Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver & Storiwyr)
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Storiwyr on 26-09-2008, 02:45:05</h2>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>26-09-2008, 02:45:05</strong>
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				It smelled like rain. This wasn't unusual, especially since it had been raining nonstop for several days. A drizzle or a downpour, or somewhere in between, but always some form of water coming down. However, tonight--in the dark of a fall night--the rain seemed to have declared victory and receded, leaving the world completely saturated. Water dripped off the branches of the towering oaks in the downtown park, and the lawn was not so much a lawn as it was a sea of mud with the occasional drowning blade of grass. There was a biting cold to the air that promised frost in the morning, and the streetlamps lining the criss-crossing sidewalks were stars of light in the dark, rays cutting through wet air. <br><br>With the weather as it was, the park was nearly deserted. The only movement was the occasional dejected vagrant, hoping behind hope for a slightly less damp park bench. Yet each of these moved on. The park was normally not so empty--it was a pain in the ass, really, at least to the local authorities. During the day it was plenty safe--groups of children from local daycares, a hotdog vendor, and people just enjoying the green space in the middle of a busy city. At night, the trees and public bathroom gave ample room for the less desirable elements to complete drug deals and get drunk and disorderly, to say nothing of a problem with prostitution that had been growing in recent years.<br><br>So it wasn't precisely odd to see a woman--hardly out of girlhood, really--standing in the park. In this case, however, she drew attention. It may have been her beauty. She was small, with a slender waist and golden hair that ended in soft curls at her lower back. It may have been the look of confusion on her face as she looked up into the branches of an oak tree, her fingers trailing tentatively across the bark. Or maybe it was her attire--completely inappropriate for the weather, and not in the usual way. She was dressed in a simple white shift--it almost looked more like an old fashioned nightdress. It came down to her knees, with an edge of simple lace, and cap-sleeves. The hem was spattered in mud, as were the graceful curves of her bare calves. She was also shoeless, her heels sinking into the mud. To the superstitious, she might have seemed a ghost, utterly out of place in the gloomy wet night. She must have been freezing, for the wind was unforgiving, and it rustled her curls across her back.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>27-09-2008, 00:59:01</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				It was late, just the time that Jon preferred to take his run.&nbsp; Late enough that all of the day people had shuffled off to the perceived protections of their houses and apartments, leaving only him to be alone with his thoughts.&nbsp; Well, not only him - there were others, now and again.<br><br>The streetlamps down Broadway glimmered dimly in the night air, and the rain-blackened concrete seemed to absorb the light like a sponge.&nbsp; He was used to it, working night shifts for as long as he could remember.&nbsp; He had walked these streets as a beat cop in his first few years, and driven them on graveyard patrol.&nbsp; He knew every alley, every fence, every recessed doorway like the back of his hand.<br><br>He turned left along Mill, cutting between the large buildings to his left and right, his feet slapping down on the wet concrete slabs that meandered between the large trees.&nbsp; In only a few strides he was past the buildings and turning right, running along the huge trees of the park.<br><br>The image was almost wraithlike as he saw her, silhouetted by a lone moonbeam as Jon ran along the concrete path.&nbsp; He slowed his pace, eyes immediately going to her and then scanning the surroundings for other oddities that might coincide with him finding a woman in a nightgown in the middle of the park in a rainstorm at nearly 1am.<br><br>The wind gusted hard as he slowed to a walk, turning and leaving the path as his hand reflexively reached back to check that his service automatic was still in its holster.&nbsp; "Ma'am??" he called out to her as he approached, some thirty feet from her when he spoke.&nbsp; "Ma'am, are you alright?&nbsp; My name is Detective Jon Simmons...&nbsp; Can I help you?"
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>27-09-2008, 21:18:21</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				She had been wandering slowly around the tree, fingertips still against the bark like she was using it as a guide. His voice caught her by surprise--she'd fancied herself alone in the park. Alone. Such a strange thing. She spun gracefully on one heel in the mud, her hair like a cascade of gold as it caught the streetlights. Both her hands dropped palm down onto the bark and she almost looked like she was hugging the tree, clinging to it for comfort. One of her pale cheeks nearly brushed the bark as her hair settled into place. A thin golden chain caught the lamp light for a moment and glittered to make itself known. There was something dangling from the chain, resting against her collarbone, but he was not yet close enough to see what it was.<br><br>He was met with eyes so blue they were almost unbelievable. Perhaps her response to his voice should have made her seem less like an apparition, but now she looked like some elderly lady's figurine of an angel, grown to lifesize and stepped off the mantle for a midnight stroll in the park. Still, there was terror in her eyes when they locked to his. She shrank against the tree, looking as though she wanted very much to run, but her feet stayed planted in the mud. <br><br>Questions. He had asked her questions. She parted her lips, hesitating, and then speaking in a voice so soft it was hardly audible, "I am well, Brother." She said slowly, "I ... you can help me if you wish." She sounded a little confused, probably because she was confused. His questions were strange, and she wasn't sure quite how to respond to him properly.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>29-09-2008, 15:47:46</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				He stepped off of the path and into the mud as he approached her, running shoes squishing into the waterlogged grass.&nbsp; The mud and grass pulled at the soles of his shoes as he moved closer to her, his brow furrowing as he took in the peculiar scene.&nbsp; The girl's eyes, the hair, her odd manner of speech and her apparent bond to the tree made him think idly of a faerie or sprite, or something else from nameless fantasy stories.<br><br>He glanced around again, searching the shadowed park for anything ... else ... out of the ordinary before he stepped almost within reach of the girl.&nbsp; "What is the problem, Miss?"&nbsp; he asked as he glanced over her once more, his brow still slightly creased as it tended to do whenever he was presented with a mystery.&nbsp; "You really shouldn't be out here in the park at this hour, especially in the rain and dressed ... like that."
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>29-09-2008, 16:06:10</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				She seemed to grow smaller the closer he came to her, shrinking against the tree, her eyes glittering in the faint light. She took the opportunity of his own survey of the park to glance around as well. Though she looked less as if she were studying her surroundings, and more as if she were longing to flee into the darkness. The moment he spoke, her eyes went back to him, focused on his face. Another confusing question. Her lips parted slightly, preparing to answer before she was even quite sure what to say. But his next words caught her by surprise, and she dropped her eyes as though he'd slapped her. She knew she shouldn't be here. For any reason, in any form of dress. <br><br>Still ... he'd asked her something. The problem. What was the problem? Was there only one, really? Could she articulate it, did she even understand it that well herself? It was such an open question, requiring so much more than she was used to giving. It was as if he actually wanted her to speak and cared what she had to say, "I am lost, Brother." She said finally, a note of regret to her soft voice. Lost, and really not particularly interested in being found again.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>29-09-2008, 16:14:13</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Simmons arched an eyebrow as she finally spoke, her tiny voice seeming incredulously soft as she addressed her dilemma.&nbsp; "Lost, you say?"&nbsp; he murmured as he glanced up into the overhanging branches of the tree.&nbsp; The rain continued to fall, raindrops coursing at a steep angle as the wind whipped underneath the lowest limbs.<br><br>He lowered his eyes back to meet hers once more, and he pursed his lips as he studied her almost inhumanly blue eyes.&nbsp; "Where do you live, Miss...?"&nbsp; He left the question open, hoping the girl smart enough to pick up on his unworded request for her name.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>01-10-2008, 00:57:29</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				She used the opportunity of his glance up into the tree to study his face with her crystal blue eyes. She caught his soft murmur, a question, yet was she supposed to answer it? It had been so soft. But maybe it was a trick.<br><br>"Yes, Brother." She repeated in a whisper, just barely loud enough to be heard. Her gaze followed his up into the tree, just as he lowered his own head. The dim light caught the golden chain around her slender neck, and this time the charm that dangled from it was recognizable. It was a small golden cross, lying soft against her collarbone. Her eyes lowered to meet his again, and she shifted on her feet as he seemed to stare right into her mind. <br><br>"I live in the Sanctum, Brother." She answered softly, her face twisting a little in anxiety. She answered readily enough, though it was clear she did not want to. She missed his hint for her name. Though it wasn't so much a lack of intelligence as it was a lack of familiarity with such pleasantries of normal conversation.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>01-10-2008, 12:11:39</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				This was becoming more peculiar by the minute, and Simmons couldn't help but clench his jaw as he looked the girl up and down.&nbsp; The Sanctum..&nbsp; Perhaps some odd new sorority at one of the local colleges, though he hadn't heard of anything even similar.&nbsp; You never knew with college girls, however.&nbsp; Some of the things he'd seen in his years on the force dispelled any notion of the innocence of teenage college girls, and he wondered if this might be some odd college prank taken to the limits of sanity.<br><br>Despite her youthful appearance, he couldn't throw the sensation that she was much older than she appeared.&nbsp; Barefoot and covered in mud and grass, and seemingly not distressed in the least by the looks of her.&nbsp; College girl surely, and a Christian, he noted as the crucifix glimmered in the dim illumination below the waving tree limbs.&nbsp; "Never heard of the Sanctum," he commented after another scanning of the area with his intent eyes.&nbsp; "That from one of the colleges, some new sorority chapter?&nbsp; And what's your name, miss?" he asked her finally, a bit perturbed that he had to actually voice the request.<br><br>He set his fists against his hips as he looked her over, waiting for her answers.&nbsp; His senses were on alert as always, every bit of movement within his range of vision noted and judged as threat or inconsequence.&nbsp; Despite everything, however, it was her eyes that pulled his attentions and managed to put him somewhat off his normal level of professionalism.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>01-10-2008, 14:13:04</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				If Celeste had known what a specimen or a microscope were, she would have felt like one under the other. But she didn't, so she just felt a vague sort of unease which was not entirely unfamiliar. She squirmed a bit, biting her lower lip, her precarious grip on the tree bark tightening. When he spoke again, her face twisted slightly in mixed anxiety and regret. Whether he'd meant to show it or not, she could sense his irritation. If there was one thing Celeste was good at, it was reading negative emotions in someone else, and it was her experience that if someone in her whereabouts was angry or frustrated, it was usually her fault. The fact that he'd fired more questions at her did nothing to improve her misery,<br><br>"I do not go to college, Brother. My name is Celeste." She answered the questions readily enough, though her voice had begun to tremble. She glossed over the one about the sorority, mostly because she didn't know what the word meant, but knew better than to admit to her ignorance if she could help it. Maybe he wouldn't notice. It had been hard for her to decide which was worse, evading a question or admitting to not knowing the answer. Her eyes lingered on his for a while--long enough to make it more than clear that she was frightened, miserable and drowning in guilt--before she dropped them to her muddy feet, though such a transmission of emotion had not really been her intention. She didn't think he'd care, anyway.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>01-10-2008, 14:24:29</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				The furrows in his brow softened as he saw too late the signals she was transmitting as her eyes dropped to the ground.&nbsp; "Shit," he muttered to himself, unzipping his hooded windbreaker and pulling it off.&nbsp; <br><br>"Here, Celeste," he told her, inverting the jacket and holding it out towards her.&nbsp; "Put this on.&nbsp; It will keep the rain off of you, and <em>maybe </em>keep you from catching cold."<br><br>He stepped forward, closing the distance between she and he to less than an arm's length and draping the jacket around her without waiting for her acceptance.&nbsp; "Now, where is this Sanctum?" he asked her, his eyes now intent on her face to the exclusion of his surroundings.&nbsp; "And you can call me Detective Simmons, Celeste.&nbsp; Or just Jon."
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				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>01-10-2008, 14:52:40</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				She could tell he'd muttered something, but not what it was, so she just assumed it was some expression of irritation. The sound of the zipper was harsh enough to her ears to make her jump, and when she looked up, she saw him removing his jacket. Her face shifted into a frightened grimace again, her eyes skipping over his like a well thrown stone over water. She barely registered his words, and a rushing of blood in her ears as her heart pounded drowned out most of their meaning. Luckily she didn't need to be listening, since he draped the coat over her shoulders without her needing to move.<br><br>Again, it seemed she shrank as he drew nearer, as if her apparent size decreased with proximity rather than increasing. It was like the closer he came, the more she withdrew without moving in the least. As he approached, one thing became apparent--what had seemed from a distance to be the shadows of tree leaves over her upper arms were actually bruises. It looked as though someone had seized her by the upper arms, perhaps to shake her, and squeezed hard enough to break vessels under her pale skin. When the coat settled over her shoulders, she cringed as though she'd been slapped, her eyes closing tightly for a moment. Finally she opened them again, frightened blue gaze meeting his, teeth chattering together. She wondered if he ever stopped asking questions. She looked over her shoulder, and then lifted a shaking finger to point west, "That way, Brother." She said. She wasn't completely sure that it was true, but she did vaguely remember that it was the street she'd come to the park from, so it was the best answer she had. If she was wrong, what he did to her would likely be no worse than what would become of her if she were right. There was a note of pleading to her voice, but she remained silent as her mind repeated itself over and over in a silent, shameful wish, <em>Please oh please don't make me go back.</em>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>01-10-2008, 23:26:37</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				The realization of her condition became clear as his arms swept around her and he laid his wet jacket over her shoulders.&nbsp; This girl was not simply standing underneath a tree in the rain, she'd been beaten.&nbsp; Severely, and recently, by the looks of it.<br><br>He could tell by her manner that she was terrified, and as she pointed west he knew the shaking of her hand wasn't entirely due to the chills that he was sure must be hammering through her.&nbsp; "We need to get you someplace dry, Celeste," he told her.&nbsp; "My apartment is nearby, and it is safe and warm."<br><br>With his hands at her shoulders, he began to lead her out from underneath the shaded trees and into the heavier rain.&nbsp; He took a moment to flip the hood up over her head before he continued guiding her back down the path and ultimately to his small apartment, only a few blocks away.&nbsp; "Why do you keep calling me brother, Celeste?" he inquired.&nbsp; "My name is Jon.&nbsp; Or detective, if you prefer being formal."
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>02-10-2008, 00:59:50</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Once she'd pointed, Celeste drew her hand back, tucking it up against her chest so that it disappeared under the coat that she wore like a cape. It took her a moment to register the sudden, increasing warmth in her cold and slightly clammy skin. Her fingers closed around the edges of the coat, drawing it tighter around her. She felt a little awkward as she whispered her first unsolicited words of the evening, "Thank you, Brother." She was a little chagrined at the idea of going someplace dry, as she figured that probably meant indoors. But she was cold and wet, and she knew that she couldn't stay outside forever.<br><br>She offered no resistance as he steered her out of the trees and onto the sidewalk. She flinched when he reached for her and was utterly bewildered when--instead of hurting her--he flipped the hood up to protect her from the deluge. She thought she was going to get away without more questions, at least for a while, but just as she'd started to relax and settle into a numb sort of silence, another came. <br><br>"All men are my brothers." She said very softly.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>02-10-2008, 09:01:54</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				"All men are my brothers." She said very softly.<br><br>He shrugged at that, gritting his teeth quietly as he resisted the urge to just blatantly tell her to stop.&nbsp; She was hurt, from the looks of it quite badly, and she didn't need any additional stress at the moment.&nbsp; "Yes, I'm sure we are," he said. "Why don't you just call me Detective, and then we'll know when you are talking to me."<br><br>The rest of the journey to his apartment was in silence, the rain and the wind whipping at them as they made their way through the rain-slicked black streets.&nbsp; Broadway was as deserted now as it had been when Simmons had began his run, not that he was surprised much.&nbsp; The dealers and bangers wouldn't come out in this shitty weather, they had standards.<br><br>After a five minute walk up Broadway he guided her to a side street and down, until they reached a staircase to an unobtrusive steel door.&nbsp; He guided her up the stairs to the door, saying, "Here we are, this is my apartment."&nbsp; He pulled his keys out and fumbled for the right one, slipping it into the lock and pushing the door open to reveal a small and somewhat messy apartment, cluttered - yet not disgustingly so - and filled with all manner of oddities.<br><br>"Go ahead, Celeste," he told her as he reached inside to flip on the lights.&nbsp; The powdered white coils of the newfangled compact fluorescent bulbs came to life, dim at first, then growing in intensity until the entire room was lit with bright light.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>02-10-2008, 17:58:56</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				"Yes, Detective." Celeste said dutifully, hunching her shoulders a little as she clutched his coat around her thin frame. She was grateful when silence ruled the rest of their walk. At first she kept her eyes on her feet and let him steer her, but as the silence went on she seemed to gain a little confidence back. If confidence was really a word that could describe not being <em>completely</em> crippled by fear. Her chin came up and she started to observe their surroundings, her eyes moving ceaselessly. She seemed to be trying to take in every detail of the city streets, drinking it all in as though she were desperate for such visual stimulation.<br><br>She seemed to retreat into her own head a little when he guided her up the stairs, her bare feet cold on the metal steps. She could hear them make a very soft sound like the low-tone ringing of a large bell in the wind--not under her own feet--under the Detective's. Her eyes were on her feet again as she heard the sound of metal on metal as he unlocked the door. She started to shiver slightly. Out for such a short period, and now she was going back in doors. A sudden burst of fear tried to tell her that this was some secret way back that she wasn't aware of, that he'd returned her to where she belonged, and she tensed like she was expecting something behind the door to leap on her. But when she looked up and saw the clutter of his apartment, she relaxed just slightly. There was nothing at The Sanctum like this. Her eyes were on the move again, searching over the furniture and the things piled on it. She slipped obediently into the apartment when he bade her to do so, stepping to the side just inside the door and slipping down onto her knees, still clutching the coat around herself and leaning her back to the wall.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>02-10-2008, 21:13:18</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Simmons followed her inside and pulled the door shut until the lock snapped shut, and then turned to see her slumped against the wall just inches past him right in the center of the entryway.&nbsp; He chuckled softly, reaching down and taking her by the upper arms.&nbsp; "Come on, Celeste," he told her with a reassuring smile.&nbsp; "I have places more comfortable than the floor to rest."<br><br>He lifted her back to her feet and guided her past the entryway into the small living space, across to one corner where a thick recliner stood next to a small and cluttered table.&nbsp; "Sit here," he said, urging her into the chair.&nbsp; "I'm going to get you some towels so we can get you dry."<br><br>He gave her another smile of reassurance before turning and crossing the room and out another doorway.&nbsp; His sounds were muffled as Celeste heard doors opening and items being shuffled, yet she could not ignore the incessant call of the quite comfortable chair he'd set her down into.&nbsp; The cushions were thick and firm, yet they yielded to her small frame readily and gave her a feeling of being ... held, embraced by a gentle warmth that was quite unfamiliar to her.<br><br>When he returned, he had a number of towels across his left arm and a thick robe over his right.&nbsp; He held a pair of tube-socks in one hand and a new-looking hairbrush in the other, all of which he held out and draped over her knees.<br><br>Looking over his right shoulder, he pointed towards the entryway.&nbsp; "If you go through there and to the right, there's a bathroom on the left," he told her.&nbsp; "You can get dry and change out of that muddy gown, and take a shower if you need to."<br><br>He stood to his full height and turned back to look her over once again, his face becoming a bit unreadable by her.&nbsp; "There is also a package of underthings under the sink, my ex left them a few months ago," he said.&nbsp; "They're new, and they might not be exactly your size... But they're dry."<br><br>He turned and headed back out the other door into the room she'd not seen yet, still speaking as he walked.&nbsp; "Just holler for me if you need anything, Celeste," he uttered.&nbsp; "I need to make a couple of phonecalls, I'll be right in here."
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>02-10-2008, 22:11:21</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste cringed when he reached for her, utterly baffled by the soft kindness to his voice. Her eyes caught his, and for a moment she felt as though he'd captured her with those eyes. She couldn't look away, could only stare into the depths of his gaze, her own blue eyes wide. She let him guide her--at least that much was familiar, being shown where to go and told what to do. She sat immediately when he told her to sit, even though she perched on the very edge of the chair, looking profoundly uncomfortable and nervous. Her gaze dropped to the table and there was a flash of curiosity for a moment as she surveyed the clutter atop it. <br><br>His leaving her in the room alone was a bit of a surprise, and she looked up after him, making as though she would get to her feet, and then remembering with a stab of confusion that he'd not told her to follow. She settled slowly into the chair, first back onto the edge and gradually slumping into the comforting warmth of it. It was so strange, listening to him moving about out of her sight. She was grateful for it, for the moment, as it allowed her to study her surroundings intently without fear of being scolded. <br><br>When he returned again, she straightened, slipping back to the edge of the chair with her cold, clammy hands folded tightly on her thighs. She was entirely clueless as to social norms, and her eyes dropped to the towels, clothing and hairbrush that he laid gently across her lap. He told her where the bathroom was, and what she <em>could</em> do, and told her there was underwear under the sink. She blinked at him. What she could do was different from what she <em>should</em> do, and she wondered if this was a trick. And why did it matter that there was underwear under the sink? This had to be some sort of strange test, and one she must be failing, miserably. <br><br><br>"Yes, Detective." She whispered, the strange form of address feeling unnatural on her tongue.<br><br><em>Holler?</em> She trembled. Celeste could barely bring herself to speak audibly, let alone holler. That was everyone else's job. As he retreated, her fingers closed around the soft dry towels in her lap. She thought she understood that he wanted her to bathe. She chewed her bottom lip a few moments and got shakily to her feet. She was terribly cold and wet, and warm water would feel wonderful. Wonderful enough to make it worth possible punishment later? But he seemed to expect her to do <em>something,</em> so she chanced it.<br><br>Her heart was pounding as she set off into the unknown of the Detective's apartment, her breathing shaky. She found the door to the bathroom and pushed it open very carefully with her fingertips. She stared at the unfamiliar shower, but now that the Detective was not there, and she'd made a decision, her heart calmed a little and the spark of curiosity returned. She sat on the edge of the tub, playing with the knobs until she'd figured out how to make the water the temperature she wanted.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>02-10-2008, 22:52:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The bathroom was a spartan affair, decorated only as a matter of circumstance.&nbsp; There were very few touches that Celeste could call 'feminine', most of the things being quite utilitarian in nature.&nbsp; It was clean, however, and the shower stabilized at a steamy hot temperature without too much effort.<br><br>She stepped into the tub and let the water cascade over her, the hot streams sending tingles through her abused shoulders and arms.&nbsp; It was a dichotomy of sensation, the pleasure of the heat tinged with the pain of her injuries as the water streamed down her body.<br><br>There was a white bar of soap on the ledge and she picked it up, gingerly scrubbing at her wounds as she let her body absorb the heat.&nbsp; Moments stretched into minutes as she stood numbly within the pouring water, allowing the shower's intensity to refill her chilled body with the heat that just recently seemed so far away, and so unreachable.<br><br>The knock on the bathroom door startled her back to her senses, making her jump and nearly fall as her feet slid on the wet tile.&nbsp; "Are you alright in there, Celeste?" his voice called from outside.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>03-10-2008, 14:39:18</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste was so startled by the knock that the bar of soap slipped out of her hands and thudded with a porcelain clang to the tub. She crouched and scooped up the soap, very nearly slipping in the process. She crouched in the tub, suddenly shivering as though she were desperately cold, despite the still hot water cascading over her back. It took her a moment to remember again where she was, and who was speaking to her. The warmth after being so cold had lulled her into a sort of reverie where such details hadn't mattered.<br><br>On top of it, he'd asked her one of his usual difficult questions and it took her a second more to register it and process an answer, "I am well, Detective." She whispered, and realized almost immediately that even the sound of water rushing from the showerhead, pattering off her skin and pinging into the tub had been louder than she had. He likely couldn't hear her at all and she was going to have to speak up. She swallowed, gathering her courage, "I am well, Detective." She said just a little louder.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>04-10-2008, 09:26:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Simmons stared at the door for a few minutes after hearing the panic caused by his knock, waiting until the noises returned to that of a normal person showering.&nbsp; It was plain to him that she was far from a 'normal' person, but beyond that he was at a complete loss.&nbsp; Regardless, he still had work to do.<br><br>He turned and headed back to his office, sitting down in his chair and clicking open his cellphone.&nbsp; The department switchboard was the best bet at this hour, as he really had no idea who was on duty at the moment.&nbsp; He thumbed up the switchboard in the phone's memory and clicked the green 'send' button before putting it to his ear.<br><br>Moments later he was afforded a scratchy tirade of clicks and pops as the phone struggled to make a better connection.&nbsp; He didn't know why it was that he had such shitty reception right here in the middle of the city, but it was what it was.&nbsp; He sighed in frustration as he waited.<br><br>It only took a few rings before the phone was answered, a man's voice coming through on the other end.&nbsp; "Detective Simmons, yes?" the voice asked.&nbsp; "This is Patrolman Jenkins - It's late, do you need assistance?"<br><br>Caller ID, of course, gave the man his name, as all of the Department employees were wired into the switchboard.&nbsp; Jenkins was just a kid, maybe two months out of the Academy, but he showed promise and had a good deal of drive.&nbsp; Unfortunately for him, that enthusiasm was what landed him on graveyard switchboard duty after he tried to bust the Assistant Mayor's daughter with two ounces of weed.&nbsp; He would learn, of course, that there are some people you just don't battle with.<br><br>"Yes, I do," Simmons told him as he leaned back in his chair.&nbsp; "I found a woman - a girl, really - in the Park Blocks, and she's pretty beat up.&nbsp; I think she may have been raped."<br><br>"Uh, shit Detective," the kid responded, "do you need me to send a unit?"<br><br>"No, Jenkins - I need you to contact someone in the Medical Examiner's office so that we can have a rape kit done on her."&nbsp; He paused for a moment before continuing.&nbsp; "Have them come to my apartment, and make sure they send a woman.&nbsp; This girl is as skittish as a field mouse, and I don't know how well she's going to handle the kit."<br><br>The young officer voiced his understanding before hanging up, leaving Simmons to rock quietly on his office chair, staring at the moonlight as it illuminated the wall across from the window.&nbsp; He didn't know what had been done to the girl, but whatever it was - he was determined to get to the bottom of it.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>04-10-2008, 09:50:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste couldn't quite return to her previous state of calm (or really, previous state of not-quite-so-terrified-as-usual) after the Detective's knock. She washed her hair carefully, but took no pleasure in it. Finally she turned off the water and stepped out, finding the towel and carefully drying herself. She stared at herself in the mirror, the golden cross still glinting against her collarbone. She saw her own reflection. Her sparkling blue eyes, her golden hair darkened by water, her pale skin. She saw nothing out of the ordinary about herself. Many other possible observers would, however, have been horrified by the state of her young body. <br><br>She took up the brush and carefully combed the small snags from her hair til it lay shining and damp across her shoulders. She picked up the robe, examining it a little clumsily. It wasn't so terribly different from her usual garb that she couldn't figure it out, however, and she soon had it wrapped around herself and tied. But then what? She stood in the bathroom for several long minutes, uncertain and lost by the lack of constant, detailed instruction. Finally she decided to compromise. She opened the bathroom door a little awkwardly, using two hands like a child, letting herself out into the hallway. She settled her back to the wall next to the bathroom door and slipped down onto her knees, her hands folded in her lap obediently.<br><br>Celeste waited.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>04-10-2008, 10:05:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Simmons sat in the semi-darkness of his office for another ten minutes, until he came to the realization that he no longer heard the shower running in his main bathroom.&nbsp; He rocked himself to his feet and moved out into the hallway, and was a bit surprised to find the girl parked against the wall with her hands in her lap.<br><br>"Oh, I see you're done, good," he told her.&nbsp; "But you could have gone out into the living room, the chairs out there are a lot more comfortable than the floor."<br><br>He approached her and held out his hand, noting the apprehensive look on her face, and something else - he'd almost be willing to call it plain and unadulterated fear.<br><br>"Come with me, Celeste," he said, waiting for her to accept his hand.&nbsp; "Let's go sit down and talk about what happened to you."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>04-10-2008, 10:12:05</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste flinched when he spoke. She'd been zoning out, really, her eyes focused on her folded hands. She'd learned how to let her mind float in rare moments of silence. It was so much better than staying present in her own mind. Still, being called back to earth was always a bit of a shock, a nauseating sort of jerk in the pit of her stomach. She pressed back against the wall even harder, feeling plaster against bone with only skin between. She felt chastened by his words. She knew she'd been wrong. When was she not wrong? But she had hoped ... still he didn't strike her, and his voice was soft when he offered her his hand and told her to come with him.<br><br>She slipped her graceful fingers into his grip. It would have been hard to tell she was trembling, till her hand lay quivering in his. She rose to her feet, the robe falling into place around her and coming down nearly to mid-calf. <em>Let's go sit down and talk about what happened to you.</em> She shuddered. She didn't know what he meant, but she was relatively sure she wasn't going to like it. What happened to her? Was that the same as 'What have you done?' or 'What's wrong with you?' or 'What were you thinking?'<br><br>The man spoke in riddles, and Celeste's face twisted a little in anxiety. She didn't particularly want to answer any of the questions she thought he might have intended by his words.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>04-10-2008, 10:32:53</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Simmons led the girl back into the front room, and guided her to his recliner once more.&nbsp; He watched her closely, trying to pick up on any clue her body language would give him.&nbsp; He could tell that she was terrified and confused, but beyond that ... it was plain that the girl held her emotions tightly behind a wall of psychological defense.<br><br>"Have you eaten anything?" he asked as she sat down, and he turned towards the kitchen.&nbsp; "I'll get you something to eat - Do you like bananas?"<br><br>His voice trailed off as he headed into the kitchen, and she heard a door open and close before he returned with two bananas and a can of coke.&nbsp; "Here," he said, handing them to her as he crossed the room.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>04-10-2008, 10:40:04</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste sank into the recliner as bidden, her hands automatically clasping and settling in her lap and her eyes dropping to her hands. The chair seemed to dwarf her. She was, indeed, a petite little thing. But her meek behavior and terror made her seem all the smaller. She looked like a child waiting outside the principal's office and sure of a certain doom. Her golden hair slipped over her shoulder slowly, sliding over itself as if it were silk. When he questioned her again, she answered, even though he was already on his way to the kitchen to get her food, "I have not eaten since the afternoon, Detective. I will eat whatever you give me." <br><br>She stayed just as she was not, looking up and not moving other than to fidget with her hands a little. When he spoke again she looked up. Her eyes met his for a moment first, then dropped to the items he bore in his hands. So much food. She took them awkwardly, first attempting to take them all at once and finding her hands were too small and her method unsatisfactory. She settled at last for taking the bananas first and resting them in her lap before reaching up to take the can from him with both hands. She looked at it curiously, and there was something about her that was reminiscent of a squirrel with a walnut. She examined the can from all angles as though it were a deep mystery she was determined to solve.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>04-10-2008, 11:17:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The odd look on her face almost made Simmons laugh out loud, but he did manage to hold it to a simple chuckle.&nbsp; "Here, let me get that," he said, taking the can and opening it with one hand.&nbsp; The mist from the can opening was a shock to her, and she shrunk back from it as the spray hung in the air between her and him.<br><br>Everything about this seemed to twist as completely wrong in his head, from the initial meeting to her inability to open a soda can, and all he could do was shake his head.&nbsp; "Did you walk from this Sanctum, or did someone give you a ride?" he asked her as he offered her the opened can.&nbsp; The smell of coca-cola hung in the air as the mist fell over her hands and lap
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>04-10-2008, 11:22:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The snapping sound as the can opened made Celeste jump as though he'd shot a gun right by her head. But as he spoke to her and handed the can back to her, she seemed enchanted by the mist of Coca Cola in the air. It tickled her skin, and she lifted the can and sniffed at the opening. Immediately she coughed, looking startled and scrunching up her face. She decided that smelling this strange can was a bad idea, and resolved not to do it again. By then there was another question to answer and she hesitated, all curiosity dissipating, replaced with a fearful expression.<br><br>"I r-ran, Detective." She said softly, swallowing hard. Her eyes flitted over his and she lifted the can and took large swallow of it, as if hoping to drink away the words. Instead, she choked and sputtered, utterly surprised by the strange tickle of carbonation. She stared at the can nervously, wondering if there was something bad in it ... if this was her punishment for failing this particular test.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>04-10-2008, 11:27:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Her bumbling with the cola did manage to pull a laugh from him, and he quickly stood and grabbed a towel from a pile of clothes strewn on the couch.&nbsp; "You never drink a coke before, Celeste?" he asked her as he handed her the towel.<br><br>His laugh faded as he realized without a doubt that no, this girl had never drank a coke before.&nbsp; The look of confusion on her face, the utter disorientation, her reactions to his questions, it all piled up into one big realization as he stared at her.&nbsp; "Where are you from?" he muttered, half to himself as he knelt on the carpet in front of her.&nbsp; "... and who did this to you?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>04-10-2008, 11:33:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste had to let go of the can with one hand in order to accept the towel, and she kept a nervous eye on both of them. She was treating the soda like a grenade that might go off any minute, but she carefully dried her chin with the towel and then folded it over her lap. She tried another sip of the soda and this time managed not to cough, though she still sputtered a little as she felt the odd bubbly sensation.<br><br>"I have not, Detective." She said softly in answer to his question. She turned her attention to the bananas on her lap. The can she was still not sure about. She was familiar with bananas, but in order to peel one she needed both her hands, and that would require putting down the can. She didn't know where to put it so she just sat there with the can in one hand and a banana in the other, trying to decide what to do. She forgot her dilemma immediately when he asked his questions. The first one ... she could answer, "I am from God, Detective." The second? That one seemed nearly impossible, and a look of anxiety slowly built into fear. Who did <em>what</em> to her? She stammered for a moment, and finally fell silent, her shoulders hunching. She cowered before him as though awaiting a blow. There was no answer, and she was preparing for the consequences of disobedience.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>04-10-2008, 11:40:33</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>This is going to be one long fucking night</em>, he thought to himself as he reached out and took the banana from her.&nbsp; He opened it from the bottom end and folded the peel back to reveal half of the fruit before handing it back to her.<br><br>He rolled back and onto his butt on the carpet, extending his feet out as he leaned back against the television stand.&nbsp; With a grimace he reached behind his waist and unclipped his holster, setting the black leather sheath and pistol up atop the television behind him.&nbsp; He then turned his eyes back to the girl, looking at her incredulously.<br><br>"for fuck's sake.&nbsp; Who beat you up, Celeste?" he asked her bluntly.&nbsp; "You look like you got the shit knocked out of you, look at your arms."&nbsp; He pointed at her forearms where they extended from the robe, dark bruises plainly visible against the thick white cotton sleeve.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>04-10-2008, 11:46:20</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste's hand was trembling so hard when she reached for the banana that she very nearly dropped it the moment he let go. She drew it back to herself meekly and took a small bite, her eyes on him as though she were watching for approval or disapproval of even an action so small as eating. When he swore she cringed as though he'd slapped her, and her frightened eyes followed his gesture to look at the dark bruises on her arms. Individual fingers were visible. Someone had grabbed her hard. Still, his question baffled her.<br><br>"I ... one of the brothers, Detective." She said finally, once she'd managed to chew and swallow her minuscule bite of fruit. She took another bite while she watched him edgily, her blue eyes owlish. The can was still clutched in one hand, and she risked another sip. The more she drank of it, the less vile it seemed. Now that she'd gotten past the weird tickle of the carbonation, she could taste how sweet it was.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>04-10-2008, 11:53:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"<em>One </em>of the brothers?" he asked, tilting his head sideways as he tried to sort this madness out in his head.&nbsp; He pushed himself to his feet and paced the length of the small room before returning and leaning against the television.<br><br>"Are you saying that ... more than one person could have done this to you?" he asked, his brows furrowing in frustration.&nbsp; "Do you know any names, Celeste?&nbsp; Of these 'brothers' you refer to, I mean."<br><br>his forefinger began to tap on the face of the television, a telltale sign that he was becoming too frustrated to be rational.&nbsp; He needed a goddamn cigarette is what he needed, or ... something.&nbsp; The girl just sat there looking like a cornered mouse, answering his questions with the strangest answers he could possibly imagine.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>04-10-2008, 12:03:12</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste wasn't eating anymore. The coke and banana occupied her hands, but did little else--they were completely forgotten. She shrank back into her chair, her face the picture of misery and fear. She could tell he was frustrated and getting moreso by the moment. She also knew it was her fault. It was always her fault. Everything was and always would be her fault. Her eyes followed him as he paced. And another barrage of questions. She felt like her head was full of the fizzy drink she had in her hand. <br><br>She stuttered as she tried to remember everything he'd asked her and answer each question in order. Her voice shook a little. She was afraid she'd leave something out and anger him even more. Anger him too much and he'd add to her bruises. Celeste was tired. Tomorrow she could handle it as she must, tonight she thought she might just shrink away to nothing if he tried to hurt her. She said none of this. She was too busy answering questions, and even she hadn't been, she wouldn't have voiced her feelings.<br><br>"Yes, Detective. Yes, Detective. Names do not matter before God. There are the Brothers, the Trinity, and the Father." Her voice faltered a little.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>05-10-2008, 21:22:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Simmons tilted his head back as the girl answered, pressing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes.&nbsp; He could feel the headache starting already, stress-pulses throbbing behind his eyes whenever things just didn't fit correctly.&nbsp; Odd condition to have, especially for one such as a detective, but it didn't change anything.&nbsp; Just meant that the only way out of the pain was to sort the issues and find a solution.<br><br>He inhaled deeply, held the breath and forced a smile before opening his eyes once again and alighting on the girl.&nbsp; "And have all of the 'Brothers' and the 'trinity' and the 'father',"&nbsp; his accentuation on each name was vaguely spiteful, reflecting his own dissatisfaction with anything even vaguely religious.&nbsp; "... helped to cover you with these wounds?"<br><br>As he finished his question, the jarring ring of his cellphone cut off her reply.&nbsp; He frowned and flipped it open, holding it to his ear.<br><br>"Simmons," he said, eyes going distant on the far wall.&nbsp; "Yeah, around 11:30."<br><br>He glanced down at his watch as tiny noises came through the phone, and he nodded in answer to the unspoken question.&nbsp; "Yeah, i'm in my apartment with her.&nbsp; Is she female?"<br><br>Another pause, and he continued.&nbsp; "Alright, good.&nbsp; Tell her to hurry the hell up and get here."<br><br>Moments later he closed the phone and slipped it back into his pocket, then turned his attentions back to the girl.&nbsp; "A woman from the M.E. is going to be joining us, Celeste," he told her.&nbsp; "She's going to take a look at your injuries and see if we can help you a bit."&nbsp; <br><br>Simmons shifted away from the television and sat down on the couch, at the other side of the room.&nbsp; "Sorry to interrupt your answer," he told her.&nbsp; "Now, tell me about them, did they all hurt you?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>05-10-2008, 21:42:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste watched him rub the bridge of his nose and cowered a little. It was a familiar gesture, and she felt a painful lump rising in her throat. Not that any of this was unusual. She would try every way she knew to please, and it was never good enough. She wanted something to hold. A pillow, a jacket, something. All she had was the Coke and banana, so she clung to them tightly, squishing the banana a little in the process. <br><br>She looked unhappy as questions answered continued to bring on more questions, but she opened her mouth to answer anyway. When the phone rang, she jumped and gave a frightened cry, succeeding in spilling some of her coke on herself in her anxious reaction. As she looked down at the sprinkled trail of drops on the robe and watched them sink in, she looked even more upset, with a heavy dose of shame. She kept her head down and her eyes on the spill across her lap. It wasn't much, just a smattering of drops. Still, to her it might as well have been a gallon.<br><br>She only looked up again when he spoke to her, guilt written all over her face. She wondered who the emmee was, but didn't dare ask. Hers was not to question. She only knew that the more time went by, the sooner she'd be back where she'd started from. Someone would know where to take her. She wasn't even entirely convinced the Detective DIDN'T know. It could all still be a test. She was grateful when he went to the other side of the room. She seemed to settle a little more the further he got away from her--as long as he didn't leave the room. Then she'd have all new things to be afraid of.<br><br>"I am a privilege of the faithful." She said softly, "Not all of the Brothers are allowed to see me. My Father and the Trinity ... they are my guardians." She struggled with the concept of 'hurt' ... she knew what pain was, but hurt seemed to imply something she did not deserve, "I am for hurting." She said finally in an even quieter voice.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>05-10-2008, 22:18:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"What do you mean, you 'are for hurting', Celeste?" he asked her incredulously, the look in his eyes seemingly lost on the concept.&nbsp; "People can't just ..."<br><br>He paused in mid-sentence, seemingly taken by another intuition, and he shifted his jaw as he leaned back against the cushions.&nbsp; He stared at her for a long minute, forefinger drumming quietly on the arm of the couch.<br><br>"How long have you lived at the Sanctum, Celeste?" he asked her, his voice taking on a much more soothing tone as the corners of his mouth curved into a smile.&nbsp; His hands came together in his lap, fingers lacing together as he rested them on his thigh.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>05-10-2008, 22:29:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				And so they confused each other. She couldn't understand his concept of hurt, and he couldn't understand hers. She dropped her eyes back to her lap. It was only a matter of time. She took a deep shuddering breath and then released it slowly. Though he had no way of knowing, it was a good thing he'd given her the food to hold onto. Without it, she would have tangled her hands together, and likely driven her nails into her own skin out of sheer anxiety. When he spoke again, his voice was so gentle that she looked up in surprise.<br><br>All it took was that soothing voice and he seemed to have captured her, her blue eyes locked to his as though he'd hypnotized her. When he questioned her, her lips started moving before her voice was quite ready, and she had to swallow and start over again, "F-forever, Detective." She sat as if in pause, the only thing moving for a moment was the slow slide of her hair as it cascaded over her shoulder again.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>06-10-2008, 00:34:33</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The change in her response was easily noted by him, and he echoed it in his smile as he tried consciously to soften himself.&nbsp; She was obviously terrified, and his earlier demeanor wasn't helping it.&nbsp; He could only imagine what the girl had suffered in this Sanctum of hers.<br><br>"Where is your mother, Celeste?" he asked her, trying to measure his gaze so as to appear as non-threatening as possible.&nbsp; He kept his hands folded in his lap, thumbs tapping against each other softly.&nbsp; "And what is your last name?"<br><br>He had to admit, the girl was attractive, if not a bit too young for him.&nbsp; There was something to be said for a petite girl, his preference in fact, but this was neither the time nor the place to be thinking about such things.&nbsp; Still, ...&nbsp; <br><br>He shifted in his seat as he awaited her answer, trying vainly to banish the new thought that tickled in the back of his mind.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>06-10-2008, 00:47:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				She couldn't look away from him. Her blue eyes were wide and focused intently on him as if he were the font from which all good things came. She was so susceptible to even the slightest display of kindness, though if asked she couldn't have explained the strange thing that drew her. It was so unfamiliar, and yet it was like drinking again after being stranded in the desert for many hours. She wanted him to keep talking to her like that. She'd wanted to please him before--as she wanted to please everyone--but now she was almost desperate to do so. Two more questions, but this time she didn't grimace. He seemed to like it when she spoke. That was completely outside the realm of her understanding--why he should want to hear her voice saying things that were not pleas--but if that was what it took ...<br><br>She answered him in her usual meek voice, though with the first question, her answer held a tone of strange longing that she didn't even really understand herself, "I have no mother, Detective." She said wistfully, "And Celeste is the only name that I have ..." She studied his eyes carefully, searching to see if he liked her answers so maybe she could give better ones the next time. She'd stopped even hoping there wouldn't be more questions. There were always more questions.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>06-10-2008, 08:57:17</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He whistled quietly, her responses confirming the worst of his possible suspicions.&nbsp; The girl was most likely the property of some sick-as-fuck religious cult, a sex-toy pawn raised for the purpose of gratification for the senior members of the cult.&nbsp; And in this case, it seemed, even more than just the leadership.&nbsp; "I am for hurting," she had said, and the thought gave him the almost uncontrollable desire to clench his jaw and ball his fists.<br><br>He fought the sensation back, maintaining his cool and keeping his smile in place for the girl.&nbsp; She seemed to respond better to it, so he did everything he could to keep up the facade of happiness.<br><br>The doorbell rang just as he was about to ask another question, and the sound nearly made the girl come out of her seat.&nbsp; Coke flew from the can and the half-squished banana was completely pulverized in her small hand, and her eyes flashed from him to the entryway and back.<br><br>"It's alright, Celeste," he said coolly, his voice dripping with all of the soft tones and pleasantness he could possibly muster.&nbsp; "No one's going to hurt you."&nbsp; He stood up and crossed to her, taking the crushed banana from her and setting it onto the top of the television.&nbsp; "You stay here, and I'll be right back.&nbsp; You can have the other banana if you like, it's right there."<br><br>he pointed at the banana laying next to her thigh before turning and quickly heading to the door.&nbsp; He smiled at the familiar face on the other side, a woman by the name of Patricia Wilson who had worked in the M.E.'s office for about two years now.&nbsp; "Hi, Patricia," he said to her, "thanks for coming.&nbsp; I've got a bit of a dilemma."<br><br>He stepped back and let the young woman in.&nbsp; She was in her early thirties, with curly blonde hair pulled back from her fair face, and her eyes were a light gray-blue that Simmons knew had gained her many compliments from colleagues and potential suitors.&nbsp; Of course, as far as he knew, the woman kept her business separate from her pleasure.&nbsp; A good course of action, he thought - too bad more people in the Station couldn't manage it.<br><br>"What's the problem, Jon?" she asked.&nbsp; "Dispatch told me you've got a possible assault?"<br><br>"That's an understatement," he said as he closed the door.&nbsp; "Found a girl in the park blocks, while I was doing my run.&nbsp; I almost didn't go, what with the weather being so shitty tonight."<br><br>"You think she's been assaulted?" she asked as she pulled off her wet jacket.<br><br>"There's no doubt," he replied.&nbsp; "She's got bruises from her wrists to her shoulders, and I'd suspect more that I haven't seen.&nbsp; She says she's from some place called 'the Sanctum', and it sounds to me like a fucking religious cult."<br><br>He paused a minute, drawing a breath as he glanced from the hallway back into the room.&nbsp; She still sat in the same place, her intense eyes locked on the doorway and as he looked, him.&nbsp; She quickly cast her eyes to the floor as their gazes met.<br><br>He turned back to the woman, clearing his throat and whispering.&nbsp; "She has no last name, no mother, no idea where she is.&nbsp; She doesn't know what a coke is, and she believes she's the property of the leaders of this 'Sanctum' place."&nbsp; He brushed his hands against his pants before taking one more breath.&nbsp; "You need to check her out and see if we can prove sexual assault, but be careful - she's as skittish as a fieldmouse."<br><br>"Alright," she said, nodding.&nbsp; "I'll do what I can."<br><br><hr><br>The pair moved into the front room, and Simmons flashed the girl his most charismatic smile.&nbsp; "Celeste," he said to her, "This is my friend Patricia."&nbsp; He pointed to the M.E., and she smiled politely at the girl in response.<br><br>"Hello, Celeste," Patricia said in a quiet voice.<br><br>"Celeste," Simmons continued. "I want you to go with Patricia.&nbsp; She is going to take you into the bathroom and take a look at your wounds.&nbsp; Do you understand?"&nbsp; He smiled at her, face soft as he knelt down to level himself with her eyes.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>06-10-2008, 09:14:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste blinked slowly, and some of the fear faded from her vivid blue eyes, leaving them with a soft calm and serenity. Perhaps it was a small glimpse of the woman she should have been. Of course, the moment the doorbell rang, all the terror flooded right back, and Celeste flinched as though she'd been struck by an invisible force. It was hard to say if the look of calm had ever existed at all, or if it had been imagined. Her eyes flew to the door, and by the time she turned her gaze back, he was approaching her. She cowered, her eyes on his. She made no attempt to resist his taken the banana from her, despite her tight grip on the squashed fruit. In fact, the moment it was clear that he was trying to take it, she released her grip entirely and relinquished it. <br><br>She stared at the banana still resting in her lap. <em>If I like ...</em> she thought. If she liked what? She sensed that maybe he meant she should eat the banana, but she was afraid that if she did she'd be sick. Which would be worse? Disobeying his desires or vomiting on his carpet? She grimaced and twisted in her chair. She didn't dare rise, but she wanted to see who was at the door. She had a sudden sharp fear that it would be one of the brothers, come to take her back, and then an even sharper stab of guilt. Why was she so attached to the idea of shirking her duty? Her calling?<br><br>The closer the Detective came, the more Celeste seemed to shrink into the chair. Her eyes darted fearfully from Patricia to the Detective. And this was a whole new fear. Celeste had no experience at all with other women. Her heart was pounding. What did she call another woman? What did she say? She cowered and dropped her eyes to her feet. She gave a soft whimper of fear as the Detective told her to go with Patricia. Her eyes snagged on his, a deep sort of pleading in them. But she nodded obediently, and whispered, "Yes, Detective." She got to her feet, clutching the can of coke in both hands, the aluminum denting in under her grip. She was trembling visibly again.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>06-10-2008, 10:33:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The fear radiating from her was palpable, so intense that it made even him shiver.&nbsp; He'd seen rape victims before, people who'd witnessed murders and girls who'd been so brutally abused by their parents that they wept whenever anyone came within a foot of them.&nbsp; But this girl, this ... innocent ... was something completely different.&nbsp; He'd never seen anything like it, and her words still rung in his ears.&nbsp; "I am for hurting," she said, so plainly and without hesitation.<br><br>He smiled at her again, trying to reassure her as she stood to follow Patricia.&nbsp; "You will be fine, Celeste," he told her in the same cool tone he'd used successfully for the last fifteen minutes.&nbsp; "She will not harm you."<br><br>"Come on, Celeste," Patricia said, offering her hand to the girl as she smiled softly, standing close to Simmons.&nbsp; "It will be ok."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>06-10-2008, 12:31:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste's teeth were clicking together audibly, but she moved like one possessed, tucking her hand into Patricia's. The Detective's words did help, though he might have said anything at all as long as he used that gentle tone. Her eyes trained to his again, and stayed on his as Patricia led her away down the hall. She looked like a forlorn dog, keeping her gaze on his as long as she possibly could. Her fingers tightened around Patricia's automatically once they'd left Detective Simmons behind in the living room. She turned her eyes to other things ... the texture of the wall, the whorls in the carpet beneath her feet. She clung to details to distract herself from her terror.<br><br>When they reached the bathroom, she entered meekly behind Patricia, ducking her head nervously. When Patricia let go of her hand, she stopped where she was, as though she'd been moving on electric power and Patricia had pulled the plug. Her chin had dropped, her eyes on the floor. She shuddered occasionally, like an engine trying to stay warmed up. Every sign of fear, no sign of will to run. Yet she HAD run, just earlier that night.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>06-10-2008, 13:01:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Simmons watched the two leave the frontroom, the Medical Examiner leading the girl by the hand into the hallway and towards the bathroom.&nbsp; The intensity of her eyes shook him, and he had to consciously force himself not to look away.&nbsp; It was as if he was looking at an animal, one that feared being punished for something they didn't know they had done.&nbsp; It was ... powerful, spine-tingling and intense the likes of which he had never before born witness to.<br><br>As she passed from his sight, he squeezed his eyes shut tightly and balled his fists until his knuckles throbbed, squeezed white from the pressure.&nbsp; And the burn in the pit of his stomach bespoke of something else, the fact that the girl aroused him immensely.<br><br>"What the fuck is wrong with me?" he muttered quietly as he turned and entered the kitchen.<br><br><hr><br>The girl seemed to shut off as Patricia released her hand, drooped and looking like a rundown doll with a spent battery.&nbsp; Patricia marveled at the girl as she kneeled in front of her, reaching up to brush her thumb across the girl's forehead.&nbsp; No fever, she noted, but the shivers that shook her were as violent as tremors she'd seen in epileptic patients.<br><br>"I'm going to examine your wounds, Celeste," she said to the girl, looking up into her unfocused eyes for some sort of recognition.&nbsp; "I won't hurt you.&nbsp; Can you sit up here on the counter?" she asked, eyebrow arching as she looked for any sign that the girl understood.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>06-10-2008, 14:13:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste flinched so hard when Patricia touched her that it seemed less a reaction and more pathological. The motion was self-violent, as if the girl could have given herself whiplash if she weren't careful. Celeste's chin raised a little and her blue eyes drew into focus on Patricia's. She had no clue how to behave around another woman. It was entirely new ground, and for a girl like Celeste, for whom even the familiar was frightening, this was terrifying in ways that few could understand.<br><br>She couldn't make herself speak, wouldn't have known how to address Patricia if she had, so instead she just nodded mutely. Her teeth chattered together as she gave a graceful hop to land herself on the counter. She used only one hand to support the jump, since the other was still clutched tightly around the coke can. The movement made hardly any sound at all, as if Celeste weighed nothing. She crossed her legs at the ankles, like some bizarre throwback to charm school. Her lip was caught between her teeth and she was biting down on it so hard it looked painful. Her free hand she laid across her lap, where it curled as though crippled. Still, she maintained what looked like--for her--a death grip on the can, dimpling the sides in so that if she let go, the can probably would not recover.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>06-10-2008, 16:42:33</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Patricia gave the girl a soft smile as she stood, and reached out slowly towards the can.&nbsp; "Can I have this, please?" she asked as she touched the can, gently prying it from the girl's fingers.&nbsp; "I'll give it back once we're done, if you still want it."<br><br>She set the crushed can down onto the counter, near the back of the sink before turning her attention back to the girl.&nbsp; "I'm going to take a look at you now, Celeste," she told the girl, reaching out towards the thick robe.&nbsp; "Put your arms down to the side so I can take this robe down."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>06-10-2008, 16:57:19</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Just like she'd done with the Detective, despite her crushing grip on the can, the moment Patricia took hold of it, Celeste let go. Her hands immediately combined in her lap, fingers lacing together and nails biting into the backs of her hands as she tried to use the pain as a focus. As soon as Patricia asked her to put her arms at her sides, her hands flew apart as if she'd been burned. There were crescent gouges on the backs of her hands from her nails, and she tucked her hands under her thighs to get them out of the way and still their shaking.<br><br>She bit her lip and closed her eyes tightly as Patricia reached for her and gently undid the robe, slipping it down so that she could see Celeste's torso. The girl wore no under garments. She hadn't had any in the park as it was, and if she had they would have been soaked through with rain. She had small breasts, with a nice slope to them and delicate pink nipples. Her ribs were a little too prominent, but she wasn't emaciated. Her stomach was flat even though now it was quivering with each anxious breath. She had the body of a model. But not the skin of one. Her lean stomach and chest were covered in scars, all thin, flat white lines. Clearly the cuts that had led to such scarring had been made with a very sharp knife. They were a tracework of curves, spirals and symbols. Here and there, she had a deeper, wider scar, as if someone had gashed her in anger. Her flat stomach was marred by particularly noticeable scarring ... two words. One curved over the top of her belly button in a delicate arch "PENITENTIA" and in an answering arch below her belly button "VENIA." Besides just the scars, there were some newer cuts--all scabbed over--and bruises in various stages of healing, on her hips and ribcage.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>06-10-2008, 17:23:44</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Patricia tried not to flinch back from the girl when the damage was revealed, biting her own tongue in the process.&nbsp; "I'm going to take some photos, Celeste," she said through clenched teeth, reaching down and taking up her camera from her bag.<br><br>"Close your eyes, Celeste," she told the girl, and waited for her to comply.&nbsp; "There will be a bright light, but don't worry - it won't hurt you."<br><br>Patricia started to snap photos of the scarification, ensuring to get close details of each scar and bruise, especially the words inscribed around her bellybutton.&nbsp; By the time she was done documenting the injuries to the girl's arms and front, she was visibly shaken.<br><br>"Can you stand up and turn around for me, Celeste?" she asked, trying desperately to keep her voice level as she smiled at the girl.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>06-10-2008, 19:36:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste held perfectly still while Patricia stared at her, her eyes on her own knees. She had no reaction whatsoever to the announcement that Patricia was going to take pictures, and the woman might as well have been speaking to a wax sculpture, or a stone carving. She did blink occasionally, golden lashes glinting against her cheeks. When Patricia told her to close her eyes, she obeyed, those slits of blue disappearing under her pale lids and the lashes lying still. She looked like a praying angel in a painting, averted eyes and golden hair. However, the illusion was destroyed by the fact that she flinched slightly with every click of the camera, her eyes clenching tighter against the flash. <br><br>When Patricia asked her to stand and turn around she gave the woman a frightened look. There was something of an animal in her gaze, wanting to evade, frozen by fear and finally defeated. She slipped down from the counter and landed silent on her feet, leaving the robe behind, draped over the tile surface. She turned slowly, keeping her eyes down. It was clear immediately that there was something wrong--or at least not normal--with Celeste's back. Her long hair obscured her skin from neck to lower back where it ended in soft, loose curls. Still, it couldn't hide what appeared to be a deformity--some sort of birth defect. Her hair did not lay flat as it should. Where her skin should have lain in soft slopes over her shoulderblades, it didn't. Her scapulas seemed to flare out at the inside edge, making two strange lumps on her back, raised several inches and oblong in shape. To the fanciful eye, they looked almost as though wings had begun to form and were arrested in growth when they had just begun to press out the skin. <br><br>When Patricia reached out to shift Celeste's hair out of the way, the girl's back was a clean slate. Almost. The lower three quarters of her back remained unmarred, and clean, smooth skin like china seemed almost to glow in the light. But in the upper left corner, on the back of her shoulder, a row of small tickmarks began. Four in a row, and then a slash across to make a group of five. As if someone were keeping track of something using Celeste's skin. There were several long rows of these tickmarks, only a few centimeters in length for each--making hundreds of them easily. Perhaps even thousands. Near the end of them, the marks were newer ... white old scars to reddened, inflamed ones, to scabs, to a few cuts that couldn't be more than a day or two old.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>06-10-2008, 20:35:35</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Patricia grimaced, thankful that the girl's eyes were downcast and not looking at her reflection in the mirror.&nbsp; She began to click off photos of the girl's back, focusing on the strange nubs as well as the tickmark scars on her left shoulder.<br><br>"What do these tick marks on your shoulder mean, Celeste?" she asked the girl as the camera kept clicking.<br><br><hr><br>The light came on as Simmons opened the refrigerator, illuminating the dark kitchen in a white glow.&nbsp; He squinted at the light as he reached in and grabbed a bottle of beer, then closed the door and reached for a magnetic bottle opener at the side of the fridge.&nbsp; With a twist of his wrist the beer was opened, and he took a long drink from the bottle.<br><br>The image of her eyes still haunted him, even now as he sat in the relative darkness of the unlit kitchen.&nbsp; He took another drink of beer as the eyes seemed to pass over him, wanting to please him, to serve his desires, to be ordered by him..<br><br>With a visible shudder he turned and headed back into the frontroom where he grabbed up the remote and flipped on the news.&nbsp; He flopped down into his recliner with a heavy sigh and glanced at the hallway before turning his attention back to the news.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>06-10-2008, 20:43:15</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste kept her eyes on her feet, closing them when the clicking of the camera began, even though she'd not been told to do so this time. Still, Patricia could have counted how many pictures she took, just by the number of times Celeste cringed. However, when she asked her question, Celeste was suddenly quite still. Then her head came up and she stared at Patricia in the mirror with wide eyes. It took her some stammering, and an uncomfortable squirm to force out an answer.<br><br>"Th-they are my marks." She said lamely, knowing it was not the answer Patricia wanted. Knowing, in fact, that it was no answer at all, so she forced herself to continue, "A count ... how many sins I have abolished." The words sounded unfinished without some sort of honorific, but Celeste had no clue how to address a woman, so she just fell silent again. Her hands came up, wrapped around each other, nails gouged into the backs of them--she tucked them under her chin, her arms entwined, as if she were trying to comfort herself by making herself take up as little space as she could while still standing.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>06-10-2008, 21:25:51</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"The sins of whom, Celeste?" the woman asked as she set the camera back into her bag.&nbsp; She replaced it with a strange lamp in one hand, and with the other she slipped on a pair of orange-tinted plastic glasses.<br><br>She shone the light on the girl, looking at her back intently for any sign of prior injury, the ultraviolet light and the glasses more easily apt at picking up old bruises and injuries sustained and healed over and passed with time.&nbsp; Gritting her teeth quietly, she took a deep breath before speaking again.<br><br>"Turn yourself back around, Celeste," she told the girl.&nbsp; "I need to see your front again."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>06-10-2008, 21:33:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste made a very soft noise of fear. What was it with the people outside the Sanctum? They seemed to speak entirely in questions and riddles. It was confusing and exhausting. She was splitting energy and attention between answering the constant barrage of questions, and bracing herself for the first administration of pain. It took her some time to answer the question, even though--for once--the answer was simple. Her back was--surprisingly--rather free of old bruising, though there were a few places where her skin glowed off colors.<br><br>"The sins of my Brothers. So that they may not be cast out." She turned obediently--and with some relief--at Patricia's request which she heard as a command. She was more comfortable facing the woman anyway. While it never occurred to Celeste that her scars might frighten or disturb someone, she was self conscious about the strange lumps on her back. <br><br>The front of her body was probably much as Patricia had feared. There was barely an inch of skin that didn't glow. She'd certainly been beaten. Not just recently, but many times. She was a mess of healing wounds and bruises.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>07-10-2008, 10:39:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				This was nearly too much for Patricia - in all her years with the M.E.'s office, she'd never seen anything like this.&nbsp; The girl was brutalized, tortured beyond comprehension, made to endure suffering the likes of which she'd never even heard.&nbsp; As she unpacked the rape kit onto the counter, she had to stop and wipe a tear from her eye.<br><br>She unfolded a large white sheet of paper onto the floor, spreading it smooth before looking up at Celeste.&nbsp; "Stand here on the paper, Celeste," she told her.&nbsp; "Let me have the robe, we'll put it over here for now."<br><br>She took the robe from the girl and hung it on a hook behind the door before continuing.&nbsp; A block of vials went onto the counter, along with a manila folder full of documentation.&nbsp; Some empty containers, paper bags, a box of long cotton swabs, wooden sticks, dental floss and a host of other things that Celeste had no idea about.<br><br>Once she was done laying the things out, she stopped and composed herself before giving the girl a reassuring smile.&nbsp; "I'm going to touch you, Celeste," she told her.&nbsp; "I do not intend to hurt you.&nbsp; Please tell me if I cause you any discomfort during my examination."<br><br>That having been said, Patricia began the rape kit collection, collecting saliva and blood samples, fingernail scrapings, vaginal fluid, and anal secretions, among other things.&nbsp; When she was done, she took the girl's muddied white gown and rolled it into a ball before putting it into one of the paper bags.&nbsp; She then gathered up all of the materials and began placing them back into the case.<br><br>"You can put the robe back on now, Celeste," she said as she smiled up at the girl.&nbsp; Patricia inhaled deeply and wiped one more tear from her eye as she completed packing up the evidence for the kit.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>07-10-2008, 16:15:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste fidgeted a little. She could tell that Patricia was upset, and knew that she must be to blame. Were her answers not good enough? She lowered her eyes again, though it cost her some to do so. After the initial fear of losing the robe had faded, she'd begun to be curious about what Patricia was doing. She wanted to watch while Patricia set things up. Though if she had, she would likely have regained a healthy dose of terror sooner than necessary. <br><br>She gave up the robe immediately, though her eyes followed it with longing as Patricia set it on the counter. She stepped onto the paper, following every instruction immediately, unquestioningly and precisely as she understood them. A tremor ran through her when Patricia announced her intentions, and even the smile didn't help much. Each time Patricia's fingers touched her, Celeste tensed. She was like a harp string, drawn taut and vibrating at the slightest touch. Within minutes she was so tense that she must have been in pain from her muscles alone. Yet she never voiced a word of complaint, and her blue eyes stayed fixed on the floor except for when she had to look up for Patricia to collect saliva. She didn't seem to care where Patricia touched her, it was just that she was being touched at all. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, and by the time fingernail scrapings were collected, it was pretty obvious there was significant material for testing--and that furthermore, it was likely all from Celeste herself. There were gouges in her palms from her nails.<br><br>If there was anything that made her react more strongly, it was the collection of vaginal fluid and anal secretions. Not surprising in any rape kit--victim or not--but Celeste did no more than give a whimper of fear and close her eyes tightly. She looked confused and surprised when Patricia announced herself done. Enough so that she met the woman's eyes again when told she could put her robe back on. She seemed in no hurry, taking the robe off the counter and pulling it back on with the awkwardness of a child.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>07-10-2008, 23:02:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"You can join us again in the front room when you're ready, Celeste," the woman told her with a half-composed smile as she slipped out the door.&nbsp; The click of the latch was loud as she pulled the door closed behind her, leaving the girl alone in the silence of the small bathroom.&nbsp; <em>When you're ready</em>, she had said.&nbsp; What an odd concept, that.<br><br><hr><br>"You find whoever did this to her, Jon," Patricia said as she entered the front room, a soft sob following as she wiped another round of tears from her cheeks.&nbsp; "You find them and fucking crucify them."&nbsp; She crossed the room towards him as he stood from the couch, and after dropping the kit at his feet she latched onto him tightly and buried her face into his shoulder.<br><br>Simmons wrapped his arms around the woman gently as she shuddered with a round of sobs, the sound muffled as she forced her face into his shirt.&nbsp; Her hands clutched onto his biceps with a deathgrip as she shook with the intensity of her emotions, unable to do anything but ride out the torrent of her grief.&nbsp; "I will," he muttered quietly as her sobs quieted to heavy and shuddering breaths.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>07-10-2008, 23:12:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste stood where she was in confusion. <em>When you're ready ...</em> She turned her large blue eyes to the mirror and stared at herself. Her face was pale, and she looked frightened and tired. She was immune to her own beauty, unaware of what beauty was, really. There was no room in Celeste's mind for vanity, or really for any self-consideration at all beyond very basic survival instincts. Her past had stripped her down, and left very little behind by way of personality. Or at least so it seemed. She stepped closer to the mirror, still puzzling over Patricia's words, lifting her hand to touch her own reflected cheek.<br><br>"When you are ready ..." She whispered very softly to her own face, staring back at her. Ready for what? In Celeste's experience, she was never really ready for anything, and yet it all happened, around and most of all TO her. She had time only to gather what few scraps of her own composure she could, to steel herself for what was to come while it was already on its way. Her life was lived in split seconds of reaction time between movement and the pain that was the result of that movement.<br><br>Finally, Celeste hugged herself and looked away as though a spell had been broken. She turned to the door, fumbling with it for a moment and finally using both hands. She turned her eyes longingly to the coke can on the counter, but Patricia had not told her she could take it back yet. She would have to do without something to hold onto to still her shaking. She padded down the hall, noiseless as a memory, pausing just inside the living room, stepping to the side of the hall and kneeling again with her back to the wall. The motion was automatic--programmed.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>07-10-2008, 23:25:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The girl's soft footfalls on the carpet were almost impossible to hear over Patricia's quiet sobs, but he had been expecting them to come sooner or later.&nbsp; He looked up when she entered the room and gave her a reassuring smile even as she slid to kneel with her back against the wall.<br><br>"That second banana is still over here, Celeste," he told her, tilting his head in the direction of the recliner.&nbsp; He inspected her face and her body as she knelt there, the innocence in her eyes stained by the pain and misery that it was now obvious to him was simply a part of her life.&nbsp; He wondered if she really understood anything else, as it was plain the simplest things in life were completely foreign to her.<br><br>"You can eat it if you're hungry, it's ok," he said in the soft and reassuring tone he'd used with much success earlier in their interactions.<br><br>Patricia finally pulled back from his chest, inhaling deeply and forcing a smile as she wiped at her cheek.&nbsp; "Ok, detective," she told him as she glanced towards the girl for only a moment.&nbsp; "I'll get this stuff to the lab and get you the results as quickly as I can."<br><br>"Alright," he told the woman, giving her his most reassuring smile as well.&nbsp; There was no doubt that Celeste had suffered immeasurable injuries, but Patricia's reaction shook him utterly.&nbsp; She was normally a stone, unmoved by anything she saw - whether it be on the street or in the morgue - but not today, and the weight of that sent a cool chill up his spine.&nbsp; "I think I'm going to keep her here for the time being, no need to introduce her to the chaos of the station."<br><br>Patricia nodded as she gathered up her bag and the evidence kit that she needed to return to the lab.&nbsp; As she turned to leave, she flashed Simmons another deadly-serious look.&nbsp; "... Make them pay, Jon," she said in a near whisper before turning and leaving quickly.<br><br>"Would you like another Coke, Celeste?" he asked the girl as she crossed the room towards the recliner.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>07-10-2008, 23:35:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste could tell that Patricia had been crying, but she said nothing. Still, she was oblivious to the inspection that the Detective was giving her. Her eyes were fixed on Patricia with an expression in their depths that looked very much like compassion and concern. She turned towards Detective Simmons only when he told her that she could eat. Even then it took her a moment. Her head turned before her eyes, as if she had to drag her gaze off the Medical Examiner. She blinked at him slowly, looking baffled as ever. She <em>could</em> eat, yes, but was she <em>supposed</em> to? She stood gracefully and padded over the the recliner. Every motion she made was unobtrusive, like a shy animal used to being prey. She had no idea that her beauty made it difficult for her to go unnoticed anywhere. <br><br>She settled onto her knees quietly, right next to the banana before she picked it up. It took her a moment to peel it, and she had an expression of thoughtful concentration on her face, as though it were a difficult and unfamiliar task. And yet another question was thrown her way. She paused midway through lifting the now exposed banana to her lips. Her gaze landed on his and she looked vaguely troubled, venturing softly, "I will drink if you wish, Detective."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>08-10-2008, 00:27:04</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He inhaled deeply as he watched her, the fascinatingly tortured angelic creature that slumped near the edge of his recliner, toying with a banana like it was the first time she'd ever held one.&nbsp; He heard the latch on his front door close as the Medical Examiner left, and he brought his hands together before his face.&nbsp; He rubbed them gently together as he blew inbetween, his breath helping to evaporate the ample moisture that coated his palms.<br><br>It surprised him, finally, when he realized what it was.&nbsp; He was nervous around this girl, this ... victim of a crime, he should be thinking.&nbsp; She's not a girl, not some conquest - she's here for your help, your protection, for your shielding embrace, touches of...<br><br>He clenched his jaw tightly as he forced the images down, a smile curving across his lips as he affected the pleasant tone that she seemed to respond most positively to.&nbsp; "Yes, Celeste," he told her, "you should drink as well, though too much soda might be hard on your stomach.&nbsp; A glass of water, perhaps."<br><br>That being said, he turned and headed into the kitchen, all the while trying to push the image of her smooth legs protruding from underneath his robe as she curled next to his chair.&nbsp; He ground his teeth hard as he pulled a glass from the cupboard, filling it with cold water from the fridge's dispenser.&nbsp; "Your friends have daughters older than her, you creep," he muttered to himself quietly before turning back towards the front room.<br><br>She was as he'd left her when he returned, and he held out the glass.&nbsp; "Here you go, Celeste," he said.&nbsp; "Why don't you have a seat in the chair rather than in front of it?&nbsp; It's what chairs are for, you know."&nbsp; He smiled at her pleasantly as he knelt next to her, knees no more than a few inches from her own.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>08-10-2008, 00:49:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste was unaware of Detective Simmons' personal struggle. She was eating her banana slowly, taking small, dainty bites and chewing them thoroughly. She looked like she'd stepped out of charm school, if it weren't for the bruises and her tendency to lapse into mute terror at the slightest provocation. When he spoke she raised her eyes. All it took was that gentle voice, and she was like a bird with clipped wings settled in his palm. She blinked at him, golden lashes glittering almost as brightly as the small cross around her neck. It shifted when she looked down at her food again, taking another small bite before she looked up once more. Her eyes followed him across the room to the kitchen, though she had to twist and crane her neck to do so. <br><br>She took the glass from him with both hands and raised it to her lips, watching him over the rim as she took slow sips. There was something about her expression that made it seem like she wanted to gulp it down and was pacing herself for his benefit. She hesitated at his words, lowering the glass for a moment, a few beads of water left on her delicate pink lips. She would have gotten up into the chair, but now she was afraid to. He was kneeling with her now, and that would raise her above him. Another test?<br><br>"I w-will sit in the chair if you wish, Detective." She said anxiously, straightening her posture as if he were evaluating her, staring into his eyes with intent focus. She wanted so badly to please him, even though she didn't fully understand why. Truly, it was the voice and his smile, she would have done anything to coax more of both out of him, starved as she was for positive attention of any kind.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>08-10-2008, 00:58:57</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Yes," he answered as he stood back up, moving back to sit down onto the end of the sofa perhaps eight feet from her.&nbsp; "I would like you to sit in the chair while we talk."<br><br>It was obvious to him now that she understood only commands, as whenever he gave her the opportunity for decision, the look of confusion on her face was unmistakable.&nbsp; <em>How long had she lived like this</em>, he thought as he watched her move up and into the recliner.<br><br>"Celeste," he asked as he watched her eat and drink, "are you the only girl who stayed at the Sanctum?"&nbsp; He smiled at her reassuringly, now comfortable in the knowledge that his most soft and soothing tones brought positive results from her almost immediately.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>08-10-2008, 01:09:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste rose, again with the fluidity of dancer. There was no stumbling up from her knees, no clumsy alternation of legs, only one graceful motion that took her from kneeling to her feet. She settled on the edge of of the chair, the banana half gone by now. She was far less graceful as she fumbled with the skin, setting the glass down on the floor while she juggled with the task, peeling it more and nearly dropping the banana on the floor in the process. She lifted the glass in one hand this time, watching it closely like she was worried she might spill. There was an endearing clumsiness to her motions while she worked with the food, so strange after the clear agility she displayed with most other motions.<br><br>She didn't even mind the questions so much now, as long as he'd smile at her that way and talk in his gentle voice. She trembled a little, the level of water in the glass wobbling as a result. For the moment, her life had come down to answering his questions, and she focused on it without reservation, "There shall be one in every generation." She said softly, "I am the only one, Detective." She fidgeted a little in her chair. Much of the fear had faded from her eyes. She'd worn herself out with her terrified flight, followed by the anxiety of her initial meeting with the Detective, and her tension and fear during her examination. Without fear, there seemed precious little else in her eyes. They took on a dull quality, yet deep in their blue depths ... perhaps there was a glint of something more.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>08-10-2008, 01:19:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"There shall be one in every generation," she said, sounding like she was reciting from a text.&nbsp; The idea, the entire concept grated at him, rose a fire behind his eyes and made him want to clench his jaw, ball his fists...&nbsp; The desire to do violence to someone boiled in him right now, and he fought desperately to keep any outward signs from showing to the girl.&nbsp; He knew that if he showed anger, she would take it as being her fault.<br><br>"How many men live at the sanctum, Celeste?" he smiled, watching her eat, her dainty precision almost comical in its scope.&nbsp; "Do you know numbers?"<br><br>He could no longer assume that this girl would know anything of normal society, so obviously sheltered that she was.&nbsp; No, not sheltered - imprisoned.&nbsp; Tortured, harassed, made to absorb the faults of multitudes of cruel souls like some spiritual sponge, absolving them of their misdeeds.&nbsp; He was going to find this ... Sanctum ... and impose some justice of his own upon them.&nbsp; He would burn it to the fucking ground, burn it until nothing remained and salt the ground that it stood upon to ensure that never again would ...<br><br>He realized a little too late that his jaw had begun to clench again, and he quickly replaced the smile on his face, trying with all of his self-control to radiate serenity and feelings of approval to the girl.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>08-10-2008, 01:37:05</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				She finished her banana and laid the empty skin carefully across her leg, taking the glass of water in both hands and sipping from it once again. She held it with palms flat to the glass, thumbs against her fingers, as if she were drinking from some sort of chalice. Her eyes wandered his face as he drank and she considered his question. Her eyes easily found the signs of building anger, the way his jaw tightened and quivered slightly. She quivered with it, her gaze rising to meet his again. <br><br>"I am the only one who lives there, Detective." She said, a spark of fear glinting in her eyes and just as easily extinguished when his smile returned. At his second question she nodded, "Numbers ... the fourth book of The Bible, in which Moses numbers the children of Israel, documenting the voyage from Sinai to Moab." She fell silent again, then added in a small and much less mechanical voice, "I do not know it by heart, Detective. I do not read." She hoped that the extra information would please him, but tensed for a blow just in case her chattering had instead angered him again.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>08-10-2008, 01:43:44</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He pondered for a moment, and then smiled as an idea came to him.&nbsp; "I'll be right back, Celeste," he told her as he stood and headed through the kitchen and into the office.&nbsp; He grabbed up a yellow legal pad from his desk and a pencil before turning and heading back to the front room.&nbsp; He crossed and knelt down next to her, taking the peel from her leg and tossing it aside carelessly.&nbsp; The peel flopped to the floor near the television stand, one long strand curled up and touching the wall.<br><br>He set the legal pad down over her thighs and held the pencil out, his fingers closing over the glass.&nbsp; "Give me the glass," he said with a smile,&nbsp; "and take the pencil.&nbsp; Do you know what this is for?"&nbsp; He watched her face, sure that she would have no idea what it was or what she could do with it.<br><br>"Here, watch," he said, guiding her hand to the paper after placing the pencil into her fingers.&nbsp; His hands were gentle as he surrounded her hand with fingers and thumb, pressing it down until the pencil just touched the paper.&nbsp; "It is a tool for making marks," he said.&nbsp; "I want you to use it, and make a mark for every man who lives at the Sanctum.&nbsp; Only one mark per man, but you must mark every man you can remember."<br><br>With that he released her hand, leaning back on his heels to watch what he hoped would be a positive result.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>08-10-2008, 02:36:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste squirmed when he smiled, and the gesture almost seemed to be one of delight ... thrilled she'd done something right at last. She watched him go, again craning her neck like a faithful dog told to stay. She finished the glass of water in one big gulp now that he wasn't in the room to see her do it. Still, she held the glass like it was a comfort object, slender fingers cupped around it like it were a precious object she was afraid of losing. As soon as she could see him again, her eyes fixed on him and followed him all the way back to kneel next to her. She started a little when he threw the banana peel, her eyes finding it resting on the wall and her head tilting in a quizzical manner. <br><br>When his fingers closed around the top of the glass, she looked back to him immediately, golden hair sliding over her shoulder. She let go of the glass and took the pencil obediently. A look of guilt flashed across her face when he asked her if she knew what it was for, but between her hesitation and her suddenly downturned eyes, she didn't have time to answer, and for that she was grateful. She stared at his hand, easily enveloping hers on the pencil, intrigued that he could touch her without causing her pain. Like he was actually trying not to hurt her. She zoned out and barely came back to attention in time to hear what he was requesting that she do. She looked up at him, her hand motionless and her eyes confused, <br><br>"I am the only one who lives at the Sanctum, Detective." She hesitated. Maybe there were others she didn't know of? "Perhaps there are others, but I have never seen them."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>08-10-2008, 08:44:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He cleared his throat as she looked up at him, and his mind whirled as he shifted his sails for a new tack.&nbsp; "Make a mark for every individual brother who used you to absolve their sins, Celeste."<br><br>His eyes scanned hers, hoping that this might be the way to find the answer that he sought.&nbsp; His mind whirled, however, as the notion of the answer loomed in front of him.&nbsp; Did he really want to know?&nbsp; And when he thought of that dilemma, another question echoed through his head - one that sent another chill like ice up his spine.<br><br>His hands rested on the edges of the notepad, holding it steady on her thighs as he smiled at her, hoping that his encouragement would push her in the direction that he sought.&nbsp; He'd never seen anyone so ... malleable, and seemingly anxious to be such, all the while being so terrified of what it might bring.&nbsp; He had to find out as many answers as he could, had to find a way to bring justice to the horribly intense tragedy this girl had suffered.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>08-10-2008, 08:51:22</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste's eyes studied his for a moment. Her skin seemed to glow in the dim light, and she pushed her hair back over her shoulder with her free hand so that it wouldn't hang over the paper and get in her way. She held the pencil wrong, and it was clear that he'd been right about one thing--she'd had no formal training in how to write. Her grip was not technically correct, but it was effective. She nodded and answered softly, "Yes, Detective."<br><br>She set to work with the pencil, making neat rows of tickmarks. Four in a row, slash on the five. Four in a row, slash on the five. The standard method of counting marks ... and the same one used on her back. She shivered a little, looking at them lying there. She'd seen her own back in a mirror before, and knew that the paper looked eerily like her own skin from behind. She did not hesitate, never slowed to think, just furrowed her brow and plunged on with her marks. Finally she stopped as abruptly as she'd begun. There were 41 marks on the paper and Celeste withdrew her hand, clutching the pencil in it. She didn't lift her eyes from the paper for some time, and then finally she looked up at him. Her eyes searched his face, hungry for any scrap of affection or approval from him.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>08-10-2008, 09:01:20</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				With every crossing slash marking another five, a twinge of agony stabbed him like a knife in the pit of his stomach.&nbsp; By the time she had reached thirty he felt the muscles in his back spasm, and he had to shift onto one knee so as to keep himself from falling over.&nbsp; His stomach was a knotted mass of pain as the power of the simple scrawling lines on the pad dug deeply into him, rocking his soul to the very core.<br><br><em>Fourty-one</em>, he mouthed silently as she stopped, his mind toiling over the notion as he stared at her unmoving hand.&nbsp; He forced a smile onto his face and looked up into her eyes - <em>no one has eyes that blue, no one...</em> - just as she looked up to meet his gaze, the look in her eyes plainly seeking approval and validation.<br><br>"Thank you, Celeste," he said with a smile as he reached for the pencil with one hand.&nbsp; He touched her hand lightly, eyes looking down for a brief moment.&nbsp; "Give me the pencil, Celeste," he told her, and her hand popped open just like he suspected ... knew ... that it would.&nbsp; "You've done very well," he smiled.<br><br>He placed the pad and the pencil on the TV before turning back to face her, picking up the water and putting it back into her hands.&nbsp; "Can you tell me, Celeste, how many years old you are?"&nbsp; He suspected - feared, really - that she would not even be able to comprehend the notion, but he had to try regardless.&nbsp; There were ways of closely determining her age if necessary, but the asking was the first step.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>08-10-2008, 09:18:20</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste gave him back the pencil without a moment's hesitation, starting a little when his fingers touched her hand. His wish, it seemed, was her command. She ducked her head shyly at his praise, mumbling softly, "You are welcome, Detective." She seemed to have caught on to his preferred method of address immediately, and just pasted it over her default every time she needed to speak to him. Her fingers were dented slightly where she'd gripped the pencil and she looked grateful when he placed the glass back into her hands--empty though it was. It was clear that she liked having something to hold onto at all times ... and when she had nothing, her hands gripped each other, often tight enough to cause damage to her skin. Those were her freshest wounds, a series of oozing crescent gouges on her palms and the backs of her hands. <br><br>She waited expectantly, looking down at the glass in her hands. The glass was cool against the wounds in her palms, and it was soothing to her. Another question came, as she'd suspected it would. She was rapidly getting used to this constant barrage of inquiries, though she couldn't seem to get used to answering them. They were difficult or confusing, and the moreso they became, the more she feared she would eventually give an answer that would infuriate him. Maybe he would throw her to the wall as he had the banana peel. She shivered, and then answered in her customary gentle tone, "The Lord does not concern himself with time as we do. My age is insignificant. My purpose is everything." Again there was the sense that she was reciting something she'd memorized, a dull and flat quality to her tone. She snuck a glance at him and then said in her own painfully uncertain tone, "I do not know, Detective."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>08-10-2008, 10:46:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He smiled and nodded as she answered, fingers touching the back of her hand gently.&nbsp; "It's alright," he told her.&nbsp; "I didn't suspect that you'd know."<br><br>A yawn caught him and he raised his hand to his mouth, covering it as his eyes rolled shut.&nbsp; "Jesus, it must be late," he muttered to himself.&nbsp; Arching an eyebrow, he looked back up at the girl.&nbsp; "You're probably exhausted, Celeste," he told her.&nbsp; "Come with me and I'll get you some more water, and then we will find a place for you to sleep."<br><br>He stood and turned to make his way for the kitchen, and the soft sound of padding feet on carpet confirmed to him what he already knew - she would be no more than a few feet behind him, clutching the empty glass in her hands.&nbsp; He walked to the refrigerator and stopped next to it, turning to face her.<br><br>"See this indentation right here?" he said, pointing to the water and ice dispenser.&nbsp; "This is where you can get water."<br><br>He took a cup from the cupboard and held it up against the dispenser, and a stream of water shot out to slowly fill the glass.&nbsp; When it was almost full he pulled it away and took a drink.<br><br>He smiled as he took the cup from his lips, nodding to her.&nbsp; "You do it now," he told her.&nbsp; "You may get water from the dispenser whenever you are thirsty, you have my permission."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>08-10-2008, 13:33:44</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste trembled slightly when his fingers settled on the back of her hand for a moment, her wide blue eyes earnest as they met hers. With eyes like that, her emotions were telegraphed. She had no hope of hiding anything but the most complex emotions, and Celeste did not have many emotions that were complex. So she was easily read for every tiny change of emotions. Her eyes flashed fear for a split second, as though a lone firework had gone off, and then she looked down at his fingers, her lips parting slightly as though she were in pause. <br><br>She looked up at him again, a little confused by his words. She had just told him that the Lord did not concern Himself with time, and here he was telling Him that it was late. She blinked. When he bid her to follow him, she rose in one gentle motion as always. However, true to his observation, she wobbled a little once she'd reached her feet--as though the world had lurched beneath her feet--and nearly fell. One hand came off the glass and found the wall to support herself and she recovered without taking a tumble. She flushed a little and returned her palm to the glass, clutching it against her chest and padding after him to the kitchen. She'd recovered from her embarrassment by the time she reached the kitchen, enough to turn wide, interested eyes to the water and ice dispenser. When it came on with a hiss, she jumped and then--once she had recovered--leaned forward curiously to watch. Her eyes remained riveted to the glass as he raised it and took a drink. They slipped out of focus, and then back to focus on his eyes instead when he spoke. <br><br>She stepped forward, looking a little nervous, and stretched out the glass in both hands, pressing it into the depression just as he had. She jumped again when the water started, but not enough to dislodge the glass. She let it fill and then pulled it out again gently, raising the glass to her lips. Again she drank in slowly sips that almost looked painful, and still there was the sense that she was restraining herself from gulping it down. She kept her eyes on him as she drank, surprised at his permission to get water whenever she was thirsty. <em>Whenever?</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>09-10-2008, 00:21:59</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The intensity of her stare as she looked over the glass was powerful in its innocence, razor-sharp knives of emotion carving at his soul.&nbsp; The small acts of kindness and consideration that he had shown her over the last few hours were consumed by her voraciously, every scrap squirreled away by her in an instant as her face radiated a hungry desire for more.<br><br>"Come with me, Celeste," he told her as he turned to walk towards the hallway, not bothering to look to see if she complied.&nbsp; He knew, now.&nbsp; She would do anything he told her to do, <em>anything</em>.&nbsp; He led her through the apartment to the two doors at the end of the hallway before opening the door to the left.<br><br>He swung the door open to reveal a small, tidy yet cramped room stacked with a number of apple crates and unmarked cardboard boxes.&nbsp; Below the window on the far side of the room was a narrow twin bed covered with a dark brown blanket.&nbsp; He stepped inside and to one side, allowing her the room to enter.<br><br>"You will sleep here tonight, Celeste," he told her.&nbsp; "This bed is for you to sleep on, and I expect you to rest as much as is possible."&nbsp; His eyes fell on hers as he waited for her to take in the new space.&nbsp; "You may keep the glass of water here with you as well, for if you become thirsty in the night."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>09-10-2008, 00:34:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				And she trailed after him like a faithful dog, casting a willowy shadow on the wall of the narrow hallway. He was right about her, after all. There was no real need to check to be sure she'd done as she was asked to do. She didn't know what else to do, had no concept of making even the most rudimentary of choices herself. When he stopped in front of the door, she came so close to him that they were nearly touching. So close, in fact, that it was like he could feel the warmth of her skin. The ends of her golden hair actually brushed his arm when she passed him to venture into the room.<br><br>She moved like a wildcat in new territory, silent on her feet, her eyes studying her surroundings, a slight hunch to her shoulders as if she expected to be attacked. She wanted to slip to the side and kneel by the door as she was accustomed, but between him and a stack of cardboard boxes, there was no room. Her eyes settled on the bed he'd indicated, and she tilted her head in some confusion. She looked up at him, some trepidation in her eyes, but she stepped forward and set the glass very carefully on an apple crate near the bed, using both hands to settle it there so it would not make a sound as it touched down. She reached out and ran her fingertips over the brown blanket that covered the bed. She couldn't shake her confusion. He had said she was to sleep on the bed. Where would he sleep, then? The bed didn't seem large enough to accommodate both of them. <br><br>"Yes, Detective." She whispered, barely audible. She didn't seem to know what to do with herself now, so she turned her baffled gaze back to him, standing in the middle of the room with her hands clasped in front of her.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>09-10-2008, 00:46:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Stay here, I'll be right back," he said before turning and leaving the room.&nbsp; He crossed the hall and opened the door to his own room, revealing a space much messier and unkept than his spare room.&nbsp; Clothes laid everywhere and there were a number of things strewn across the floor that could easily be called trash.<br><br>He crossed the room to the dresser, pulling it open and fishing through until he found what he was looking for - a long yellow t-shirt with a pocket sewn onto the left breast.&nbsp; He held it up, nodding to himself before turning and heading back into the other room.<br><br>He smiled at Celeste warmly as he entered, holding the t-shirt out as he moved within inches of her.&nbsp; "Take this, Celeste," he told her, and she quickly reached out to knot her fingers into the soft cotton.&nbsp; "Once I leave, you will change from the robe into this - it's one of my old shirts."<br><br>She looked up at him again, and he could see the confusion plain on her face - she couldn't comprehend anything of what was going on, in the least, but she was trying with every fiber of her being to do what he wanted.&nbsp; He brightened his smile, pouring every bit of charisma he could into his words.&nbsp; "After you change, you will sleep in the bed, under the covers."<br><br>He turned and pointed at the light switch on the wall.&nbsp; "This switch is for your lights - you will turn it off before getting into bed.&nbsp; There will be enough light from the window for you to see."<br><br>"Do you have any questions?" he asked her as he moved to the doorway, his smile broad and his eyes kind.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>09-10-2008, 00:56:48</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste took his words quite literally. She froze right where she was when he told her to stay, and did not move other than the soft rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Her eyes followed him until they could not anymore, and then she just stared at the open doorway, waiting for him to return. When he returned and smiled at her, her face seemed to light a little. She did not smile, or even twitch at the corners of the mouth, but she seemed to respond nonetheless. Still, when he approached so close to her, she seemed to shrink back, though her feet never moved. She did take the t-shirt, though. She could have no more refused than she could have stopped her own heart from beating with a thought. <br><br>She looked up from the t-shirt, which she'd been studying carefully, her intense blue eyes searching his gaze while she listened intently to his instructions. She started to relax a little. This was more familiar to her, a barrage of orders, though his pleasant tone made it so much easier to bear, and so much less frightening. Her eyes flitted from his face to various objects in the room as he spoke ... the bed, the light switch, and then the window. <br><br>It seemed, however, that he couldn't resist putting a question in there somewhere. She looked back to him and shook her head slowly, a few strands of golden hair slipping across her cheek, "Mine is not to question. Mine is to obey, Detective." She said, almost absently, transfixed and distracted by his wide smile and the gentle glint in his eyes.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>09-10-2008, 01:21:15</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He maintained the smile despite the twisting in his stomach, and reached out to grasp the handle of the door.&nbsp; "If I am not here when you wake up," he said as he swung the door shut, "You have my permission to come across the hall to my room and wake me."<br><br>He stared into her eyes as the door closed, still gazing into the same spot even after the latch clicked shut.&nbsp; He remained there for a few minutes, breathing softly, his eyes squeezed shut.&nbsp; The image wouldn't leave his head no matter how he tried - the bruises, the abuse, the ... mental rape and ravaging of a girl who knew no better than what she'd been told.<br><br><em>No man deserved this power over another</em>, he told himself.&nbsp; To make another human being into ... into a plaything for their cruel desires, an object to be used in the inhumanly terrible act of righting their own spiritual wrongdoings...&nbsp; The rage coursed through him like an inferno of pulsing fire, and his hand shook as he crushed down on the doorknob.&nbsp; He would find them, and make them answer for their crimes.<br><br>He released the handle and crossed to his own room, closing the door behind him.&nbsp; After a heavy breath he moved into his bathroom and stripped off his clothes, and turned on the shower.&nbsp; He adjusted the water stream until it steamed with scalding water, and stepped in with gritted teeth.<br><br>His cock was already almost fully hard as he began to masturbate, his eyes rolling back as he saw her, kneeling and begging for him to control her - Her eyes alight with the desire to follow his every command, hungry for his approval and praise...&nbsp; Her small hands, her soft lips on his body, desiring nothing more than to bring him pleasure.<br><br>He groaned loudly as he exploded with a powerful orgasm, more intense than any he'd had in ... as long as he could remember.&nbsp; His knees nearly buckled as he put a hand to the wall to support himself, the shudders coursing through him like electricity.<br><br>He shut the water off with a twist of the handle, shuddering again as he stepped out and grabbed a towel.&nbsp; He dried himself quickly and stumbled back into his bedroom, collapsing face-first onto the bed with the towel over his waist.&nbsp; Sleep overtook him quickly, leaving him to deal with disturbing dreams of fallen angels made to suffer for mankind's sins...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>09-10-2008, 01:39:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The world seemed too quiet once Detective Simmons had left the room. As if someone had reached out and covered her ears, leaving everything muffled and strange. She stood motionless in the middle of the room for several long minutes, watching the closed door as if she expected him to come back any moment. He'd left her alone. He'd actually walked out and shut the door behind him, and left her alone in the small bedroom. Five minutes went by. Ten. Her eyes never left the doorknob, hearing him moving about elsewhere in the apartment. Hearing the shower come on. Suddenly she flinched as though struck, giving a frightened whimper. He'd given her orders and she had not followed them yet. She set the shirt on the bedspread for a moment and wiggled out of the robe. She folded it with painstaking care, standing there with her lithe curves awash in the overhead light. She set the robe on top of a cardboard box and picked up the t-shirt. It took her a moment to decide that the pocket probably went in the front, and she waded her way into the shirt, which hung loose from her frame and came down to midthigh. She carefully tugged her golden hair free of the neckline and settled it back over her shoulder.<br><br><em>Clothing. Lights. Bed.</em> She repeated the words like a comforting mantra as she padded over and carefully turned off the light, jumping a little at the click of the switch. The room went dark, and for a moment she couldn't see anything at all. But her eyes adjusted rapidly, leaving her able to navigate her way across the room on quiet feet. She pulled back the covers and slipped into the bed. So strange to be alone. She wondered what would be scarier ... having him here with his stomach pressed to her back, holding her tightly and putting his hands under the t-shirt he'd given her? Or to sleep alone? She shuddered, her heart beginning to pound and her hands tightening into fists that gave her nails license to bite into her palms. She was breathing strangely, soft squeaks between each gasp as she struggled for air. But she was tired, the night exhausting and strange on every level. Her body could not maintain her panic for long, and soon her fists relaxed, her muscle released some of their tension, and her eyes drifted closed. She fell asleep tucked into a fetal position. <br><br>But Detective Simmons was not the only one haunted by dreams of fallen angels. Celeste did not sleep long before nightmares came in the form of terrifyingly familiar faces and hard hands on her body. She whimpered in her sleep, begged in her dreams and was ignored, cried out and was laughed at. She could not move. They were hurting her and she could not move. There were no ropes, no steel to hold her in place. Only two words, <em>Be still.</em> Enough to paralyze her long enough that every inch of her felt on fire with pain. Finally she could move, her limbs freed and--with no concept of what was real and what was guilty dreamscapes--Celeste scrambled out of the bed with a cry of fear and tried to run ... the one thing she could do only in dreams and never, ever in reality. She careened into a stack of boxes, knocking them over with a loud crash, tripping over them and colliding shoulder first into the wall in the corner. She slid to the floor and curled up there, hugging herself and burying her face against her knees, leaning heavily against the wall and sobbing raggedly with golden hair mussed. The nightshirt had ridden up, angled across her hips. Modesty was provided her only by accident, her legs tightly together and tucked up to her body obscuring her pussy from view. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>09-10-2008, 10:39:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The musical ringtone on his phone was muffled, ringing a number of times before he realized what it was.&nbsp; "Fuck me," he muttered, crawling from the bed to his pants where he'd dropped them on the floor of the bathroom.&nbsp; It had stopped ringing by the time he pulled it out, but it began almost immediately after he had it in his hand.&nbsp; He flipped it open and held it to his ear as he walked back into his shadowed bedroom.<br><br>"Simmons," he said into the phone, scrubbing the back of his hand across his eyes.<br><br>"Hear you found yourself a little runaway girl last night, Jon," the voice on the other end said.&nbsp; It was Simmons' partner, Jack Keller, a 25-year veteran of the force who'd seen and done just about everything imaginable - and a few things that were just downright unimaginable.&nbsp; He was a hardass, and got the badguys, but his issues with authority and administrative process took some getting used to.&nbsp; IT was a good explanation for the fact that Simmons was normally the one who ended up filing all of the paperwork.<br><br>"Yeah, she's a real doozy too, Jack," Simmons confirmed.&nbsp; "I've never seen a girl beat up this bad that wasn't in a body bag."<br><br>"Even that one down on the waterfront last spring?"<br><br>"Worse," Jon stated coolly.&nbsp; "She's ... broken, and not just physically.&nbsp; This girl's been a captive for her whole life, from what I can tell."<br><br>"Shit," the older man grunted.&nbsp; "Someone's probably lookin for her then, you better keep her hidden away."<br><br>"I plan on it," he confirmed.&nbsp; "I've got ..."<br><br>The crash of boxes from the other room was loud enough to make him jump.&nbsp; "Shit!" he exclaimed, eyes suddenly steely and alert as he scanned the room.&nbsp; "Call you back." he said quickly, closing the phone and dropping it on the bed.&nbsp; <br><br>He grabbed up a pair of sweatpants and pulled them on, cursing again as he recalled his pistol currently resided on the table next to the television set.&nbsp; Fucking sloppy, he thought as he rushed out of his room and crashed through the door into the spare room, hall light bathing the room in brightness.<br><br>She was on the floor amidst a pile of boxes and things, huddled against the wall and sobbing with her knees pulled tightly to her chest.&nbsp; His eyes took a quick scan of the room and eliminated the threat of intruders, his racing heart slowing only a touch as he realized she had simply fallen into the boxes while trying to get across the room in the dark.&nbsp; <br><br>He moved quickly to her and scooped her up into his arms, his voice comforting as he held her to his chest.&nbsp; "It's all right, Celeste," he told her with a soft smile.&nbsp; "You're ok, you just fell down."<br><br>He moved to the bed and sat down with her cradled in his arms, and he slipped his arm from underneath her knees as soon as she was balanced on his lap.&nbsp; His fingertips brushed the hair away from her eyes as he continued with his soft and comforting tone.&nbsp; "There is nothing to fear, Celeste," he whispered.&nbsp; "You are safe..."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>09-10-2008, 11:10:10</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste face was twisted in pain--emotional or physical, or both ... it made no different really. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she fought to get air between sobs. She was in a state of near hysteria, and she cried out when he scooped her into his arms, though she was awake enough now to know better than to try to fight her way free and run. It was a bad middle ground ... too awake to fight, too groggy to really remember where she was. And even if she'd known, would it really have made a difference? She had already developed a sort of hero-worship attitude towards the Detective, but that was only because he'd spoken kindly to her. Celeste's life had been such that she even expected abuse from her hero, it mattered only that a soft voice accompanied the pain. Torture with a smile.<br><br>She reached across her thin frame and clutched her shoulder where she'd collided with the wall. It was aching dully, and the pain served as a focus, bringing her slowly the rest of the way up from sleep. In the face of her panic, she suddenly choked on her own breath, sending herself into a fit of coughing as he sat down with her on the bed and stroked her hair away from her forehead. She wheezed, the loudest she'd ever been as she gasped for air between coughs. Her blue eyes opened and widened, staring unseeing. She actually did struggle against him this time, not really trying to escape and--in her mind--not even struggling to get away from him, more struggling because she was trying to make room for her lungs to expand, as though that were the problem and not that she was choking on her own anxiety. Her squirming was not difficult to contain. So light was she, and timid even in her terror, that it was like cupping a butterfly in closed hands and feeling the fluttering of wings as it continues trying to fly.<br><br>The struggle for air drew her the rest of the way out of her nightmare, her need for oxygen in her burning lungs streamlining her down to pure instinct and giving her a clarity she rarely had. And in that state of mechanical, mind-induced calm, his voice and gentle touch finally reached her. Her blue eyes finally drew into focus on his, and she finally heard what he was saying. Her lips were parted slightly as she drew ragged but--at long last--even breaths through her mouth. Her shoulders, hunched protectively around her ears, slowly lowered and some of the tension left her body as she stared intently into his eyes. He whispered to her of safety and freedom from fear, and she could only feel confusion and a silent longing.<br><br>Fear had been a nearly constant companion to her, like her own shadow, leaving her for only short stretches--long enough for her to recognize its absence and dread its return. As for safety ... it was something Celeste understood only as a word that meant something abstract, a feeling people sometimes had. She had never experienced it, and thus had no grounds for comparison. And so his words had very little direct meaning to Celeste ... but they were like a lullaby to her, soothing due to tone of voice.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>10-10-2008, 00:48:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				She twisted and thrashed in his grasp as he held her tightly, his warm palm touching her cheek and his thumb brushing against her cheekbone as his fingers extended out to caress along her neck and ear.&nbsp; She wasn't trying to get away from him, particularly, more like fighting some inner battle with an unknown and unseen demon that Simmons could only imagine upon.<br><br>The tears that streamed down her face wet his palm and chest, soaking into his chesthair and running in rivulets down his waist to be absorbed into the waistband of his sweats.&nbsp; A good deal of it stained the shirt she wore as well, the yellow color darkened by her tears.&nbsp; "Shhhh," he murmured quietly as he rocked her, feeling the tension and the terror slowly, ever so slowly release from her.&nbsp; "Shhhhh," he repeated, resting his cheek atop her head.&nbsp; Heat radiated from her like a furnace, her terror and panic setting her body in a mode like that of an athlete in the midst of a challenging competition.<br><br>After many minutes her sobs quieted to simply ragged gasps for air, and the shuddering aftershocks of said breaths.&nbsp; He moved his arm back underneath her knees and stood with her in his grasp, and moved out into the hallway with her cradled against his chest.&nbsp; "Sleep," he murmured as he carried her into his bedroom, and he bent down to pick up the cellphone where it had fallen onto the ground.&nbsp; He turned then and continued through the house to the front room, and he reached out to pick up the pistol in his hand with the cellphone before sinking into his recliner.&nbsp; He pulled her into a semi-fetal position atop his lap, still whispering softly.&nbsp; "Nothing will harm you here, Celeste," he smiled as she trembled against his chest.&nbsp; "You are under my protection."<br><br>He laid the pistol down on the arm of the recliner and flipped the cellphone open, hitting send twice and placing it against his ear.&nbsp; It rang twice before being picked up.<br><br>"I was about to send SWAT to knock down your door, asshole," his partner said after answering the phone.<br><br>"It's alright now, Jack," he told the older man.&nbsp; "Someone had a nightmare, is all."<br><br>"You want me to stop by?"<br><br>Jon considered it a moment, gazing down into the girl's face as she clung to his chest.&nbsp; "Naw, we will be alright.&nbsp; Do me a favor and stop by the M.E.'s office in the morning, see if Patricia is done processing the rape kit."<br><br>"Alright," his partner told him.&nbsp; "You gonna come to work today?"<br><br>"I think I'm going to take a sick day, and see if I can't calm this girl down a bit," he said.<br><br>His partner coughed, and cleared his throat loudly.&nbsp; "Keep your pants on, shithead," he told Jon with a chuckle.&nbsp; "You don't need any trouble like that'd bring."<br><br>"I know, Jack," he replied, chuckling a bit himself.&nbsp; "I won't."<br><br>The phone clicked and went silent, and he closed it before setting it beside the pistol.&nbsp; He picked up the television remote and flipped it on as he leaned back, reclining the chair as he held her securely in his warm arms.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>10-10-2008, 01:26:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Her tears dripped over his hand where it cupped her cheek and made her eyes glisten, light trapped in fine crystal. Her skin was amazingly soft, almost translucent. She was clearly a woman who rarely saw the sunlight. She was almost hypnotized by his gentle voice, the last of the nightmare images fading from her wracked mind and leaving her feeling exhausted and empty. She slumped against him, her head in the crook of his neck, her silky hair tickling his arm where it wrapped around her and supported her back. He was cradling her and rocking her like a child--though Celeste would have no way to know this. She gave a wide yawn, her nose wrinkling slightly and her body shivering as her lungs finally expanded to full capacity, no longer restricted by her terror. <br><br>By the time he stood, Celeste was somewhere close to sleep, insensate as she wandered the border-realms of slumber. She was still shaken by the nightmare, even though it was only one of many interminable nights of them. Still, she'd never made quite such a loud noise, or woken up in a strange place. Though she did not want to be back at the Sanctum, there was still the fact that it was familiar to her. Scary as it was, the unknown was just as frightening to her. She was dimly aware that he was moving with her, carrying her back down the hallway, dimly aware of his movements as he stooped to get his phone and detoured by the television to get his gun. Her half-conscious state stripped her of some of her paralyzing inhibitions, and when he drew her close against him in the recliner, she actually snuggled closer to him, her warm forehead resting against his neck. She twitched with each soft beep of the phone, but was too exhausted for a more theatrical response. Her ear rested against his chest, so that his voice was an abstract sort of rumble, somehow profoundly comforting. Perhaps she was experiencing an ancient memory, too long ago to truly remember by more than instinct ... being able to hear a mother's heartbeat. <br><br>In any case, by the time he flipped the phone closed, Celeste was sound asleep again, her body curled in his lap. Her forehead was still tilted against his neck, her ear to his chest and her lashes tickling his collarbone. One hand was resting against his chest, the other still loosely holding her sore shoulder. Her delicate lips were parted slightly as she breathed the slow, even breaths of sleep, expelled warm air brushing over his skin.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>10-10-2008, 10:33:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Simmons could tell when she'd finally slipped off completely to sleep, as the final vestiges of tension slipped from her and she literally melted into him.&nbsp; He'd had dogs who weighed more than her - she most likely didn't weigh more than a hundred pounds, if even that much.&nbsp; Her breathing slowed and became more regular as her breath tickled across his chest.<br><br>He flipped the television to the local 24-hour news channel and watched the headlines idly, volume turned almost all the way down to zero.&nbsp; There was nothing happening as usual, nothing that really mattered anyways.&nbsp; He let his head fall back against the headrest of his chair and relaxed himself, dropping the remote next to the gun and phone.<br><br>The feel of her body pressed against his so intensely was a sensation he'd not felt in some great time.&nbsp; His last girlfriend wasn't what you'd call 'clingy' - after they'd settled into a routine, it was a remarkable day when he was able to cop a feel, much less anything else.&nbsp; Another in a long line of 'independent women' who seemed to think that efficient sex once or twice a week should be satisfactory for any man - once or twice a week, if he was lucky.<br><br>With a deep inhale and exhale, he sunk back into the thick cushions of the recliner.&nbsp; It wouldn't be the first day he'd slept in this, his favorite chair.&nbsp; It would, however, be the first time he had cradled a tortured young girl and protected her from untold nightmares.&nbsp; That felt good, at least.&nbsp; And the feel of her against his chest felt good, too.&nbsp; It felt...<br><br>He sighed softly and closed his eyes, trying to divert his mind from the images that seemed to haunt his thoughts since the first moment he had set eyes upon her.&nbsp; Sleep finally came, stealing consciousness from him like a skilled thief.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>10-10-2008, 14:27:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste slept more peacefully for the rest of the night. It was difficult to say why. It could have been that he was holding her, then again it wasn't as if she'd not been held before, though the intent was very different this time. It might also have been that she was thoroughly exhausted, for it wasn't that she didn't dream. She did, and the dreams were unpleasant as ever. Most likely it was some combination of the two that was effective enough to restrain her from tumbling out of his lap and fleeing blindly. Instead her body just tensed and she whimpered in her sleep, keened like a frightened animal in pain. Occasionally she would fall silent, her lips moving as though she were speaking, with no sound coming out, her eyes and fingers twitching. <br><br>Once and a while, she would fully relax once more, and spend a brief while in peaceful, dreamless sleep. She seemed heaviest during these times, but still she was only a warm, comfortable weight in his arms. She shifted and nuzzled closer to him as she began to wake, unaware of what she was doing in her half-dreaming state. Her hand slipped on his chest, her fingers tangling in his chest hair, though even in her sleep she did not pull. It was as if everything she had was focused into being as unobtrusive as possible. And yet it was one thing that--by default--she could never, ever be, with her golden hair and intense blue eyes. Another squirm turned her face into his chest, her breath tickling his skin directly now, her body tensing with a stretch that was entirely internal, her muscles tightening up til she shook and then relaxing again. She was trying to fight her way out of sleep, but like any sort of aggressive act, it felt nearly impossible to her. She moaned softly.<br>&nbsp;
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>10-10-2008, 23:34:22</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The light from the sun peaked in through the curtained front window, a warm beam that flickered with dust-motes swirling in midair.&nbsp; Birds had begun to sing in the morning light outside the window, nature's accompaniment to the TV news that still played quietly from the set across the room.<br><br>Simmons snored quietly, his chest rising and falling as she laid against him, her fingers still fisted gently into his chest hair.&nbsp; Her hair cascaded down over her shoulder and across his chest as she breathed slowly, their heartbeats and breathing seeming to fall into a slow rhythm of their own.<br><br>The sunlight crept down the far wall and across the room, touching on his forearm and hand where they rested atop the skin of her thigh.&nbsp; The edge of her t-shirt rested underneath his thumb, caught unconsciously between thumb and forefinger.<br><br>The sunlight on her knee and thigh warmed her skin, sending a tingle of sensation through her body as she began to stir against him.&nbsp; A shudder coursed through her as she slowly fought her way to consciousness, and he reflexively tightened his grip around her - not powerfully, but in a protective and shielding manner as his right hand spread fingers wide over her hip.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>11-10-2008, 03:39:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste felt strangely warm as she woke. It wasn't that she was used to cold conditions as she slept, but that she was used to artificial warmth. The feeling of sun on her skin as she slept was utterly unfamiliar, and not unpleasant. When the sunlight finally fell upon her hair, it created an almost blinding golden gleam. She was still for a moment, aware that there were warm hands on her body, automatically assuming that the were gentle only because the one to whom they were attached was still asleep. She was not yet awake enough to remember where she was and what had happened. Still ... the warmth she felt. So strange. And the cloth that brushed her skin was unfamiliar to her, coarser and yet warmer somehow. <br><br>She remembered, quite suddenly, just one moment. A concerned, craggy face in the moonlight, pressure at her back and under her knees and a firm grip that was not painful. She found consciousness with a start, but it went no further than to make her tense up in his arms. She remained just as she was. She knew better than to disturb a sleeper if she was in enough control to prevent it. So she lay perfectly still, like an oversized doll, her only movement being the blinking of her eyes and the rise and fall of her chest. She flexed her grip on her shoulder just a little and flinched. It seemed there would be another nasty bruise to add to her already rather extensive collection. Her blue eyes wandered and came to rest on her other hand, where it was curled into his chest hair. As her gaze drew into focus, she realized that she could hear his heartbeat, and she listened closely, intrigued. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>11-10-2008, 10:25:57</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				His heart beat a slow, steady pace as he breathed deeply, chest rising and falling with each breath.&nbsp; His skin was warm and smooth, and evenly tanned from long exposure to the sun.&nbsp; His bicep was only inches from her fingers as she watched him, sunlight beaming over his shoulder and alighting on her golden hair.&nbsp; His arm stretched down to where his hand rested on her thigh, thumb and forefinger still holding the bottom of his strangely warm yellow shirt.<br><br>For many minutes she sat there in his arms, motionless and feeling the rhythm of his body.&nbsp; His head twitched slightly then, and he turned his face from the sunlight, his eyes squinting from the brightness.&nbsp; His chest rose expansively as he inhaled a deep breath of air, and his arms and legs tensed.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>11-10-2008, 10:36:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste was fascinated by the way the ray of sunlight painted his bicep, she carefully uncurled her fingers from where they lay at his chest and reached out her hand, grazing her fingertips along the edge of the bright patch on his skin. She could feel his palm against her bare thigh, a square of warm strength on her soft skin. Finally she rested her palm over the sunlight on his arm, wondering quietly if it felt the same to him as his palm on her leg. <br><br>When his head moved, she snatched her hand back as though burned and tucked it against her chest, her expression guilty. His deep breath moved her whole body as if she weren't even there, and she tensed with him. The flexing of her own muscles drew her sore shoulder up and the sudden pain caught her by surprise, pulling a yelp from her. She slapped her free hand over her mouth, trembling with fear and horrified by her unforgivable outburst. Her cheek still rested against his chest, not daring to move just in case she hadn't wakened him with her noise, not wanting to encourage his anger by waking him if it wasn't already too late.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>11-10-2008, 10:47:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He inhaled and held the breath for a long moment, stretching his arms and tensing his stomach muscles as he let out a soft groan, and his eyes finally opened.&nbsp; He looked down at her and smiled slightly, but only for a moment before he yawned expansively.&nbsp; The breath he'd held left him quickly, and he sagged back into the recliner.<br><br>"Good morning, Celeste," he said to her quietly before taking another expansive breath of air and releasing it slowly.&nbsp; "Did you sleep alright after I brought you out here?"&nbsp; <br><br>His hand rested back onto her thigh, however this time it was atop the shirt rather than on her bare skin.&nbsp; He squeezed her thigh gently with his fingers as he looked down into her eyes with that same affectionate smile.&nbsp; "We're going to get some antibiotics on those wounds of yours today, I don't want them getting infected."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>11-10-2008, 11:24:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste slowly relaxed again, though she looked confused. No yelling? When she'd made so much noise? She remembered as well, with a sinking feeling, that she'd knocked over the pile of boxes in the bedroom. He hadn't punished her for that yet either. She looked down at her hands as she balled them together in her lap.<br><br>"Good morning, Detective." She answered in her soft voice. And a question already, right after waking. The world beyond the Sanctum--especially the people within it--baffled her. Did they ever stop asking questions? "I slept well, Detective." She answered. By most people's standards, she hadn't slept well at all, since she'd still been haunted by memories masquerading as nightmares. But for her, not waking up screaming and/or dragging herself into the corner or under the bed was a significant improvement. <br><br>There was a part of her that felt a pang of regret when his hand settled onto her leg on top of the shirt, and that strange feeling of longing only served to confuse her more. She'd never wanted to be touched before. Never bothered wanting anything, for that matter, since there hadn't been a point. She swallowed hard, just staring at his face, at the smile he favored her with, trying to figure it all out in her head and only succeeding in making the muddled tangle worse. And so her blue eyes just rested on his, swirling in a troubled sort of calm.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>11-10-2008, 11:40:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He moved his hands underneath her arms and lifted her easily as he stood, raising her to her feet next to him.&nbsp; "Alright, first thing we need to do is get you some proper clothes to wear."&nbsp; He paused long enough to pick up his pistol and phone, slipping the first into the back of his waistband and the second into his pocket.<br><br>He paused for a moment before turning off the television, and then he turned his attentions back to the girl.&nbsp; "You will not be returning to the Sanctum, Celeste," he informed her, his eyes serious despite the smile across his lips.&nbsp; "you will be under my protection for the foreseeable future."<br><br>With that, he turned and headed into the hallway and towards the bedrooms.&nbsp; "Come with me," he told her, leading her back and into his room.&nbsp; he turned to his closet and opened it, fishing through until he found what he was looking for.&nbsp; "Ah, here we go," he said, pulling out a white and blue tracksuit.<br><br>He held the tracksuit out to her with a smile.&nbsp; "This belongs to my niece, who stays with me occasionally and left it here when she visited last," he told her.&nbsp; "She's a bit bigger than you, but it should fit."&nbsp; After she'd taken the clothing, he added, "Those panties I mentioned should still be under the sink in the bathroom.&nbsp; Make sure you put them on, as well."<br><br>He turned her around and gave her a nudge towards the hallway.&nbsp; "Go ahead, Celeste.&nbsp; Come back here when you're finished dressing."<br><br>He watched her as she left, no doubt in his mind that she would do everything he specified, to the letter.&nbsp; He loosened his jaw after he felt his teeth start to clench once again, and with a shudder he turned and started to search for his own clothing.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>11-10-2008, 11:58:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste was a little startled when he lifted her. It wasn't that she'd never been lifted before that way, only that no one had ever bothered being gentle about it, or making sure she actually had her feet underneath her. She watched him closely as though trying to memorize every move he made as he tucked his gun and phone into place. Her eyes flicked up to his face when he began to speak to her, dancing over his smile on the way. As his words she felt a flood of relief, followed a split second after by an equally all-consuming flood of guilt. Some tension when out of her body and her shoulders relaxed a little, even as her eyes dropped to her feet. She was grateful he didn't ask her any questions about this statement, she was certain her answer would have earned her some sort of punishment.<br><br>All in all, she was glad when he turned away from her and went down the hall, because then those eyes weren't staring right at her, as if they could read all her sins with that gentle smile. She fell into step just behind him, as close as she could without getting her feet tangled in his. She stood beside him and slightly behind as he rummaged through the closet, her hands clasped behind her back. She was intrigued by all the clothing. So many colors and types. She was used to the same simple white shifts--enough for her to always have clean, but every one of them identical. Her mouth hung open a little when he held out the tracksuit, and she took it in her arms as though it were something precious, cradling it against her chest. She couldn't take her eyes off it, not even when he spoke again, her fingers feeling the fabric almost reverently. Finally she tore her eyes away to look up at him, since he was giving her instructions again. She bobbed as if in acknowledgment and then he was turning her gently and giving her a soft prod towards the hallway. He was sending her somewhere alone again. Wasn't he afraid she'd disobey? She gave him a strange look over her shoulder as she padded out of sight and down the hall to the bathroom.<br><br>First she took the panties out from the under the sink. She was baffled by them at first, staring from the picture on the package to the cloth item unfolded in her hands she was finally able to figure out how to put them on, though--despite her grace--she got one foot caught for a moment and nearly fell. She then stripped off the t-shirt she'd slept in, wincing as the awkward motion drew a twinge of pain from her shoulder. She stared at herself in the mirror, touching gentle fingertips to the newly blossomed dark bruise on her shoulder where she'd collided with the wall in her half-asleep terror. The bruises she'd already had were beginning to turn a sickly green-yellow color around their borders. She stared into her own unfathomable blue eyes for a few minutes, and then reached for the tracksuit. She was able to figure out the top rather easily, since it was just a much smaller version of the yellow t-shirt. The pants, on the other hand, posed a bit more of a problem. She studied them in consternation for a few moments, and then she swallowed hard past a lump in her throat, her heart pounding. He would be angry if she did not obey. She bit her lip, fiddling with the pants til she finally managed to get them on ... not realizing that she had them on backwards. They were slightly too big and hung loose on her hips, giving them a low-rider appearance and exposing a thin band of bare skin around her middle, showing some of the scars on her stomach, including pieces of the some of the letters, though not showing enough to be readable.<br><br>Finally she turned towards the door, slipping back down the hall to the bedroom and hovering in the doorway nervously, her hands twisting in front of her.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>12-10-2008, 04:41:57</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Simmons pondered the situation as he tossed his pistol and cellphone onto the bed before stripping out of the sweats he'd thrown on early this morning.&nbsp; He wasn't exactly sure how to proceed from this point, as this situation was so far beyond anything he'd experienced to this point.&nbsp; Regardless, he doubted that she was in a position mentally to handle the chaos of the station, and he wasn't about to do that to her.<br><br>The images of her ran through his mind constantly as he took a clean pair of boxers and levis from his dresser and pulled them on at the same time, slipping them over his hips and buttoning the jeans closed.&nbsp; He reached back into the drawer and pulled out a blue and white horizonatlly striped t-shirt which he pulled over his head, not bothering to tuck it in.<br><br>He pulled on a pair of socks quickly before stuffing his phone back into a pocket, and his pistol nestled into the small of his back as he clipped it to the waistband of the levis.&nbsp; With a glance around the room and a sigh, he quickly kicked most of the mess underneath his bed before turning towards his bedroom door.<br><br>The ringing of his phone brought him up short, and he paused just inside the doorway as he answered it.<br><br>"Simmons," he said, knowing that it was his partner by the caller ID tag on the display.<br><br>"How's your houseguest doing, Jon?" Jack asked, his gruff voice crackling over the phone's tiny speaker.<br><br>"She's doing a bit better," he replied.&nbsp; "I'm going to take her to get some clothes today, she really didn't have anything when I found her."<br><br>His partner harrumphed over the phone before continuing.&nbsp; "The chief's freaking out about this one for some reason, Jon," he said.&nbsp; "Apparently that M.E. girl called him this morning, freaking out about your new girlfriend, about how beat to shit she was."<br><br>"I haven't seen it up close yet," he said, "but yeah, it's bad," he confirmed.&nbsp; "She's got some issues upstairs as well, figured she' d be better off here than down at the station or in a halfway house."<br><br>His partner paused for a good thirty seconds before continuing.&nbsp; "I suppose, just don't do anything stupid."<br><br>"I won't," he muttered, "I know better."<br><br>The click from the phone told him that his partner was done with that morning's particular words of wisdom, and he closed the phone before slipping it into his pocket.&nbsp; He reached out and opened the door, and found her standing there in the doorway to the spare bedroom, staring at his closed door.&nbsp; She looked up at him innocently, her stunningly blue eyes meeting his and stopping him in his tracks.&nbsp; "Hello, Celeste," he smiled, a bit surprised.&nbsp; <br><br>He smiled at her, noting that the tracksuit actually almost fit her.&nbsp; "That looks good on you, Celeste," he said as he stepped forward and laid his hands on her shoulders lightly.&nbsp; "I'm glad that my niece left it here, but it won't be enough for you."<br><br>He pondered a moment before continuing.&nbsp; "First off," he told her, "You need to go back into your bedroom and clean up the mess that was made this morning."<br><br>"Afterwards," he said, "Meet me in the kitchen, we will have something to eat and then we will go shopping for some new clothes for you."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>12-10-2008, 05:32:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste's eyes tracked his as he crossed the hall to stand right in front of her, so that she was gazing up at him with earnest expectation in her eyes. She still cringed when he put his hands on her shoulders, but the reaction was far more understated this time, as if she was slowly getting used to the idea that he wasn't going to hurt her--not yet anyway. She listened to him carefully. When he mentioned the mess in the bedroom, her eyes plummeted to the floor. She hung her head like a scolded child. Really, she was bracing herself to be punished for the mess, now that he'd mentioned it, waiting for him to strike her or at least yell. But he moved to another topic as if she'd done nothing wrong at all. She glanced up at him again in complete confusion, and her eyes were glittering with unshed tears.<br><br>She nodded and whispered a nearly inaudible, "Yes, Detective." And then turned and slipped into the dark bedroom. There were papers scattered across the floor, as well as some books and old computer disks. She carefully tugged the boxes that had tilted near the bottom of the pile back into place. It was hard work for her, as she wasn't exactly physically strong. In fact, she was quite weak, and those who had kept her had preferred it that way. Weak, delicate, and unquestioningly obedient. She knelt quietly by the box and began to pick up the items scattered across the floor, placing them into the box. She seemed to have natural talent for making things fit perfectly. It didn't take her long to get all the items boxed up again. She crouched and tried to lift the box. She nearly dropped it again, but managed to heave it onto the top of the stack before she whimpered and sank to her knees in front of the pile, clutching her aching shoulder. <br><br>She spent some time recovering, just a few moments to gather herself, and then she rose to her feet softly and padded out of the bedroom. Her hair swayed across her lower back as she went find him in the kitchen. She slipped into the room and then knelt just inside the entryway with her back to a cupboard. Her fingers were still clutched around her shoulder and she rested her head back all the way to the wood of the cabinet door.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>12-10-2008, 21:20:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Simmons turned to look at her as she slipped in and sank to the floor, smiling.&nbsp; "We don't eat while sitting on the floor in my house, Celeste," he told her as he pulled a box of instant oatmeal from the cupboard and set it on the counter.&nbsp; "Sit in one of the chairs there," he said as he gestured towards the small kitchen table that sat next to the room's only window.<br><br>The microwave chimed just then, and he opened it and pulled out a large mug that emitted a cloud of hot steam.&nbsp; He set it on the counter and fished out two bowls, setting them next to the mug.&nbsp; Into one bowl he emptied the contents of four small packets, and then after a measured glance at Celeste, he dumped two packets into the second bowl.&nbsp; He followed it up with water from the mug into both bowls, stirring with a spoon to mix the contents.<br><br>When he was done he lifted the bowls and crossed to the table, dropping one in front of her and the other, more completely full bowl in front of the other chair.&nbsp; "Do you like orange juice, Celeste?" he asked, eyebrow arching as he gazed into her eyes.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>12-10-2008, 22:26:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste rose, wincing despite his smile and shooting him a nervous look. It was natural to her to kneel to one side upon entering a room. It had been trained into her ... beaten into her really ... the habit died hard, but she knew it bothered the Detective that she did so, even if she didn't understand why. She padded past him to the table, her bare feet silent on the floor. The beeping of the microwave made her jump and give a small echoing squeak of her own before she thumped down into a chair, her blue eyes wide. She calmed when she realized the sound was only the microwave and didn't herald some new form of torture.<br><br>Once she'd recovered some, she turned her eyes with interest to the procedure of breakfast preparation. She tucked her hands under her thighs, her legs swinging a little. When he set the bowl in front of her, the smell of cinnamon filled the air. She lifted her head, sniffing like a cat, unabashed in her reaction to the scent of good food. Yet she didn't move to touch the spoon. When he mentioned orange juice, her eyes lit up, but her answer belied the reaction, "I can like it if you wish, Detective."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>13-10-2008, 00:42:05</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He chuckled as he went to the refrigerator, opening it and pulling forth a plastic pitcher of fresh squeezed orange juice.&nbsp; There were very few things he took pleasure in spending extra money on, but this was one of them.&nbsp; It cost an ass-fortune for just a half-gallon of the stuff, bit he could drink it endlessly without ever losing the taste for it.<br><br>He fetched two tall glasses from the cupboard and set them onto the table, and then filled one to a finger's width from the rim and the second with only an inch.&nbsp; With a grin he slid the inch-filled glass across the table until it rested in front of her bowl.&nbsp; "You drink that, and then tell me if you'd like more."<br><br>He sank into his chair across the table from her, picked up his spoon and started to eat without another word, watching her face closely as he lifted the oatmeal to his lips.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>13-10-2008, 00:55:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste's eyes followed him everywhere, but slipped away from him to focus on the rich orange liquid in her glass. She reached for it as soon as he set it down on the table and moved his hand away from it. She couldn't hide her enthusiasm, though she did try. If she liked something too much, he would take it away from her. That was how things worked. She lifted the glass to her lips and forced herself to take tiny sips, since he hadn't given her much. Her impulse was to gulp it before he could take it away, but she wanted to savor it. She stared at him over the rim of the glass, looking a little skittish, like she was preparing to dodge him--though she never would, and they both knew it. <br><br>When the orange juice was gone, she set the glass down gently, gave it a wistful look and turned her attention back to her bowl. She held the spoon with perfect posture and spooned oatmeal into her mouth. At least there was one aspect of being a human being that she hadn't missed out on entirely. Though her manners with the dish and spoon were almost too perfect ... mechanical and stiff.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>13-10-2008, 01:23:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Watching her eat, he couldn't help but be amazed at the level of her self-control.&nbsp; He could easily see on her face how much she enjoyed the juice, yet she seemed deathly afraid of showing any pleasure whatsoever when it came to her own self.<br><br>"You may ask for more if you want," he told her as he leaned back in his chair, lifting his bowl and cradling it on his hand as he continued to eat.&nbsp; It was unfathomable to him the level of conditioning that the girl had been subjected to, that she wouldn't even voice the most base desires without fear of repercussion.&nbsp; It was like a little internal war painted across her face as well, as the things he said conflicted with everything she had ever been shown to be true.<br><br>The abrupt ring and vibration of his phone startled him, almost making him jump.&nbsp; He fished it out of his pocket quickly and checked the caller ID before snapping it open.&nbsp; It was the Medical Examiner's Office, and he hoped it would be Patricia.<br><br>"Simmons," he answered.<br><br>"Detective Simmons, it's Patricia Wilson ... From the M.E.'s office."<br><br>"Patricia, I was hoping to hear from you.&nbsp; Do you have some results from the kit?"<br><br>He could hear the sound in her voice, the barely audible tremor that told him she was still having difficulty with this particular case.&nbsp; "Yes, I do," she answered.&nbsp; "Do you have something to write this data down on?&nbsp; I'll be sending over the file as soon as we get the DNA results and run them through CODIS."<br><br>He set the bowl down onto the table and stood up, moving to the counter and shuffling through the stack of papers there.&nbsp; After a few moments he pulled out a relatively untouched piece of printer paper and a pen.&nbsp; "Yes, I'm ready," he said as he returned to the table, smiling warmly at Celeste.<br><br>She cleared her throat and inhaled deeply, pausing for a moment before continuing.&nbsp; "Well, I took an entire set of photos - have you seen her injuries, Detective?"<br><br>"Only a few," he replied.&nbsp; "I'll be taking a better look later this morning, we're going to put something on them to keep her from getting an infection."<br><br>"You really should take her to a clinic, Detective," she stated.&nbsp; "Those injuries require more than just a little Neosporin to make go away.&nbsp; She has multiple flesh-wounds from sharp objects knives most likely, and she has sustained dozens of contusions - some recent, but many spanning the history of months, if not years."<br><br>"I will as soon as I know she's going to be safe," he said.&nbsp; "I don't want to let her out of my sight in an places that might be considered public."<br><br>"It's your decision," she said, her voice clearly at odds with his course of action.&nbsp; "Anyways, let me continue."<br><br>He listened closely as she detailed the data, writing quickly on the paper.&nbsp; "I have sperm isolates from both the vaginal and anal swabs, and I've found unique DNA from <em>at least</em> three men."&nbsp; She put a great deal of emphasis into the 'at least' as she detailed the information to him.&nbsp; "There's also evidence of something being strange about one of the strains, but I don't have enough information to give you anything beyond speculation."<br><br>"I'll take your speculation if you're willing to give it, Patricia," he told her as he tapped the pen quietly on the paper.&nbsp; His eyes were on Celeste as she sat across from him, daintily spooning the oatmeal between her lips, looking stunningly attractive to him as the sunlight reflected up from the linoleum and made her hair seem to shimmer and glow.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>13-10-2008, 01:41:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste looked up from her bowl, faltering a little as she stared at him, looking confused. She looked at her glass again with a look of mournful longing. For a moment it seemed as if she were in pause, as if she just might say something. But then she shuddered and looked away again sadly, returning regretful attention to her oatmeal and not looking at him for fear that she'd see anger in his eyes. It was horribly confusing to her ... feeling that she must--of necessity--anger him if she asked for anything, and yet feeling at the same time that she was disappointing him by not asking. She felt like she were being pulled in both direction and left with a sick twisting feeling in the pit of her stomach. She reached out to set down her spoon for a moment--waiting for the icky feeling to go away--when his phone rang. She started so hard it was like someone had jabbed her with a pin, her fingers flying open so that the spoon clattered hard to the tabletop, eliciting another cringe that hunched her shoulders up around her ears, which caused her enough pain in her shoulder that she yelped. All in all, it resulted in her pulling her feet up after her so her heels rested on the seat of the chair, and hugging them tightly, trembling and flickering him frightened looks.<br><br>But he only spoke into the phone calmly, and finally she picked up the spoon again and tentatively resumed eating. She kept her eyes on her bowl, even though she was bright enough to realize that he was speaking to the woman who had been there the night before. She sensed the Detective's eyes on her, and looked up, staring at him expectantly and waiting for him to tell her what he wanted ... why he was watching her so intently.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>13-10-2008, 11:58:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"I'll speculate so far as to say that one of the DNA samples seemed ... incomplete," she told him.&nbsp; "Beyond that, I can't say until the sequencing is done.&nbsp; Give me twelve hours."<br><br>He nodded to himself, eyes still on her as she continued to eat.&nbsp; He noticed the empty glass and pointed at it, then to the pitcher, mimicking a pouring motion with his hand before pointing at her and nodding.&nbsp; "Was there anything else?" he said into the phone as he wriggled his hand at the girl.<br><br>"Two miracles.&nbsp; She doesn't have any STD's, and she's not pregnant."<br><br>Simmons' smile broadened at the news.&nbsp; "Yeah, that's good to know.&nbsp; Good for her," he replied.&nbsp; "Get back to me as soon as you get those results back."<br><br>"I will, Detective," she said.&nbsp; "Oh, one other thing," she added, "I'd like you to bring her down here in the next couple of days so that I can take an x-ray - I'd like to know what those bumps are on her back."<br><br>"Bumps on her back?" he replied, arching an eyebrow.&nbsp; "Alright, will do."<br><br>"Thanks, Detective.&nbsp; Talk to you again, hopefully soon."<br><br>He hung up the phone and set it on the table next to his paper, and spun it idly, watching the gray plastic square twirl in a circle on the tabletop.&nbsp; He drummed his fingers on the table as it slowly wound down and stopped, eyes going a bit distant as he pondered the current situation.&nbsp; Seemingly not enough, however, he spun it again and waited for it to slowly crawl to a stop a second time.<br><br>Sitting up, he thumped his palm on the table, not hard but hard enough to make her jump.&nbsp; "Alright, Celeste," he told her with a smile.&nbsp; "We are going to finish our breakfast and then we're going shopping."<br><br>With that, he picked up his bowl and resumed his eating, taking large bites of the thick gray oatmeal.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>13-10-2008, 16:03:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste's eyes were on his when he gestured to her, and her gaze dropped to his hand and then rose to his face once more. She looked baffled and a little nervous. She thought she understood what he was getting at ... but what if she was wrong? She hesitated, lifted one hand and started to reach for the pitcher. She moved so slowly that it was like a lioness in the grass, as though the pitcher were her prey. Though the idea of Celeste as any sort of predator was rather laughable. She was stealthy only in the sense that she was so very quiet and terrified of offending or displeasing. It was clear she was taking it so slowly because she was ready to react to any sign of displeasure, rather than because she was trying to get away with something.<br><br>She had the handle of the pitcher in her grasp, and was about to slide it towards her to pour a little more juice into her glass when the Detective mentioned bumps on her back. She was suddenly painfully aware that he was talking about her, and a crestfallen look came over her face. Patricia had told on her. Not that she'd really expected she could keep her back a secret, and the disappointment mingled with shame. She had been trying to hide her back from him in whatever small way she could while obeying his every command. Because she didn't want him to know who she was. Lying was a sin. She withdrew her hand without pouring anything more and folded her hands together in her lip, clenching them tightly so her nails dug into her skin.<br><br>She didn't even look up when the phone spun on the table, making a strange sound of metal on wood. She did look up when his palm hit the table, cringing as though he'd hit her instead, her eyes stained with regret. The smile on his face seemed to arrest her, and she just stared at him. The world outside The Sanctum was so confusing.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>14-10-2008, 10:28:57</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Eat, girl," he told her, gesturing with his half-full spoon.&nbsp; "We don't have all day, you know."&nbsp; <br><br>He put ever so slight of a tone of impatience in his voice, and as he'd expected she jumped into motion almost immediately, spooning the oatmeal into her mouth quickly while still trying to maintain her dainty and table-proper appearance.&nbsp; He had to admit it was cute, seeing her try so hard, and he found himself smiling despite himself.<br><br>"Don't forget to finish your juice either, Celeste," he told her as he spooned up the last of his breakfast, the dark brown oats piled high on his spoon.&nbsp; "It's good for you, and I want to see you stay healthy."&nbsp; His smile stayed constant as he poured the sugar onto her verbally, and as expected she lapped it up anxiously.<br><br>The idea that a girl this age could actually have been held a captive slave prisoner for her entire life simply baffled him.&nbsp; And another question brushed over his thoughts, one that he forced down rather quickly - She couldn't be more than 17 or 18 now, how old was she when this torture began?<br><br>He upended the spoon in his mouth and sucked the last of the oatmeal from it slowly before placing bowl and spoon onto the table with a satisfied sigh.&nbsp; The last inch of his orange juice went down in one more swig, and he set that next to the empty bowl. <br><br>"I'm going to get you some shoes, I'll be right back," he told her, standing up with his palms on the table.&nbsp; "Finish your breakfast and then wait in the front room, I will meet you there."<br><br>That having been said, he turned and whisked out of the kitchen, leaving her alone at the table with a spoonful of oatmeal held daintily in her fingers.&nbsp; He could feel her eyes on his back the whole way into the hall.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sins of the Fathers (Dreamweaver &amp; Storiwyr)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Storiwyr</strong> on <strong>15-10-2008, 02:31:35</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Celeste easily caught the tone of impatience and cringed, shooting him a frightened look as she redoubled the effort of her eating. The spoon moved more rapidly from bowl to mouth. She didn't look up til he spoke again. The spoon hovered in air for a moment before she cringed and began eating again, listening to him at the same time. She eyed the inch or so of juice left in her glass and tried to decide what to do. She normally used both hands to drink--a habit learned after a few times that her nervous nature had led her to break a glass. But to take the glass with both hands, she'd have to put down the spoon, and she didn't think he'd like that either.<br><br>Finally she settled the spoon into the bowl, taking care that the motion was noiseless while she watched him like a hawk for a reaction. The smile remained on his face as she reached for her glass with both hands and took a tiny sip. There was a regretful expression on her face. She knew she'd displeased him by being slow, and she waited silently for punishment or further demands by which to make it up to him. They were not long in coming as he finished his own meal and rose to his feet. She tensed, her field of vision narrowing for a moment. This was it. He'd hit her, knock her to the floor ... he'd hit her. She forgot the oatmeal in her mouth for the moment, holding perfectly still as she stared at him and waited. <br><br>But then it was only more orders, and he left her there, even as she swallowed what was in her mouth and froze with another bite in her hand as she turned to watch him go. 
			</dd>
		</dl>
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