Gravediggers (Tag:Dahlia)

[dahlia]

Dahlia had seen many people cry in her presence, when she was helping them, trying to reach into their very inner soul. It effected them greatly, she'd found, but it effected her to see them cry. For someone to cry in her presence hit her, down to every last fragment of bone and nerve.

She watched Sebastian cry and wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him, but she knew it wouldn't do any good. She had always been in her own little bubble, a thing apart from humanity. It felt wrong to touch other people, even when she did it- like they weren't in the same plain of existence. And, really, those beliefs were rooted in the truth. She and normal people were on completely different planes of the human mind; even if they could see her clearly, and she was solid, her thoughts weren't.

As she watched him, the only thing that gave away the emotional turmoil she was in- over him -were her kind, trembling hands. He seemed to be panicking, or like he felt that she'd intruded in some way. But how was she to know? She didn't understand what he had wanted her to prove.

Dahlia glanced at her notepad, now covered. He wanted her to talk- but how could she? Most people realized she was mute pretty quickly. But he had been writing too... maybe he thought she was just trying to be quiet.

She still couldn't touch him, and so she just looked at him a moment, and then did something she always hesitated to do. She lifted her spindly hands and began signing to him that she really couldn't talk. Dahlia knew he wouldn't be able to understand her, but hopefully it would get him to give back her notepad.

[SEBASTIAN TIMOTHY MARTIN]

Sebastian realized his stupid mistake shortly after she began signing. He had had students like this. He was so stupid. He had been so caught up trying to understand her, and himself, that he didn't even bother to comprehend why she had been writing her words.

He wiped his eye, giving a soft, sympathetic sigh. He pushed the notepad back over to her. "I'm sorry... Please forgive me," he said. He was truly sorry. But his question still needed answering. He pointed to his question, giving her the pen with sad eyes.

[dahlia]

She lifted her pen, cautiously, and began to write again.

My name is Dahlia.

Mostly I read them in passing, but sometimes I can read them on a whim.

Dahlia looked back up at him, blinking slowly. She seemed to think of something, as she lowered her pen again:

We should leave the library.

She wanted to show him everything- the graveyard, her friends, all of her powers... finally, someone to understand. That was all she had ever wanted, ever.

[SEBASTIAN TIMOTHY MARTIN]

"Wait, I don't understand... Read? What do you read?" He asked. "You know what, you're right." He stood up, rubbing his brow with frustration. He gathered up his papers in a little frantic gesture, piling all the books wanted to check out, including the Time Machine, in his arms. "Follow me?" He said, looking at her with a sad smile.

He hoped she'd follow as he eased his way out of the chair. He looked back, nodding at her, as he walked toward the front desk. He checked out all the books, thanking the clerk, and made his way outside. "Where should we... Ah... talk?" He used the term loosely, as that was obviously not what she'd be doing.

[dahlia]

Dahlia stood, complying with his request, and followed him out of the library. She glided across the tile of the lobby, silent as the grave; her willowy frame seemed to sigh, not audibly, but as an entity- a tired, world-worn entity. As they came to the hard, slate-gray walkway outside of the library, she slowed to a stop next to him.

"Where should we... Ah... talk?"

Dahlia turned her face from him and to the small patch of green just down the street- one of the lingering branches coming off of central park. Slowly, she raised one long, thin finger and pointed toward it; as she did, the wind picked up and the sun seemed to darken a bit, as if behind clouds. What sounded like the screech of metal-on-metal filled the air. It was easy to convince oneself that it was just the noise of New York City.

Little girls didn't cause such things, even the most sinister of them.

[SEBASTIAN TIMOTHY MARTIN]

Sebastian gulped, holding his books closer to his chest. This girl scared him. Not in the frightening sense, but the foreboding sense. Kind of like Victor... But there was something else about Victor that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was easy to see what scared him most about the girl.

She was just so damn creepy.

But it probably wasn't her fault, poor thing. She just seemed to naturally eminate a ghoulish air. It didn't help matters that he couldn't hear her voice, either. But the ominous pointing was just a little bit intimidating. "Ah... Um... Okay, we can go there." He started to walk fast towards the place, but slowed to be sure she was following.

[dahlia]

Dahlia had not walked with someone in quite sometime- always a bit behind them, like a guide, but hardly ever did she get the opportunity to walk side-by-side with a person. However, this...man... he seemed to be like her- a guide. He didn't need her guidance, at least not now. And so, as his equal, she would walk next to him.

After crossing a street and ducking behind a building, they reached the small arm of Central Park, which stretched out to greet them like a great, green mother. Dahlia had always liked the idea of mothers- comforting, helpful, beautiful, and always willing to forgive their children. She'd been compared to a mother before, but there was a distinct difference; mothers were loved by their children... she was feared and shunned by hers. But still, she would continue to help.

They walked along the edge until a walkway emerged, and a bench- Dahlia looked down at the grass, muddy and damp, with patches of dirty ice. Spring was coming, told the mud. She glanced over her shoulder at Sebastian and raised her eyebrows.

[SEBASTIAN TIMOTHY MARTIN]

"Are you sure you want to sit here?" Sebastian asked. It was a little bit muddy, and just a tad bit gross. He wasn't normally one to fret over dirt and grime, but it looked a little too unsanitary for his taste.

But the look on her face said differently. He released a shaky laugh, and a wary smile, sitting down, careful of the mud. He gestured for her to sit as well. "A--Alright, so can you tell me what's going on with me? I've searched this whole goddamn city for an answer and can't find one." He sighed, clutching his books to his chest.

"Do you even know? Because as far as I'm concerned this is some sort of freak accident. One of those things brought on by significant trauma to the head. I think one of these books has something on the subject..." He mosied his fingers through the bent and careworn pages of the books, picking out the one he had mentioned. He handed it to her to look at, but he doubted she would be interested. "It's almost fascinating what effect a simple car crash can have on the brain. It's like something snaps inside you and you can access a part of your mind you never could before." He grinned in excitement. "Right? I mean, its almost equivalent to the fantastical!"

He always did this. He tried to focus on the scientific parts of his abnormality. It made him feel like he understood something. Like it was an everyday occurence, and that God hadn't cursed him with this out of spite.

Too bad he was probably wrong.