"

ohhhhhhhh he took her hands! funny how pris got squirmy just then, shifting her weight from one knee to another in a wiggle that got her stockings nice and grass stained and muddied, but she didn't mind things like that. pris has lots of tights. and a good washing machine. that she used practically every day. compulsively, one might say. "ohhhh...kay. okay." pris flashed him a serene, dreamy smile. she was fine, she really was. but as she was watching her donnie duck, without her eyes wandering anywhere, her head slowly cocked to the side. after a moment of consideration, of watching into him, she asked, "if boom really only cares about himself what was he doing here? did he want cerulean and canary?"

"Boom... I don't know... he, doesn't communicate with me unless he wants something from me... you know we used to be one, shared everything... but not anymore. but um, that's alright... and uh I don't think he wanted your pastels..." smiling he squeezed her hand and gave a firm nod. letting them go, he was sitting on his knees now. "oh! you know, the lady at the inn, said you can draw on the walls."

and pris listened. her very deep as emeralds eyes listened too, in their way. she was letting herself stare at donnie duck, but that was because she now knew it was safe to. she wasn't sure how she knew it was safe to, what he said to make it that way, but she could feel comfort in her eyeballs lashes and lids that was rare. staring at him would be okay, like staring at her brother was okay or staring at her mother was okay so long as she wasn't being a bitch, but her mother was gone now so that was besides the point. pris pressed her palms to the cold ground, leaning forward so that she could give donnie duck a kiss to his cheek. "i don't mind your boom, i still like you," she said in a whisper that was a mimic to his whisper to her when he'd kept her from running into the cave. and then she sat back, still on all fours as she reached out for her fallen sketch pad to pull it towards her. she was very calm now. she did pick up on the moods of others after all, and a lot of pris' eccentricities and compulsions calmed down when she felt safe and cared for. "i can paint you a new portrait if you tell me more about you when i'm doing it, if you tell me about you i won't see boom...."

"hm... well we can do that..." and he leaned back onto his palms again. "You know i like you too pris... that's why i made boom go away. but um, what would you like to know? hm... I can start from the beginning... I was raised in kansas. parents are farmers, and well we don't get along perfectly well."

"wait!" a sudden burst from pris, which in contrast to their conversational tone was quite a bit louder and more urgent. she even turned while she was still on all fours, leaning her weight on her left arm so that she could point at him with her right as she looked back at him. "not yet. you have to wait, for when i'm doing the portrait, and i can't do it yet not today i'm going to have to go home soon i promised my brother i'd be home for dinner he's off from his second job tonight and it's our time to spend together...."

"oh... alright then. would you like me to walk with you to the bus stop? or! i can get you all the way home. maybe even meet your brother. that would be very cool. I've never met your brother before...." standing carefully, before going to gather his walking stick. spinning it a few times before returning to her, offering her his hand to help her up

and stillness. pris became a statue on all fours, like her frame had been frozen in mid-reach for her precious sketchbook. she was staring up at donald and his offered hand with owl-eyed shock and awe. "you...really? you want to meet dommy really?" her voice was back to a whisper, as if she was afraid that if she said that any louder the magic might be broken and she'd find out that she heard him wrong. "okay," whisper whispered as she dropped her eyes down to the ground, "okay okay," hush hushed as she carefully picked up her sketchbook, and hugged it tightly to her chest with one hand. "you can ride the busses with me to my brother." mutter muttered as she took his hand and used it to pull herself up to her feet.

"I do." he said with a smile and a nod- pointing his walking stick down the path to the bus stop, still holding onto her hand "ready to go? or do you need to get things from the inn?" walking along side her. both things where off and along the same path.

"ready-o, doctor joe." it was a very merry sing-song from the eccentric little artist. the bounce in her step was nearly skip as they made their way from the mysterious cave that once went ching-a-ching but stopped because it was shy. as she held her precious doctor duck's hand and walked by his side to her bus stop, the light of her mood didn't show that her day at the myseterious cave had ever gone sour, scary or strange at all. but sometime soon, when the moment was quiet and she was turning pages in her sketch pad and reaching in her pocket for her pastels, there would be two things that she would notice. one she would see - that two of her pastels were missing. the other, that she would see - the very strange, very unsettling half-finished drawing of poof's mysterious cave. once she saw that...maybe it would be a little less likely that she would decide to go back.

[Sponsored content]