Aierl Maddox [1]
A role-play post I wrote for Alanor. It was written in January of this year (2006), but I'm not going to backdate this one because the beginning of it has something to do with the last thing I just posted. Nothing obvious and nothing anyone else would know, but just for myself.




The world came to life as the clock struck ten, for the city that was New York had become the world within a world for these people, mortals and immortals alike, the humans walking in ignorance of their unearthly neighbors and yet somehow living side by side with them, turning a blind eye to the odd occurrences that sometimes slipped through.

They were stupid creatures, short-lived and boorish, the sort that Aierl Maddox tended to avoid unless he was cutting a deal with them, which, to his misfortune, happened much too often for his taste. Yet he could not help but pass the orphanage every time, pass the children who lived there, and he loved those children, loved one especially because the little girl had reminded Aierl of someone he once knew, a woman he once thought he loved.

That was it. That was precisely it. He had thought that he knew what he wanted; he’d thought that he did not already have enough to lose; he had thought himself infallible, better than everyone else, for having a dream and always knowing exactly what to do. He had been wrong.

For but a moment, the pale, golden eyes closed, his lips forming into a pained grimace as he leaned forward in the restaurant chair, tipping a few strands of hair dangerously close to the bowl of soup that sat on the table in front of him. When they opened again, it was with hard determination, though all Aierl did was pick up a fortune cookie, unwrap it, and stare, bemused, at the words.

People are not what they seem to be.

The grimace contorted into a wry grin, which became, astonishingly, one of dry amusement and glee and sorrow at the same time. “People are never what they seem to be,” Aierl murmured, discarding the uneaten cookie on the tray next to the soup, which remained untouched. “Some more than others.”

“I’m sorry, sir?” A waiter appeared at his side, hovering like a fly, annoying him with its incessant buzzing.

Aierl sorely wished that he had a flyswatter with him, but, instead, he ignored the waiter’s sound of surprise as he stood up and tucked a couple of bills into the boy’s shirt pocket, relishing the looks on some of the customer’s faces as he glanced around at them. “Didn’t they tell you?” he purred. “I’m mad.”

He left them there.

Aierl was walking in the outskirts of Central Park when he was met with an odd sight: a well but messily dressed person waving two plushies and two standing near him, one literally hanging off the other. (Not human, his mind automatically registered.) And, as one immortal attracts another, he approached.

“Do we have a problem?”