Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Go Ahead and Sign The Scroll [Private 1x1]

Bo looked back at Othello. "If it makes you, uhm, feel better, or somethin'.. I didn't purposely summon you, I didn't mean to have you stay away from home for so long." Bo said, gently handing him his own dishes to help out. "I just needed help, I was scared, and it had been nothing but.. but.." Bo's voice faltered. Pain, suffering, fear, sadness.. He shook his head, "Yeah, I just- I needed help and.." Bo finally stopped himself, not knowing where exactly he was going with the conversation, and even if he did continue, felt like he'd just be repeating the same thing over and over. He would just assume Othello understood why, and carried on.

"Uhmm, I'm going to find those books now-" He got out of the chair and scurried off to prevent anymore awkwardness trying to speak.

Othello fought down a sigh at the child's sad, lost baby animal expression. He reached out and gingerly patted Bo on the top of the head as he passed. "There, there. Be calm, child," he said in his best imitation of a comforting tone. It was nearly right. "I know it was not on purpose. May your search have success."

Such an annoying thing, dealing with children. He finished gathering the dishes and put away the leftovers before continuing his cleaning. Children were delicate creatures, and as much as he wanted to blame Bo for the predicament he found himself in, he did voluntarily accept the summons, and it was his own fault for not being more exact. He was old enough and had been on enough summons that he should have known better. Just because Bo was a child was no reason to slack off. Hopefully, he could get enough of this figured out to make living here a bit smoother, and then he could treat it like a vacation.

Bo had scurried off, but he did give a small smile to the pat on his head when he did pass Othello.

He headed down to the library, to search for the turtle book, and thankfully, it didn't take him as long to find them as it had the study books, mainly because the turtle book in question was bright in color and had big, bold text on the spine of it. And he headed back upstairs, then headed to his mother's room to search out the cookbook. Bo walked inside, ready to find it, but as soon as he stepped foot in the room, he was just filled with a very, strong sadness.

This was his mother's room. It was empty, there was no life, she would never use it again, it belonged to no one now.

Bo fought through these feelings, even if it did hurt, and looked for the cookbook. He found it on her dresser, and of course, as it should, there was a red piece of tape sticking out of the book, where the panna cotta recipe was bookmarked. Bo gently took it off the dresser, and then glanced over the dresser, looking at the jewelry astray, some out of place, some in the dish she had designated they go. A photo of the father, and a photo of Bo himself. A camera lacking batteries, the batteries laying dead beside it. A few beauty magazines, some with tears on the corners from having them so long.

Bo slowly walked out of the room, holding the books close to his chest, trying to keep his composure. He headed back to the kitchen, looking for Othello. "I found the books."

Othello had just finished cleaning everything up, and he had conjured a small colony of algae in the trashcan. It was slowly eating away everything within the can, but not the can itself. He had no idea how this world handled its trash, and he, quite frankly, couldn't be bothered to figure it out. He'd had enough culture shock for one day, and it was barely past noon. Trash was hardly a problem he could be bothered to care about in this moment.

He turned and looked down at Bo at his words. "Ah, so you did. Very good. You were going to show me your turtles, correct?"

Bo held up the turtle book, almost letting the cookbook slip out of his arms, but he caught it quickly. "Mhm."

He wandered to the table and set both books down, then opened the turtle book, beginning to point at the different pages. "This is a sea turtle, they live in the ocean. And that's a box turtle. Oh, this is a snapping turtle, they'll bite you if you aren't careful." Bo explained, getting a bit of enjoyment, showing Othello all the species of turtles. "Do any of them look like Planar Turtles?"

Othello leaned over Bo's shoulder and looked at the pictures studiously.  He said nothing about the cookbook, focused only on turtles for now.  "Hmm.  Yes, these sea turtles are similar in shape.  I think this... leatherback sea turtle is the most accurate in shape, but our turtles are more... brown and yellow.  It aids them in disguising themselves in the sand."  He frowned and leaned closer.  "Do these creatures really live underwater?  How curious.  I never would have thought such a thing possible."

He looked at the leatherback sea turtle picture. "Mhm! Fish live underwater, and so do turtles." Bo said proudly, as he knew somewhat of this information.

"There's a lot of stuff that lives underwater, mostly fish." Bo stated, "There's even a few mammals, creatures that breathe air, that can live underwater as long as they come up out of it for air on occasions, like whales."

"We have some animals like that where I am from, too," Othello told him. He straightened up and gestured to the cookbook, finally bringing that into focus. "Is this the book that holds your recipe for pn of cots? I will look at it and see if it is within my skillset."

Bo slowly closed the turtle book and focused on the cookbook. "Panna cotta." He repeated, correcting Othello. "Not pan of cots." He laughed a bit at it.
He carefully took the book and opened it up to where the bookmark was.

It had pretty, organized cooking instructions with a photo of the dessert and everything, and there was a few sticky notes that seemed to have been written by the mother, as it was in her handwriting. One of the notes said 'My sweet Bo's favorite dish' and another note had been torn, but half of it was still in-tact, which said 'doesn't like it too much', but it was unclear who it was referring to, perhaps the father? Or someone else.

"Yes, pan nan cots," Othello said with a sober nod, completely serious. He took the book and scanned over the recipe. "I suppose I can give this a try for after dinner. I do not guarantee any results. Magic can only do so much to influence food, after all, but I shall do my best." He snapped the book shut and gave Bo a level look. "Now. Is it not time for you to return to your studies? There is much for you to learn, after all."

In truth, Othello had no idea what to do with Bo. Sending him off to do schooling seemed like an easy answer for now. Other than that, he didn't know what he was supposed to do with him. What did people do with children? Train them, he supposed, or spoiled them, or... some other option he could not think of.

Bo gave a soft, snort laugh, and quickly covered his mouth to try and hide the fact he laughed at 'pan nan cots' and supposed Othello would learn how to pronounce it eventually. He smiled as he watched Othello scan the recipe.

"Oh, my studies! Uhm, yes!" Bo had forgot all about them, Bo got out of the chair. "I'll go study right now, and this time use a spare piece of paper to count on." He laughed a bit, then wandered off.

.. He forgot to take the turtle book back to the downstairs library. Oh well.

Othello squinted at the recipe.  This seemed easy enough, he supposed.  It was nearly like blatherbeast eyes, which was one of his favorite comfort foods.  He did not allow himself to get his hopes up that this "panna cotta" would be anywhere as good as blatherbeast eyes.  That would only lead to disappointment.  Instead, he set the book off to the side to study later.

The book was in the wrong place, and he despised clutter more than anything else, so he picked it up and took it to the library.  He was unfamiliar with this library's sorting system, but it was a simple enough task to find a space among other similar books and slip it in.  Since Bo was busy, he decided to avail himself of the library for a time and chose what appeared to be a fictional book with some sort of heroic tale and oddly dressed people on the front.  After he'd read for a time, he went up to check on Bo's progress and see his work.  Once they'd discussed schoolwork for a while, Othello told him to finish the section he was on and then he was free to do as he pleased.

Othello, for his part, continued to prowl around the house.  There was a lot to learn about what was where, and when he found the spare bedroom, he found a mess.  That took some time to clean out, and he found random cupboards to shove everything into for the time being.  He hadn't gotten to the actual cleaning of the room by the time supper rolled around, and he grudgingly left the room to go put something together to eat.  After supper and talking with Bo for a while, he returned to his task of cleaning the room out and making it suitable for a Demon.  He had standards, after all, and he refused to let them slide just because he was stuck here on this water-logged planet.

Once his room was cleaned and prepped to his satisfaction, Othello insisted Bo run about the garden for a while and get some good, fresh air before preparing for bed.  According to the pictures on the interlaced networking, Bo was a tiny, pale thing for a child of this world.  Perhaps more sunlight, moonlight, and fresh air would help.  It certainly could not hurt.  He then helped Bo become cocooned once more, this time doing it like a tight, secure swaddle so he could not roll off the bed so easily, and left him with soft music playing.  Tomorrow was another day of ridiculous tasks, but they also had to greet a new person.

An hour passed while Bo was asleep, and Bo had a vivid dream.

--

They smiled at him, holding their arms out to him lovingly. The world around them and Bo was a bright white, it was also a bit hazy and blurry if looked at close enough. Bo seen them, and slowly began walking towards them, his hands brought to his chest. His mother's eyes looking at him sweetly, his father grinning proud at him. Bo kept approaching them, it felt so real, so warm, so comforting, so safe..

Something then grabbed at his ankle. Bo stopped, glancing back to see a hand that was completely pitch black, it had a leather look, like.. gloves.. Bo quickly looked at his parents again, who had stopped holding their arms out to Bo, but they still had that warm, loving look on their face.

Then Bo felt the hand pull at his ankle, Bo lost his balance and fell to his knees, and felt himself being dragged slowly away from his parents. "No, no! Don't take me away from them!" He cried out, outstretching his hand to try and reach to his parents, but soon, his parents grew too blurry to make out, and the bright white of the world faded into a dark grey with an ominous, candle-like glow.

No, no.. no not this place.. not again..

He heard them laughing at him, talking amongst each other. Bo felt more hands grab at both of his ankles, then soon his wrists, dragging him further away from the blurs of his parents. "Stop it! Stop it!" Bo screamed out, crying.

The laughing was getting louder and louder, the hands soon formed into full bodies, wearing black robes, wide grins on their face that were the complete opposite of how his parents grinned at him. Bo closed his eyes shut tight, "LET ME GO!" He screamed, straining his throat.

And soon, the hands swarmed to pull his shirt up and— PAIN

PAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAIN
BURNINGPAIN
MAKEITSTOP

--

Bo snapped awake, sitting up, grasping not his chest, but rather trying to reach at the mark that was burned into his skin on his back. His cheeks coated in a thin stream of tears, Bo's chest quickly raising up and down, breathing heavily and gasping sharply.

Bo squirmed in the bed, slowly moving his hand from his back and then using both arms to cover his head as if hiding from something, audibly crying and sobbing. Even the soft music wasn't helping at the moment. He looked around, it being too dark to see much, other than the faint moonlight pouring out from the crack in the curtains on the window. Somehow, that didn't help the fear and anxiety he felt.

The audible sobbing could be heard if close enough to the upstairs, or if one was being in the room that stood below the boy's bedroom.

The blanket, thanks to how Othello swaddled him, didn't get fall half off the bed, but it still unraveled enough for Bo to be able to move.

Othello groaned and put a pillow over his head. Unfortunately, that did not cut down on the crying. The crying seemed to pierce straight through the wall and into his brain. Not to mention, he was getting a weird pulling sensation around his chest. He was supposed to try to get Bo happy, and whatever was making Bo unhappy was not helping him, Othello, to get back home. Sighing and grumbling, Othello dragged himself out of bed and pulled on a dark robe he'd found. It barely fit, but it was better than wandering around naked. He still had not obtained new clothing, something that he intended to rectify tomorrow. Even if he managed to fulfill his contract within the week, he refused to tolerate a single day more of wearing the same outfit twice in a row.

He walked into Bo's room, his eyes glowing a faint red in the darkness, and stood next to the bed. "Child," Othello said severely, "why are you crying? Are you frightened? Surely, you must know that no threat could possibly harm you while I am here. You are safe."

Bo sniffled snottily, wiping his tears with the palms of his hands, and yet they continued to roll down his cheeks. "I had a- I had a-" His voice trembled, stuttering heavily, "A bad dream again, a very bad dream." Bo sobbed, "I felt it, I felt the pain, it burned, itburnedsomuch.." Bo was shaking, not even bothering to dry off the tears on his hands that he had wiped from his eyes. "They were grabbing me, and, and my mum and dad, they were so close I could almost reach them, but they- they, those people in the black robes, dragged me away from them." Bo whimpered.

Bo looked at the robe and then jumped back, flinching, it reminding him of the black robes, at least at this moment of vulnerability. Bo then avoided eye contact with Othello's faintly glowing red eyes in the dark, looking away and wiping more of his tears with an audible sob.

"I see," Othello said, blinking tiredly. "You dreamed of the past. This is not unusual in such cases. Are you in pain now? Is anything hurting you at this moment?"

Bo shakily glanced at Othello. "I.. don't.. think I am."
"But in the dream, my.. my back, that mark.." Bo moved his hand slowly to his back, but stopped, putting his hand down, grasping at the blanket a bit.

"It just felt..real.. like I was in real pain, that same pain I felt.." Bo whimpered.

Bo sniffled, then wiped more of his tears with his other, free hand. "Can..can you please sit beside me, like you did before?" His voice cracked.

Othello stood grinding his teeth for a moment before reluctantly lowering himself to sit on the edge of the bed. Very well. He was here sitting next to the child to fight off imaginary fears. Did parents have to do this? If they did, it was amazing any rational, intelligent being had children. He wanted to return to his unfamiliar but comfortable bed and get some sleep!

"As you can see," Othello sighed, "it was all nothing but a dream. There will be no one harming you at any point in time, and certainly not as long as I am here. When you wake from these dreams, remember that."

Bo shuffled a bit to scoot closer to Othello and gently wrapped his arms around Othello's arm, sniffling. He knew it was just a dream, and he wouldn't be harmed by those people anymore, but it still scared him, it still felt real, it still caused him a panic, even if it was just imaginary by this point. Bo used to only have a handful of nightmares once every six months or so, over silly stuff usually.

But these nightmares, they weren't silly, they felt like they wanted to rip Bo's mind apart.

Bo closed his eyes, his tears rolled down his cheeks.

Oh, brimstone, now the child was clinging to his arm! Othello raised his eyes to the ceiling and willed himself to be still. Why did this tiny creature have to be so clingy? Surely nightmares were not an unheard of thing here in this world. Still, he supposed the boy had gone through a lot lately. He reached over and lightly tapped Bo's head with the fingers of his other hand.

"I am here," he said blandly. "I am still here. You are safe."