Hiya, I'm Michi. I'm a seamstress and published author, but I don't usually post about that stuff here.
(links for more info below)
I love Disney, Doctor Who, Steam Powered Giraffe, various anime (Sailormoon being my favorite of all time), video games, sci-fi, Tom Hiddleston, David Garrett, Andrew Lee Potts, My Chemical Romance, Tim Burton, Neil Gaiman, Monster High, and all things "Goth". I love to cook, make silly videos, and designing clothing. Oh, and cosplay. Been cosplaying since 1998.
I drive a Tardis. It's a PT Cruiser dressed up to look like the Tardis. Even has a "TMELORD" license plate. I call it "The Cardis"
I play World of Warcraft on Wyrmrest Accord, my main is Masuimi, and I'm in the Savage Pint Guild.
Can’t sleep again. Too much on my mind…
Nothing like waking up with solidified tears crusting your eyes, only to have more form in a matter of minutes.
Now that I’m home, I have an announcement to make - I’m quitting the social media side of the internet for the next few weeks. This includes any MMOs I’ve been playing. I’ll use the internet for research for my book, but all the rest I’m just done with. Writing needs to happen. If you want to hang out, I’m sure you have my phone number, and texting is a thing. So is calling. I’ll even leave my Facebook messenger open. If I miss some event because you only invited me on Facebook, or expect me to know what’s going on in your life because you posted about it on Tumblr, I won’t. If it’s really important and I need to know, you can tell me about it. I am still here to help if you need it, because that’s who I am and it will never change, but I need to be selfish for once and work on the one thing I love more than anything, and that’s my writing.
First chapter of a new story I’m working on. It’s partially a backstory, partially a future story centered around one of my minor characters in my first book, Penny Dreadful.
Putting this up for everyone to read, hoping it will remind me why I like writing so much… it’s been such a long time since I’ve really, truly, been able to sit down and write….
There was no noise in the room other than the constant, rhythmic dripping of a faucet somewhere outside the walls. The child lay in the dark, counting the drops as the minutes ticked by, wondering how many it would be this time before someone came for him. Again. Last time it had been 11,934 before he saw another soul. He had only counted 4,567 this time. 4,568. 4,569.
It was easy for him to keep track, even while thinking of other things. Not that he had much to think about. What little human interaction he’d had in his short life was brief and limited, and those moments were usually filled with tests. He’d lost track of how many times he’d had samples taken from the tube in his arm. When he’d tried to rip it out once, they’d taken to handcuffing him to the bed. He’d had to lay in his own filth for what seemed like eternity, then been beaten for making a mess of himself when they finally came to get him again. He’d learned his lesson then.
His stomach rumbled. He willed it to be quiet, and reached out in the dark cautiously to retrieve the plastic cup of water from the otherwise bare nightstand. There wasn’t much left in it, and he sipped cautiously, hoping to stifle the pain in his stomach for just a little longer. Food would come soon. It always did, eventually. He’d performed the last test perfectly, so he should be getting a reward this time. Maybe some chocolate like he’d gotten once before. It had been small, but he’d made it last a whole week by only taking the tiniest of bites each time. If they gave him another piece, he’d try to make it last even longer.
He heard a heavy door close somewhere nearby. Instinctively, he turned and lay flat on his back, arms to the sides, and waited. Muffled voices echoed off the bare tile walls, and there was some metallic scraping. He was next.
The tiny siding door at the bottom of the door to his room slid open, splashing the dirty tile of his floor in harsh fluorescent light, and a tray of food slid in. The light was gone a second later, replaced with darkness. The boy waited, unmoving. After a moment, a buzzer sounded and a dim light overhead turned on. He quickly jumped down off the bed to retrieve his meal. The tile was freezing on his bare feet, but it only took him a few seconds to jump back up onto the mattress with the tray, set it down and examine the food he’d been given.
Two pieces of white bread, a helping of something green and lumpy, some white rice, and a chicken drumstick. Beside a small cup of water was a spoon and a napkin. There was no chocolate. The boy tried not to feel disappointed, knowing it must have been something he’d done wrong. Inside, he wanted to cry, be he knew he must not ever cry. He’d been spanked so hard the last time he had cried, he wasn’t able to sit or lay on his back for days. The scary man he silently called The Monster had punished him personally. The Monster was in charge of everything there, and always made sure the boy was punished if he didn’t behave or perform his tests properly.
The boy ate his meal slowly and silently. The green stuff wasn’t as horrible as it looked, but everything was cold. The chicken was dry. The bread was stale. Using the spoon, he carefully and meticulously scraped every raised edge of the slotted tray, making sure not a single morsel went to waste. The little water he had left in the cup, he transferred to the one at his bedside. A few minutes later, another buzzer went off, and the boy hurried to put the tray back by the slot under the door. It was removed a minute later, and the light in the room turned off. The boy was in the dark again.
This was life. He didn’t know anything else. Sometimes he thought he remembered the sky from outside rather than what he could see through the tiny window near the ceiling, but it would disappear from his mind as soon as he tried to focus on it.
The moon, still looking like a “C” in it’s waxing state, began to peek through that window, and the boy stared intently at it. He rarely got to see it through that window, and almost never was it at an angle he could see from his bed.
Something changed. The water was slowing down. The boy sat up, trying to hear better, but the next drip took even longer. Then longer. Then, it stopped completely. Fear crept over the boy. Never in his memory had that drip ever stopped. He started to panic, and scooted to the top of the mattress, into the corner and huddled there. Somewhere in the distance, there was a loud boom. Seconds later, another, and the building shook. The boy started weeping silently and pulled the dirty blanket he’d been sitting on over his head. Another crash, and the building shook again.
He heard a scream from somewhere far away, and a heavy door slammed open. Hurried voices, yelling to each other. Men’s voices. Getting closer.
He lost his dinner all down his front.
The boy shut down then. He covered his ears and started rocking back and forth. Through more screams, more explosions, and more shaking of the building to it’s very foundation, the boy tuned it all out, until…
Boom! The heavy metal door to his room opened with a force so strong, it cracked the tile on the wall when it bounced off it.
“There’s one in here!” A male voice said in Russian.
“We don’t have time…” Replied another voice in Greek.
The boy could understand both men. He knew they were both speaking different languages, and he knew he’d only heard them both a few times before, but he could still understand every word.
The boy felt the blanket being pulled away from him and he closed his eyes.
“Oh god, he’s just a child!” Said the Russian voice again. “Can’t be more than five years old!”
The child felt hands on his wrists, gently pulling his palms away from his ears.
“Child,” Said the man, very softly and in English, “Look at me.” The boy opened his eyes and saw the most brilliant pair of green eyes staring back at him. “Do not fear, what is your name?”
The child didn’t answer. The green eyes squinted in concentration.
“Tell me your name.” The boy still didn’t answer. Another explosion rocked the building.
“D, get your ass out of there!” Called the Greek voice from somewhere far away.
Just then, one of the White Coats came into the room. The child’s eyes darted to the woman, who was wielding a large knife, just as she made for Green Eyes’ back. Green Eyes turned faster that the boy could see, grabbed the woman by the wrist holding the weapon, twisted back, and ripped the arm completely out of the socket. The woman screamed and fell over, blood pouring out over her white coat and onto the tile floor. Green Eyes tossed the arm he was holding to the side like it was a used match and turned back to the boy. The child’s eyes were wide in horror and shock.
“Hey,” Green Eyes said, turning his face and re-gaining his attention. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you. Do you want to leave this place forever?” He nodded, and Green Eyes smiled.
“Fire’s raging, D. Either get out now or make your own way out.” Called the Greek voice once more.
“Are you ready to go?” Green Eyes asked. The boy nodded and allowed himself to be picked up. He wrapped his arms around Green Eyes’ neck and then they were moving through the building faster than the child would have thought possible. He registered the chaos around him, the building falling apart, dead White Coats everywhere, red blood covering the floors. Then the fire. It was licking up the walls and snaking across the floor following some hidden path. Then, suddenly, they were outside. The child looked up at the moon and the night sky, sparkling with stars. His jaw dropped at the sheer size of it, clinging tighter to Green Eyes as they hurried down a gravel driveway and up onto a grassy hill.
Finally, they stopped next to two others, but the child barely registered their presence, still observing the night sky in awe.
“They aren’t going to be happy with you, D.” Said a female voice in French.
“You think they’ll retaliate? They were holding one of ours. They knew this was coming.”
“They murdered one of ours,” The Greek voice corrected. “They got what they deserved.”
“We still don’t know who was behind all of this.” Green Eyes said in Russian.
“We’ll find them.” Greek growled.
“As for the child, do you know what you’re getting yourself into?” French asked.
“I will care for him.” Green Eyes said. The child seemed to relax a little in his arms.
“What’s his name?” French asked.
“He didn’t say.”
“What’s your name, child.” The Greek asked, catching his eyes. The child didn’t respond. This seemed to perplex the man. He tried again in French. Then German. The boy still didn’t reply.
“What language do you speak?” Green Eyes asked him in English. The boy shrugged.
“Well, he understands English at least.” Said the woman. The boy turned to look at her. In the moonlight, he could just make out her face, and her beauty made him suddenly shy. “Oh, aren’t you just the cutest thing! You must be starved, poor thing! Let me take him?” She said, reaching out for the child. The boy clung tighter to Green Eyes.
“It’s okay, Gen, I’ll take him back with me. Meet me back at the house in Grays.”
“See you there.” Said the woman, who hurried behind a nearby stout tree, then vanished from sight.
“I’m going to stay and make sure this place burns to the ground.” The Greek man said.
“Very well. Are you ready to get out of here?” Green Eyes asked the boy. The child nodded gently. “Okay, hold on tight.” The man stepped behind the same tree and then they were flying. It was like being swallowed by a giant, swirling black cloud, and noises and lights flew by in the blink of an eye. Moments later, they arrived across the street from a grand town house, the likes of which the child had never seen before. The two stepped out of the shadows and hurried to the front door.
Once inside, the boy allowed himself to be bathed and scrubbed clean by a maid, as long as Green Eyes remained in the room with him. While he was being washed, the boy got a good close look at his savior. Tall, square-shouldered with pale skin and long blonde hair, the child didn’t let him out of his sight for a moment.
When his bath was finished, he watched intently as the maid trimmed his nails.
The French woman showed up just as the maid finished cutting his pale blonde hair. The woman’s arms were loaded with bags from a place called “Harrods”, and she proceeded to help him dress in a set of purple silk pajamas that were just a touch too large for him, and a pair of fuzzy slippers that had silly pink bunnies on them. They were, by far, the softest things the boy had every touched, and wearing the clothes made him feel relaxed and comforted for the first time in his memory.
Food was brought to him moments later, so much so that the boy didn’t know where to begin.
“You can have as much as you want, any time you want.” Green Eyes said to him, as he sat down at the table, his clothes freshly changed from the messy ones he’d been wearing earlier. The boy nodded, still not sure if it was true or not. He began to stuff his face regardless, as if the food would magically disappear at any moment.
“Oh, the poor dear.” The French woman said as she sat down next to the man. “What will you do with him, D?” She continued in French.
“He didn’t take the reverie, Gen. You saw. Even Christos tried, and he couldn’t get through. There has to be a reason he was there.” Green Eyes replied in Russian.
“Has he spoken yet?”
The French woman turned to the boy.
“My name is Genevieve Dominic DuVal. And this is my brother,”
“Dimitrii Nikolai Dominic Maximov.” Finished Green Eyes. “What’s your name?”
The boy still did not speak.
“Perhaps he has no voice?” Genevieve said, reverting back to French again.
“Who has no voice?” Replied a man who appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The boy jumped and turned in his high-backed chair to face the interested party, who was sauntering into the room. Peering around, he saw a man dressed a black turtleneck, jeans ripped to hell and back, and dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Violet eyes spotted the boy, who’s own grey ones looked at the man without fear. “What the hell is this?”
“He’s my charge. I’m keeping him.”
“In my house?”
“Where did he come from?”
“Spoils of a raid.”
“The one tonight?”
“The one you opted out of, yes” Dimitrii said angrily.
“Ahh. You sure he has no family?”
“There wasn’t even a record of him being there.”
“No chance anyone will come looking for him?”
“How on earth will you justify this to the Inuxi?”
“I’ll cross that path when I come to it.”
“Does he know what we are yet?”
“No.” Each carried out their part of the conversation in their native language. Dimitrii in Russian, and the dark-haired man and the female, in French. Both looked at the child now. His face was covered in bits of food.
“How much did he eat?” The new man asked, looking over the mess the boy had left on the table.
“I don’t think they fed him, Kyne. Just look at how thin he is. They had him wearing nothing but a flimsy dressing gown. And you should have seen the mess he was living in. Disgusting.” The child turned his head down to stare at his knees, feeling embarrassed. Genevieve was the only one to notice the change in the boy, but she didn’t comment.
“Think he has room for these?” Kyne pulled a small gold box from his back pocket. “I was bringing them to a cute little number I’d spotted last week… But she said she didn’t like chocolate. Imagine.” The boy perked up at the word chocolate, and turned towards the dark-haired man once again.
“You speak French, don’t you?” The female asked with a gentle smile. The boy turned to her and nodded. The men both looked at her.
“How did you know?” Dimitrii asked.
“He was listening to us. Would you like the chocolates?” She asked, switching to Dimitrii’s native Russian. The boy nodded quickly. Dimitrii raised his eyebrows in shock as Kyne handed the child the box, and the boy tore off the paper and opened it. Inside were four different pieces, each beautifully decorated with gold leaf and contained in individual brown papers.
The boy took a deep breath and tried to hold back tears. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life, and the scent of them alone was enough to make him realize that this was really happening. Every time he’d tried to remember the taste of chocolate, the one thing he couldn’t imagine was the scent. But, it was here. This was real. He was safe. He would never have to see The Monster again. Never have to have the needles in his arms, never have to press the buttons and worry about shocks, never have to count the drips again while waiting for his next meal. This was real.
The child picked up one of the pieces of chocolate, completely unaware that the three adults around him were speaking softly to one-another. He took the tiniest of bites, surprised that the inside contained a different form of softer chocolate, and let the taste wash over him.
“Hey, there’s plenty more where that came from, kid. Have as much as you want.” The dark-haired man said, as he knelt down next to the boy. “There’s all different kinds, you should at least taste the rest.” The boy nodded and slowly sampled each piece the same as he had the first. The second, Caramel, was his favorite, but he also really liked the slightly bitter one he tried last with the fluffy white filling.
“So, you speak English, French and Russian?” Dimitrii asked him. The boy nodded sheepishly. “Quite a coincidence that… What about Czech?” Dimitrii asked in the new language. The boy nodded again. The stunned looks from the trio went unnoticed by the boy, as he turned his attention to his lap.
“Do you speak Spanish?” Genevieve asked, changing languages again. He nodded again.
“Welsh?” Kyne asked. More nodding. “Gaelic?” The boy’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t answer. “You don’t understand Gaelic?” After a moment, the boy nodded. The three exchanged looks of sheer wonder.
“He’s a polyglot savant.” Genevieve said after a moments’ silence. The boy looked up at her. He’d heard that term before, it was the name the white coats called him. Polyglot. He knew it was not his real name, though he barely remembered it now. The child nodded to the woman.
“Incredible.” Whispered Dimitrii. “We may have to proceed with caution… No one else can know beyond this house.” The others agreed immediately. “Not even Dom.”
“Neither of us would tell him, D.” Genevieve said, but she was looking at Kyne.
“Fine. Agreed.” Kyne said, then extended his hand to the boy. “Kyne Dominic Halden. What’s your name, kid?” The boy, confused, looked at the man’s hand for a moment. Then, in a voice that sounded strained, like it hadn’t been used in ages, he finally spoke.