sail across the sun [altair]

[demos]

i'm waking up to ash and dust

His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the cold. His coat was pulled tightly around him, his chin buried in the fabric. The occasional icy breeze ruffled his hair, reminding him yet again that he really should get it cut as soon as possible. He balled his fingers into fists in an attempt to keep them warm. He really should have just stayed at home, settled himself in with a cup of tea and a book. But the movie posters had drawn him in, it was irresistible really. You see, the newest Bruce Willis movie had just been released. Now each one was pretty much the same as the one before it. Bruce Willis was macho and way too athletic for his age. He’d kill anyone who got near him. He’d kind of seem like a bad guy, but the lesser of two evils. And he always had that narrowed eye look to him, that was supposed to look, well possibly tough or something? Alisander didn’t know. And he didn’t much care. He didn’t go to the movies for any deep insights. He doubted Bruce Willis had any deep insights left to give. He went for something else entirely.

An escape. It sounded dramatic and cliché, but it was true. He enjoyed the utter darkness of the theater. Every person’s eyes were riveted to the screen, not having a care in the world about the others around them. Excepting, of course, for the awkward couples in the back rows. He never went on opening day, or even in opening week. He went as late as possible, so the theater was deserted. That way he could put his feet up on the chairs in front of him. He could make all the comments he pleased, nestle down and be perfectly happy. He hadn’t used to like Bruce Willis all that much. He still didn’t. He remembered, as a kid and a teenager, he’d watched every Wes Anderson film there had ever been. He and his sister would hole up on the couch, lots of blankets and hot cocoa. A couple of times she had baked these warm molten brownies. He’d loved the films, even though they’d watched every one multiple times. Some he could quote from memory. But after she’d gone, he’d stopped watching the movies. It wasn’t the same alone anyways. And, he’d reasoned, they were a part of his childhood. And as with everything else, sometimes you had to leave your youth behind you.

He paid for a ticket at the window, eager to get inside the heated theater. He stamped his feet a few times, unwrapping his scarf and peeling off his gloves. He paid for a box of Dots at the counter before making his way towards his theater. He slipped in, walking up the ramp. As he rounded the ramp, towards the seating, he stopped short and swore under his breath. The theater was packed. Not the sort of packed where every seat was taken, but the sort where he couldn’t put his feet up. He frowned. He’d forgotten that, with school releasing, all of the Academy students would be milling about – going to movies and such. He frowned, keeping his head down. He’d dodged an invitation from some of his buddies in order to go to this movie alone, and didn’t want to be caught in his lie. He chose a seat at random, not caring enough to glance at who occupied the seat beside him. He settled in, sitting low in his chair. But a head of white-blonde hair caught his eye. He glanced to his left, a small smile on his lips. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for Bruce Willis.”

[ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT]

a million pieces of the sky

Altair unhooked the clasp of her stiletto, her eyes fluttering up to look at the photographer. The dress she wore pooled around her thighs, folds of blue fabric salient against pale skin. She never felt more beautiful than in these moments after a successful photo shoot. It's why she did it. Did anyone actually have an altruistic reason to be a model? Everyone wanted to show off, the people who could at least, people who had something to show. She had white-blond hair and icy eyes, she had the slim figure that the industry wanted. It was a self-consumed profession, meant for people like her. But more than that, she realized the most profitable part of her was her body. She realized that at a very young age, and even more so when she was fourteen-years-old and she was introduced to the runway. When that ended as tragically as it did, she had to provide for her sisters and it only made sense that her body would be further used as her way to get money. Dancing and fucking, that was the two things she could do best, and why not use it to her advantage? Her body did the same for her that a pen or pencil did for an author. It was her tool, and she used it accordingly. Her mind could still be described as sharp, observant, but she wasn't nearly as interested in using that. It was a means to get by, used to continue in her education, her elemental abilities. She didn't care much for exploring her capabilities in that faculty, it meant little to her at all.

She slipped the shoes off, rubbing at her feet. The photographer came over, a bearded man wearing slacks and a black sweater. "Have you gained weight, Altair?" He had shot her a few times and she knew right off that she didn't like him. She usually made her judgments that way, based on first impressions. And rarely did she ever give someone a second chance. Altair rose to her full height, off of the fiberglass box that had been a prop for her, and looked down at him. Even without heels, she was taller. "I was about to ask you that, but then I realized it's impossible for you to get any fatter." Her eyes flashed. "I don't have to answer to you, so don't ask me questions that are not for you to ask." Her words were tight and she walked off with the shoes in her fingers, heading to the changing room so she could dress in her winter clothes. She didn't wear as much as an average person thanks to her element, and she always focused on fashion. Maybe that was another reason people modeled, for the fashion, the style and the grace and the pure elegance of the clothes they wore. She hung up the dress on the rack and did not wait for anyone before she left the building and into the world. Her breaths came out in cold puffs, and she had a quick smoke as she walked down the streets. In recent times she had gotten better at handling the nicotine, had tended to cut down. Though there were some days when she could smoke an entire pack. They were expensive nowadays, unfortunately, something else she had to pay attention to.

Her plans for the afternoon were to be alone, and she knew exactly how to spend a lonely afternoon. She paid for her ticket, spent her money on a ridiculously priced tub of popcorn and soda. Have I gained weight? She had never been one to purge, the only time being when she had dealt with her addiction and she had feared an overdose. She didn't want to become that way -- she didn't want to go through what Ro had to. And so the best idea was to fast...tomorrow. She chose her seat, placed her feet up against the chairs in front of her so that other people wouldn't sit there. It was no skin off her back to be completely rude to others. When she heard the quiet voice, she turned her head and leveled a blank blue-eyed stare on him. Alisander. Wind graduate. Nerd. That's what she had labeled him right off with her first impression making. "What did you label me for, then, something starring Ben Stiller and a hilarious cast of asswipes?" She shrugged. "If something's not blowing up or getting killed, I do not care." Altair was actually big on Quentin Tarantino, though that was not surprising. Anything with action, considering she was a very action-oriented woman. She took a sip of her soda, careful with her lip gloss before saying, "And you, I expected you to go for something in the vein of The Reader." History, literature, something that made you think. It seemed pointless to go to a movie for that, at least for her. She didn't believe they were supposed to make you think, simply entertain you.

[demos]

i'm waking up to ash and dust

He wasn’t cruel by nature. He wasn’t one of those guys that liked to play with people, jerk them around to see how they would react. In honesty, those kind of people sickened him. They were so obsessed with their own intelligence, too bored with their lives to survive without something to entertain them every moment of the day. And sometimes, whether they intended for it or not, other people’s pain became their entertainment. And as sick, as twisted and wrong as it was, Alisander understood it – in a way. He wasn’t saying he approved, but a part of him could understand. You see, pain was a fascinating thing. It was raw, powerful and passionate. He personally believed pain – and associated emotions such as grief, or sorrow or betrayal – were the most beautiful emotions. They weren’t beautiful in that they were pleasant to observe. Rather they were beautiful in that they were genuine. As he had said, they were raw. They were humanity at its core, unveiled and stripped of its superficialities. They were honest. He would be the first to admit it, to say that he saw sorrow, as more honest than even love. But he never doubted such an opinion would earn him angry stares.

Now, just because he saw such a thing as beautiful – albeit in its own way – did not mean he went about looking for it, or ways to cause it. Those people were sick bastards. They had found themselves encased in a dull world of grays. It was an ugly cold world, after all. And in order to live, to deal with reality, they needed the short bursts of color – of reality. And there came your serial killers, your sadists, those who tempered with the fragile human mind. And Alisander, was not one of these men. But he did enjoy pushing the limits, in his own safe bookish way. And he enjoyed this particularly with Altair. It wasn’t because he disliked her. No, not at all. In fact, although he wouldn’t say he particularly liked her, he didn’t dislike her either. It was a sort of neutrality. His relationship with Altair was a puzzle, an enjoyable one, but one where somehow – every time you got close to solving it – you realized there was a piece missing. And perhaps there would always be pieces missing, to go along with the metaphor. Alisander, for one, was just fine with that.

Altair played with him, played his own version of those little games. He made a comment, she would snipe back. But they were never truly unkind things, or if she meant them to be – he never took them as such. And, unlike many outright bitchy girls, there was always a bit of wit to what she was saying. Some would have settled with “Fuck off, asshole”. But Altair, well that just wasn’t good enough for her. She always had to go that extra mile, be clever. And thus, by doing so, gave him exactly what he was looking for – and an incentive to return again and again and again. What she gave him was conversation, clever conversation. It was stimulation, wit, a mental challenge. It wasn’t that she knew she was better than him, or some such outlook. She wanted to prove it to. And she always had such delicious reactions. How could he not keep poking at her? He’d been the youngest child all his life. And his elder sister, Naia, had always been somewhat similar to Altair in demeanor – irritable and cantankerous. He was expert at playing the little brother, at pushing exactly the right buttons to make her squeal.

Though, of course, he was actually the elder of the two – by two years. But the dynamic was really the same. He shifted in his seat, situating himself so he was low and comfortable. He wasn’t so audacious as to reach over and steal her popcorn. He wasn’t the most assertive or outgoing of people. But he eyed it, wishing he had thought to get himself some. He cracked a small smile at her words, still managing to look – for all the world – like a sweet library-lover. “I had actually figured one of those depressing documentaries, the ones where you watch lions tear apart baby gazelle? You seem like a flesh-ripping sort of woman.” He wouldn’t go so far as to say she was the lion in that scenario. He wasn’t stupid. If she was the lion, he’d be the baby gazelle, and that wasn’t too cheery an outlook. He shook his head, still keeping his voice quiet. “And miss Bruce Willis squint awkwardly at the camera? I’m just waiting for the movie where someone finally hands him some reading glasses.” His tone wasn’t exactly cheery, quiet. But he didn’t stutter. In truth, he was a quiet man – not a shy man, not an insecure man, simply quiet. And he had no troubles with such a thing. He could be confident, even amusing when he really tried. Not that Altair would ever acknowledge it.

[ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT]

a million pieces of the sky

Altair actually didn't get to spend too much time at the movies. It was a rare thing, because her schedule either included school or work. And when she did not have those things going on, she was out somewhere getting into trouble. A lot less nowadays. It seemed responsibility was a lesson she had slowly begun to learn, something starting with her sister's death and escalating when she realized that being mad at everyone around her wouldn't solve any problems. She stuck to Rowena like glue, of course, that would never change. But as for everything else, she knew she would have to be careful with what she did. She had stopped taking drugs after Syr died, she had picked up her game. It eventually led her to quitting the strip club and landing herself back into the career she had always known she was good at, the one thing she had always loved. Alisander knew none of this, of course, and sometimes she wondered exactly how other people saw her. Ego told her that she was a pretty face, but what else? Could they even tell that she had a story, one that spanned across countries? Was that something identifiable in a person's countenance. She hoped not. As a private person, one who did not make too many friends, she preferred to keep it all to herself. She didn't want anyone knowing exactly how she got to this point in time, the things she did. Altair didn't even enjoy people knowing what she thought or felt. It would mean them recognizing that she had a soul and purposeful intent, and that was not something she needed other people to know.

Her blue gaze steadied on Alisander, as if she were picking him apart, peering into his soul. When in actuality, she didn't know whether or not she cared about his story. All she knew about him was that he was this Wind kid who just liked to mess with her, and he was lucky that she hadn't set his curly hair on fire yet. Temperamental and violent, most of her problems were solved by either punching them or setting them up in flames. He was pretty cute, though, in a way that could almost border on sexy. Even if she didn't like someone, she wouldn't deny sexual attraction. She arched her eyebrows when he told her what he took her as, the kind of movies he believed she would be interested in. Despite her outward appearance, it was strange to hear people make assumptions like that about her. "So you take me as boring?" she said. That was what she first thought of when she heard documentaries, a voice over droning about the Native Americans and their cultural genocide and some shells. Altair couldn't say she cared about anything educational like that, at least not in that medium. If those Native Americans blew some colonists up, then perhaps. "Flesh-ripping does sound pretty interesting, though I don't think they show many documentaries at the theatre, do they?" If they did, those films certainly did not get a lot of publicity or fanfare. For understandable reasons, the reasons she did not even like to watch them. She had no respect for anyone who wanted to go to a movie theatre to watch a film like that. Even March of the Penguins. Morgan Freeman's voice could not save that.

At Alisander's words about Bruce Willis, she actually laughed. Not a completely happy laugh, more like a short snort, but it was something. She didn't do it often, the most she had ever displayed any kind of happiness or mirth was with Ro. And she was usually doing her best to try and annoy the girl. "Then he'd just be Larry David with more guns." She had to say that Bruce Willis was more attractive than the lead actor of Curb Your Enthusiasm, but she didn't really have a taste in older men. That didn't mean there hadn't been a point in her life when she had been forced to sleep with them even if she didn't want to. No, not forced -- she had to do what she had to do. And it was usually the older gentlemen that had the money. Sometimes they were good, sometimes they were just too old to get over. It could be disgusting, but she didn't need to think about that anymore because she didn't have to do it. She was overall thankful that she had quit that, even though she did not have the moral objections some people did. Leaning back, she scanned to see if anyone was around the Wind graduate. Her eyes fell back to him, chewing a few pieces of popcorn before speaking. "Come with anyone?" It was a question stated with very little interest, but she still said it. And that was something, right? At least she wasn't being a complete bitch just yet, though she certainly wasn't being nice. He had a similar since of humor, it seemed, and she could be thankful for that much.

[demos]

i'm waking up to ash and dust

He leaned back, propping his feet up on the chair in front of him. He had long legs, but he was a tall lean sort of man. That was where he differed, actually, from the rest of his family. His mother was short, portly and smiling. His family back in Greece always said she was a traditional Greek woman. His father was tall, broad shouldered, with a booming laugh. He was muscular, or had been in his youth. All that impressive muscle had become a bit of a gut. He had a rotund belly, the sort that jiggled when he laughed and truly meant it. That belly had shrunk away, though, when Phillipa had died. It was a grief thing, that was what everyone said. Some ate away their grief, some didn’t eat at all. And Alisander’s father didn’t eat at all. He’d become a frail sort of older man. Now, three years later, he’d regained some of his weight – enough to be healthy. But he’d never be rotund, never jiggle when he laughed again. He was older, ten years older than he looked. Then again, so were the rest of them - whether mentally or physically, they’d all been aged.

In any case, Alisander should have been a large strapping man like his father. He’d inherited his height, the broad shoulders, but that was where it stopped. Where his father had put on muscle, his biceps wrapped in skin, Alisander remained lean. He wasn’t gangly, though he had been in his younger years. He’d filled out, but not anywhere near it had been expected. His lips quirked, thinking of it. Phillipa had had height too, not the height he had, but more than their mother. Naia was small though, like their mother – a traditional Greek woman. Alisander settled down in his seat, smiling to himself as Altair spoke. A part of him enjoyed her company, really and truly did. He turned his gaze to her, observing her as she peered at him. At first that piercing glare had unsettled him, had made him wriggle uncomfortably. But he’d adjusted to it, defied it just to see her frustration. His eyes stayed trained on her face. He had long ago memorized her features. She was beautiful, not that classic beautiful, but a recognizable beautiful. She was a model, after all, she had to be beautiful – whether it was only the outside or not.

His lips quirked and he shook his head. “I happen to find documentaries incredibly engrossing.” His accent was thick. A majority of the time he worked to hide it, or put in some small effort to disguise it. But more and more he’d been shrugging and letting it go. Plus, some women found it endearing, attractive for some reason he could not fathom. “See, I had you pegged as a flesh-ripping sort of woman.” There was a certain triumph in his voice. “I bet you like slasher films too. I could see you cheering when the ditzy blonde gets her arms sawed off.” He’d never been a fan of those sorts of films personally, but he could see Altair watching those. There was a look in her eyes at times that bordered on psychopathic. He could just see her giggling manically as the chain saw revved in the basement. Lesser girls might cower, cry or screech or cling to leering frat boys. But never Altair. She had too much fun seeing people get exactly what they deserved. He’d heard rumors, something about a dead sister. They should have been able to bond over that, right? Why didn’t they have some sort of ridiculously deep understanding of each other?

As much as he was brave enough to prod her, he wasn’t brave enough to delve into the dead-sister discussions. He eyed her popcorn, wondering whether he was brave enough to eat her food. He doubted she would actually set him on fire in such a public place, but he couldn’t put it past her. And when it came to being set on fire, well his element wouldn’t be entirely useful. Never blow on a flame, or so they said. “Are you enjoying my company miss Bennet?” He grinned at her, having heard her laugh. He counted that as a victory, as something he would likely hold over her for months to come. He shook his head, “Any chance a laugh earns me complimentary food?” He kept his hands firmly in his lap – just in case she decided to singe his fingers. He shook his head again, in response to her question. “I’m happiest alone. What about you?” He wasn’t the sort to be pegged as a social butterfly. No one would make that mistake. And as much as he was comfortable talking, despite being naturally quiet, he didn’t have that blustering joking confident bravado so many other men had.

[ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT]

a million pieces of the sky

The Fire girl rarely spared thoughts for her parents. She had forgotten them most of the time. They had become nothing to her ever since the triplets left, and none of them had ever gone back. They didn't know if they were even alive anymore. But sometimes Altair knew if she thought about them, she would feel guilt. That is if she hadn't deluded herself into believing that they didn't care about their daughters. She wanted to keep it that way, throughout her teenage years that's what she had come to believe. No matter how they had treated their children before they tasted success and the stuff dreams were made of. Their parents hadn't been the ones that changed -- they were. And as any parent would be, they had merely been concerned. They could have handled it better, there could have been a lot less damage, but as it were everything had fallen apart. What movies do they like? Admittedly, Altair didn't know very much about them. They had seemed boring anyway, she didn't feel much of a loss over the matter. She had Ro now, and that was all she ever needed. The girl never yearned for support, a sense of belonging. She made her own way in the world, carved paths from stone better than any sculptor. Why would she need parents anyway when she could handle everything on her own?

She rolled her eyes. Of course he found them 'engrossing' he was totally the type to. Her judgmental nature had her opinions on someone pinned from the moment she caught them in her sight. "Well aren't you the most astute man in all of Canada," she drawled. Of course she was going to like horror movies, why wouldn't she? She also liked comedies. Anything she saw as good, she enjoyed. It was all subjective, after all, and since she did not view cinema as an artform, there was not much to look into. Which was why she hated when people bitched about movies -- more than bitching in general. It was entertainment, who cares if the blood didn't look real, it could just as easily be a comedy. "I like anything that I like. If it's good to me, then I like it. No try and guess another genre, oh wise one." Just as prickly as ever, she could easily be comparable to a porcupine. She wondered why Alisander even wanted to be near her. He must have been a masochistic, getting a sexual thrill from her being a general asshole who could obviously not give less of a shit about him or anything he was saying. She just humored him by replying, but she could just as easily ignore him. The Wind graduate had simply gotten lucky that she was in such a good mood.

There was no smile on her face as she looked over, white-blond eyebrows lifted without even a smidgen of interest on her features. "You're tolerable in this moment of time," she told him, giving a one-shoulder shrug. That was being completely honest. As of this moment he was doing good at not making her want to burn him. But he would probably near it soon. She had her limits with any people and didn't know anyone who she could spend time around longer than five minutes. "Maybe if you kiss my ass some more, I might. Or some other part of my anatomy." She certainly was not above busting some balls. And her best method was in sexually explicit comments, just to make people uncomfortable around her. She pushed people away very easily. "I don't think I'd like to see a movie with anyone, I have too much of a fun time listening to loud ass people talking to each other already. Which means you better shut up when it starts." And she turned away, her message clear. She was a difficult person, and she wasn't going to give him a chance to get on her nerves. Maybe once she could be around him without going completely off the handle.