Chronicles of Cyris Jones

Not really.

But he'd like to think so.

Cyris was sitting at a table on the second floor of the bookstore, near the railing where he could see people coming and going from the front door. He was dressed today in a pair of parachute pants of charcoal gray color with fishnetting over the leg pockets and the back pockets. He wore a gray fishnet shirt stretched tight over his arms, a black shirt over that with words that read 'if I were you, I'd be ugly.' and the outlind of a sad face with 'x's for eyes. His hair is black, the back short and choppy, standing back and up. The bangs were chin length and all pushed to one side of his face, gelled straight and covering his dark green eyes. In front of him, or rather, beneath his scrawling hand, is a notebook with two pages filled already. The last entry had been August 13.

Now the page reads as follows:

October 3, 2005
I've been in Bayfield for almost two full months now. Theres been two full moons and I've not found any lycanthrope friends yet, though I have gotten a letter from Marcus, the alpha of the rising moon pack in California, a friend of mine from Ridcrest. He says that he and the pack are doing well, that several members have had babies, on of the three born was born Lycanthrope, the other two were normal. He also says that Jean and Jason, the vampires I knew, are doing well also. Maybe it's a good thing that I've not met a lycanthrope yet. Maybe in this city they aren't as friendly.

I have finally attracted a few ghosts. A preist that seemed to show some sort of interest in me when I passed his church a few weeks ago. I seem to be his new project, he's been trying to convert me to christianity. It's rather amusing. And another in the park who says that he's been in the city for a long time. I get hard vibs from him, I doubt that he just died. His face is young. Maybe he was killed, that's depressing.

Alyssa's got a crush on this guy. She wants me to meet him before she bring him home to mom and dad to see if I think mom and dad would like him or not. His name was Timmothy I think. Which is amusing because Dad's name is Tim. I'm actually at the book store right now with her. She wanted to go to the mall but I told her I wanted to stop in here first so she's on a computer somewhere I believe. It took me a month to find a bookstore that carries books that....cater to my style. It's a used and rare bookstore and so far I've found several texts that seem to hold good, accurate information on Necr...

There the words trailed away and Cyris' hand stilled, laying on the paper, pen poised. Someone had entered the shop, indicated by the tinkling of the bell, and the young man had paused to watch.

Somewhere at the university, a girl has just gotten out of class. They had been assigned projects to do. Adora had no clue what she wanted to do hers on. She needed to do some research. What better place to do that than at Jacobson's? So that's exactly where she headed to. Jacobson's Used and Rare Books. She likes the place. Has been there once or twice thus far.

In through the front door of the bookstore walks a very pretty Mexican girl. Her interesting colored hair flowing around her shoulders. Light grey eyes shine with pure intent and determination. She's wearing a pair of tight black shorts that show off her legs and a tight black tanktop that's a bit low cut in the front. Low enough that it shows the top of nearly white marking on her right breast. For those that know, it's a mark of the werewolf. A mark that everyone born in her family is born with in various places. It shows her lineage basically. For those that don't know, it's just a birthmark.

She's carrying a light blue bookbag over her shoulder. Over to an empty table she heads and sets her bag down. She's picked a table off to the side and away from the majority of the people. She can see things going on around her from there though. Over to one of the shelves of books she's headed. Light grey eyes start searching through the books, unsure of what she's looking for exactly. She figures that she'll know it when she sees it.

(Forgive the yuckiness of it x.x I'm still trying to get a feel for this charrie.)

In the corner aginst the wall lined with computers, a pretty blonde girl turned to spare a single short glance at who it might be that entered the book store, then returned her attintion to the computer.

Cyris' attintion didn't waver for the time being. He leaned over and folded his arms on the railing, resting the side of his face on his arms in order to look down over the first floor of the bookstore and watch the young woman of Mexican heritage walk across the book store and begin scanning one of the many walls of text.

His own Mexican heritage was apparent but only to those who happened to know what exactly to look for, such as his dark hair and nearly brown green eyes. Or his skin. As pale as it was, it held a soft mocha color, something that just wasn't quite white. But he spoke little spanish and read even less then he spoke.

His green eyes moved over her long legs rather then down her clevege as many young men would have done from this lucky position over her. And then his eyes moved around the store, looking for his sister, spotting her, and he began to unfold his arms and sit back up to write once more. However, the lid on the back of his pen slipped off of the pen and fell to the floor of the first level with a soft clatter on the floor. He frowned and stood up, closing his jounral but leaving it on the table to go retreive the lid.

Her hair is what really makes her stand out. Even above her slender feminine form. For the most part anyway. Several heads turn. People staring. Gawking. At the girl moving slowly from book to book trying to decide what she's looking for. She can feel several pairs of eyes on her but ignores them. She's used to it. Has been for quite some time. It doesn't phase her. Never has. Never will. She knows what she looks like. If she was another person, she would gawk at herself too.

She moves with grace and motion that's animalistic in a sense. To the untrained mortal eye, no one would have a clue at all that she's not just some mere human. But to one who knows what to look and watch for, she's obviously not entirely human at all.

Her head turns as the sound of a lid falling from the second floor to the first floats to her ears. Her hearing is quite sensitive and almost sounds, to her, like it was quite near. But it wasn't. She stares at the lid on the floor before letting her light grey eyes drift upwards to the second floor. Feet set in graceful motion to the spot where the lid hit the floor. She leans over and picks it up. The sound of a book dropping somewhere behind her makes her just shake her head. Some guy dropped his book when she'd leaned over. She straightens and glances around for the owner of the pen lid.

He doesn't exactly know what to look for. Where Cyris is concerned, it's closer to the fact that he spent so much time amongst the pack of lycanthrope, not necissarily all wolves, in California that he just knows when he sees a lycanthrope. He knows how they move and how they act, but it has less to do with knowing what to look for as it does with simply seeing it, noticing it.

His dark eyes follow movment, her moving. He's on the lower level now and moving towards her. Once again the blonde girl turns and looks, watches him. She shakes her head and turned once more back to the computer, checking her watch.

"Mine," he says. One single word spoken from a few feet to her left as she begins to look around for the owner. He gives the boy who'd dropped the book a long glance from the side, and then returns his attintion to her. His accent is there, just lightly, something he and his sister had adapted from listening for so many years to their mother's hispanic accent.

So then he knows what she is just by watching her. Or at least he'll probably have an idea. Right? If he's spent time hanging out with a lycan pack, then yes. He probably will.

A voice to her left causes her to turn towards it. She's not startled by the suddenness of his voice as some would be. No. She doesn't startle easily. Nor does she scare easily.

A slight soft smile comes to her face as she reaches out to hand him the pen lid. "I pick up so not get kicked," she says. Her English choppy. Her hispanic accent very thick and heavy. "People not watch where walking."

He returned her smile with one of his own. Goths don't smile? Yes they do. His lip ring clicked lightly against two of his teeth when his lips stretched into a smile. He reached out and took the pen cap between two fingers, black nails, six black rings on four fingers.

He nodded agreement that people didn't watch where they walked. "No, they don't. Gracias." His accent is only thickened by the spanish, or perhapes it thickens in response to hers, as it happens often when speaking to his mother but not to his American father.

"Usted es agradable (you're welcome)," she answered with a smile. Spanish flowing from her lips easier than English. She held out her hand, offering to shake his. Her hand is quite feminine, very soft. Looks delicate. But it's not. She has a very good hand shake grip.

"Adora." She's offered her name. "You?"

He might go back upstairs and scratch out one comment in his journal and exchange it for another. Maybe some of the lycanthrope in this city were in fact kind. Duelly noted that her spanish is far better then her English, and in turn, far surpasses his grasp on spanish.

He took her hand. It looks less delicate then most, less smooth with the rings and the polish and a few selsct childhood scars.

"Cyris Jones."

Adora is very kind. She will not, however, hesitate to kick the crap out of, and probably kill, anyone who tries to mess with her. She has done it before. Being born a lycan, she can change at random. She doens't need the full moon in order to change.

"Nice meet you," she said letting her hand drop back to her side. "You be here to study?"

Cyris' smile widened just a small amount and ventured out enough to correct her and hope that it would not make her angry. He would expect her to do the same if he'd spoken in Spanish and made a mistake.

"Are you here to study." It wasn't a question because he was correcting her, not asking her. "No. I just came to buy some books to read." He indicated up the steps to explain where those books were. "Are you here to study?" He released her hand and replaced the cap of his pen onto the pen itself.

It's a very good thing for him that she doesn't mind at all having her broken words corrected. She was, after all, still trying to get the hang of the english language. She'd gone to an all hispanic private school in Montana after her parents had moved them up from Mexico and so she hadn't had to really speak it very often.

"Gracias," she said with a slight blush as he corrected her wording. "Yes. I come to study. Have... um... what word... project?... for class. Not knowing yet what to do for it."

He blush made his smile falter until she thanked him for correcting her, and then he was smiling again.

"Your welcome," he was not even going to ventur attempting to say such in spanish. He would probably wind up saying something crude or impossible to translate. Even repeating her own words, he may get it wrong.

"What sort of class is it? Maybe I can help." Nodding to her choice of the word 'project.'

She would probably just correct him kindly as he had done with her. She's not one of those who'll laugh if someone says something wrong in her native tongue. Nor will she get angry. Not unless they are trying to say something crude on purpose. Then she let's them have it. She packs one hell of a punch when needed.

"Psychology class," she answered. "I pick for major. Want do project on thing no other has."

"Psychology?" After a moments thought, he said, "Have you thought about parapsychology?" He highly doubted many did their projects on on parapsychology. Some poeple didn't even consider it part of psychology, but it was classified in many texts as psychology. And it's a topic he knew much about, being some branch of it himself.

She gets a very confused look on her face. She's not heard the word before. She's only been in psycology class for about a month or two. Not very long at all at any rate.

"What?" Her voice mimicked the confusion on her face.

“Parapsychology,” he repeated. “Para. It means ‘on the side of’. It’s like...on the side of psychology.” His eyebrows creased once more and he turned on the heels of his boots then strode over to the computer the blonde girl was on. “Here,” he offered as he rolled the blonde away from the computer. “watch out for a sec, lys.” And he hit the internet and typed in Parapsychology into the search engine, his fingertips flying over the keys.

A search result page came up and he scrolled, hit a link and hit print. Then closed the page, rolled the girl, who was laughing now, back to the computer and went to the printer which was spitting out two pages. He turned to see if she’d followed him or not.

She had, indeed, followed him over to the computer and watched what he was doing. Then followed over to the printer. She was curious to find out what this 'parapsychology' was all about.

(Eeep.. Sorry it's short... I had to look up parapsychology myself rofl)

He smiled at her and held the paper up, reading from it slowly. Parapsychology is the field of study concerned with the supernatural that science cannot explain. The prefix,” he paused to explain the word prefix to her and then went on to read: “means ‘at the side of’ so parapsychology is at the side of psychology. It’s talking about ESP, er, extrasensory perception. Like precognition, telepathy, clairvoyance.”

He turned the paper around to show her, held it out to her. “Do you know what those are?”

She listened closely as he read from the paper. When he held it out to her, she took it and started to read over it. "Yes," she answers. "I know these... er..." She paused and tried to think of what she was trying to say. "I know what these is... no... are."

She continued to read over the paper some more. "This be part reason I take psychology for major," she said as she finally looked up from the paper.

He nodded as she corrected herself. "Are," he agreed calmly and stood watching her read the paper. "What is the reason?" He stepped sideways to position himself at her side and read further down the paper over her shoulder. A thought occured to him then.

"I could print this in Spanish if it makes it easier for you to read."

She shook her head slightly. "English fine. Can read well. Not speak so good." More english words put together in a choppy manner.

"To learn... what the word... about?... this type thing," she said in answer to him asking what is the reason.

"What type of thing? Parapsychology? Or telepathy and clairvoyance?" Neither would bring him suprise of any kind. He knows, or at least he's sure he knows, what she is. Undoubtfully, if his sister has been watching them, she too knows what Adora is as well. She's seen Cyris with enough lycanthrope.

And because she is a lycanthrope, he wonders if that means that she would know about anything else other then lycanthropy. Would she know his 'type' was real in the way that he knows about her type?

"I can help you find books on this, if it's what you want to do your project on."

"All," she answered with a nod of her head. "All of this." Yes. That's what she wants. She wants to learn more about the other things. Wants to know if they are real and such. She's only ever been around other lycan's before.

"Much thanks for offer to help," she said with a smile and another nod of her head.

He smiled.

"Thanks a lot for offering to help." Since he knows that it won't hurt anyones feelings to make corrections, he's going to do so happily. "tú acepto." He attempted. It didn't sound right, nor feel right. Perhapes it was his grammer he was failing so miserably at. "Your welcome," he said instead, shaking his head.

"Lets go find some books then." Cyris guestured towards the psychology section. Unless, of course, the store had a quicker way to look up a book on a specific topic, which it probably did.

"How long have you been in Bayfield?" After being a military brat for your entire life, the question becomes common to hear and to ask.

The lycan girl smiled and nodded. "Tú acepto is you acceptance," she tells him softly. "Usted es agradable is you're welcome." She hoped he didn't mind that it seemed to now be her turn to correct him. Spanish is, after all, her first language.

She turned towards the psychology section of the store and started walking towards it. More heads turned as the girl walked past people. She just rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly. It really was annoying sometimes. To be stared at like that.

"Since semester at university start," she answered. "You?"

"Darn," he said in an awe-shucks sort of manner. "I knew I had it wrong. Usted es agradable. Usted es agradable." He repeated it twice, attempting to commit it to memory. "I'll have to say that to mom before I forget, it'll thrill her." Since she wanted him to speak spanish, he simply couldn't grasp the language. She should have taught him from birth.

He noted the heads turning again, gave people the same sidelong glance he'd given the male who had dropped the book upon her bending over, and even chuckled to himself when her eyes rolled.

"You're popular." He commented lightly in passing. "About two months. We moved from California. You?"

"Not popular," she says with a slight shake of her head. "They want what can't have." She paused for a moment. "Not sound right..." She knew her sentence didn't sound right but couldn't figure out how to make it sound better.

"Mexico born. Moved to Montana few years ago. Then come here to university."

Cyris chuckled softly. "That's exactly right. They want what you won't give them." It was almost like talking to a child, it was interesting and sweet somehow. Could the word 'simple' be applied here? It was refreshing to not have to be careful about what was said. He didn't even venture to explain what he'd meant by popular. "Your pretty," he comented.

"My grandmother was born in Mexico."

OOC: Sorry, my internet died.

"Many time man try make advances to me. Many time man try to take what they not have. I not give. They push too far. They not walk away." Blunt isn't she? Her voice, however, is being kept hushed. No one needed to hear what she was saying except for the person she was talking to. And, at the moment, she was talking only to Cyris. She did, however, blush slightly when he commented her. "Gracias."

"You Mexican too?" She does not call herself Spanish nor does she call herself hispanic. She calls herself as she sees it. Mexican.

He nodded. His face was entirly serious, indicating that he fully believed her, and that he did not think she was exagerating in the least about men not walking away. Cyris has a...differnt outlook on life and death then most people do. But you would expect that wouldn't you, from a necromancer.

"Partially, but I don't look it much I'm afraid," he admitted with a half a shrug and a sheepish half-smile to her inquiry of his origin. "My father is American white boy all the way. My mother is half Mexican, my grandmother entirly." He used his thumb over his should to indicate the blonde whose computer he had used. "She looks like my father. I look more like my mother."

"That you sister?" she asked almost feeling silly for asking since he did say the girl looks like his father.

She had noticed the seriousness on his face when he'd nodded after she'd spoken about men not walking away. She studied him for several long moments of silence before she finally broke that silence.

"You know," she says bluntly. "Don't you?" She glanced around briefly before turning entirely towards him. If he were to lower his gaze, he would see the top part of the nearly white marking on her right breast. The mark of the werewolf for her specific family tree. "What I am."

But he doesn't glance downward. This is no time to check out the woman's breasts, and besides this, Cyris is an admirer of legs, not breasts. But he had noticed before, when she'd entered the shop, the 'birthmark' peeking from her shirt.

He nodded once more. "Yes, my sister. Alyssa." Alyssa turned again to look upon her name, but abandon easedropping when Cyris lowered his voice. "Yes. I've had many friends like you in California." But he is not 'like you'.

"You are not like I," she says with a slight tilt of her head. "You smell not of lycan." Her voice is very hushed so as to keep anyone around from hearing. "How you know lycan if not lycan?"




(Bleh. Sorry it's crappy. It's rushed because I have a doctors appointment to be to in 10 minutes. I shouldn't be gone longer than an hour if you're still around :))

OOC: It's alright. If it's replyable it doesn't suck. And I probably won't be. I have a class at 5:00 but I have a few things to do before then. But who knows.

IC:
"You do not smell of Lycanthrope." He corrected her. His dark eyes glanced around breifly and then to her again. He moved again, towards the psychology section. "Your right, I'm not. But it doesn't prevent me from befriending them. I was friends with a boy who was turned. Then befriended the pack he joined. I've many friends of many different...kinds." Ghosts being the majority of them, humans being the least.

"Era lycan nacido," she tells him in Spanish. Translated into English it's 'I was born lycan'. And she said it proudly. She's a pureblood lycan. And indeed quite proud. "You have lycan friends here?" she asked as she followed along with him.

“Not here,” he replied coming to a halt in front of one section of books. “Well...not yet,” he rephrased turning to smile at her faintly. The smile was friendly and indicated that he had intention of perhaps befriending her, making more of her then only an acquaintance that he would meet one time in a bookstore, never to meet again. He returned his gaze to the shelves of books and after a moment pulled several.

She returned his smile with one of her own. "You now do," she said with a nod of her head. "Have lycan friend here. I have one friend in Bayfield. Another lycan. Very nice. Now I have two friend in Bayfield. Lycan and human."

He shook his head slowly bringing his eyes down to gaze at her. "One Lycanthrope and one Necromancer." His smile had widened upon being accepted as a friend. He also simply assumed that she would keep his secret, because he would keep hers. He held three books out to her. "These should help you."

She looked slightly confused and tilted her head slightly. "Necro... necroman... necromancer?" she asked. She had to sound it out first before she had been able to say the entire word. "Does that make you not human?"

She glanced down at the three books and reached out to take them. "Gracias."