Disclaimer, before I begin: If I name a city, a street, or a person, I am not using the actual name. Don't expect to use this writing exercise as a map to my house, 'cause it won't work.
This is meant to be sorta' a prequel to Jax's "RAF the Movie". Also, the narrator is omniscient...that is, it isn't a character, just an observant consciousness.
Last, if I leave this post suddenly, as I may have to do at some point, I'll come back here later and add what's missing. This doesn't have to be written in a single go.
Cool. Here we go.
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Three teenagers, two boys and a girl, rode their bikes up a narrow street in a small city in Southern Illinois. The sun was starting to set, and the girl, the oldest in the group, rode ahead of the other two, while they argued different subjects back and forth. Suddenly, the girl stopped, and the boys slowed down.
"So, Tyler, is this the right street?" The girl asked.
"I THINK so, Claire, but it's hard to tell. Hey, wait! I think that that's her house! There's the white Cavalier in the driveway, just like she said, and the backyard is HUGE, with a ton of vining plants, just like she said."
"Should we just go up and knock on the door, or what?" The second boy inquired.
"Well, John, I don't see why not." Claire responded.
The three of them walked across the unfenced backyard, looking at the variety of flowering plants and shady trees that surrounded them.
"Even if it ISN'T her, this person is a SERIOUS gardener." John observed.
They climbed the steps leading to the rear patio, where a fluffy gray and white cat regarded them with a cynical yellow glare.
"Are you Veronica? Wow. You ARE pretty." Claire asked. The cat looked startled at the sound of her own name, but she seemed to relax a bit, after a moment.
Suddenly, a loud, high-pitched barking began, just behind the back door.
A female voice, harsh and shrill from over-use, could be heard coming from inside.
"Go see what's got him barking!"
"Of course, Mum." The second voice was sharp and clear, easily audible despite its softness.
Footsteps approached the door, and the second voice could be heard, mumbling under its breath.
"Silly cats, probably have knocked over my trays again." She pronounced it 'ah-GAIN', with a precise, clipped accent that was strangely difficult to place.
Tyler glanced around and spotted a planter tray, full of young seedling plants.
"She probably won't be glad to be bothered this late in the day." He sighed.
"Sorry, Tyler, but I DID come from AUSTRALIA, you know. It involves a lot of jet-lag." Claire chided him.
"Hey, John! I have an idea! She already has seen my face and Tyler's, but she won't have a CLUE who you are! Why don't the two of us wait out there, and you go up and knock!"
"Uh...okay." The others climbed back down off the patio, and John reached out to knock, but the door swung open before he could touch it.
The screen door then creaked open, and a young woman wearing a grim expression stepped out, holding a four-foot-long wooden staff. It looked like maple, or maybe white pine, and from its smooth, shiny, well-used look, and from the relaxed, familiar way that she carried it, one got the distinct impression that she knew how to use it, and she could pack quite a whallop.
She looked up and noticed the stranger standing in front of her.
"Yahh!!" She jumped backward a good three feet, and the staff shot forward like lightning, the tip of it catching John right in the solar plexus.
"Whooufff!!" The air rushed out of his lungs, and he doubled over in shock and pain. A second shot caught him directly under the point of his chin, knocking him nearly senseless. Her grip shifted, and the third and fourth ones hit him a glancing blow to either side of his face and head. He dropped to one knee, sheilding his head with his arms.
It all happened in the space of a few seconds.
The barking in the background got louder.
"WHO ARE YOU?!? What are you doing on my patio?! This town has a curfew, you know!" She glared at him viciously with eyes the exact colour of a November sky: a pallid, icy colour that can't seem to decide which it wants to be, blue or grey. It was almost exactly the same expression worn by the cat, two minutes earlier.
"Can't...breeeathe...." John wheezed.
"Mister, you had better start talking, or those are going to feel like love-taps!" The ferocious-looking girl brandished her weapon threateningly, and John held up his hands, palms out.
"Peace! Please! I'm John!"
Her head tilted to the right, and her face assumed a more quizzical expression.
"I know many 'Johns'. You need to be more specific."
She changed her grip on the staff again, and he ducked, expecting to be hit.
"Oh, take it easy." She snapped, "I won't hit you again until you give me a good reason for it. Stand up please. I've taken harder shots than those without flinching, and you're twice my size. Now. What John are you, exactly?"
"John from RAF. Venemousspiderwooki
e. Are you Estelore?" He noticed that the staff was now cradled lightly in the crook of one arm, almost affectionately. He shuddered slightly.
She startled visibly, and thunder rumbled in the distance. He took it as confirmation.
Suddenly, a dachsund appeared from inside the doorway, and he charged at John. The staff tilted sideways in her hands, and the little dog ran right into it, bouncing off.
"YOIP!!"
"Oscar, doesn't that make you feel rather foolish? Please go back inside." She spoke sternly but very gently to the stunned little dog. It turned around slowly and walked back inside. The young woman stepped outside and shut the door behind her.
"Este, is he okay?"
"Of course. I didn't hit HIM, he just ran into the staff. He isn't hurt, he is just embarassed. He has a bad habit of running into things: people, doors, doorways, walls...and staves. Don't worry. It caught him broadside, not head-first. I don't beat my dog."
He nodded, accepting this.
She gathered herself again, and he realised how very SHORT she was. Her carriage and the perfect posture from a moment ago...not to mention the fact that she was beating him senseless...made her seem much taller.
"You're a LOT shorter than I imagined, Este."
"Well, John, it seems we have quite a lot about which to talk. Please sit down." She gestured to four wicker chairs sitting behind him, and he took a seat in one.
"Oh, Este? I'm not alone. Claire and Tyler are with me."
"WHAT??!" Her eyes lit up instantly, and the fierce, guarded expression vanished from her face.
"Well, guys, if you're out there, get up here! It's going to rain within the next five minutes, and when it rains in Illinois, it POURS!!"
"Hi, Estelore!" Claire stepped into view, taking a seat next to John.
"Hey, Esty!" Tyler walked onto the patio, and Estelore practically flew to him.
She grabbed him by the shoulders, staring intently at his face. For an intense and awkward moment, he stared back, and the others averted their eyes, feeling weird about it all. All was silent for a full minute.
A moment of wordless communication later, she stepped back and sat down at the chair on the end, and Tyler sat next to her.
He laughed quietly to himself, breaking the tension.
"John, you DO realise that everyone on RAF is going to know that a short little girl kicked your keister? 'Cause there is NO WAY I'm not telling them!"
"I'm never going to live this down, Tyler, am I?"
"Not a chance in Hell."
"I'm sorry, John, for the attack back there. There is a strongly-enforced curfew in town, you see. The local jail has had some escapes. Nobody is allowed on the streets after sundown, and most people that visit my house use the FRONT door. I was almost fully convinced that you were the local lunatic rapist. Don't worry, though. I didn't do you any permanent damage. You probably won't even bruise. So...what are the three of you doing so far from your homes? Ohio is a long way away, and that's the closest ANY of you live to me." She was smiling calmly at all of them, but her eyes were still filled with a kind of cold fire, a radiant and terrible thing that you might even call 'beautiful', if a tornado or a hurricane could be called beautiful. It was like looking into the eyes of a thunderstorm, and hearing it speak to you like a dear and beloved friend, and not like a force of nature.
John absently rubbed his cheek, certain that she had bruised it.
"Well, we were wondering if you wanted to come with us to New York City in a few weeks...or, more specifically, if you wanted to go with Tyler and Claire. I probably won't be able to go. There's supposed to be a huge gathering of RAFians, and we were sent to come get you. I've wanted to know what you look like ever since we first met in your poetry thread, and you are exactly as I thought you'd look...except shorter." Her dark hair, the same colour as Tyler's, fell loosely around her milk-pale heart-shaped face. She seemed fairly harmless, until you saw the staff she was carrying and the look in those chilling eyes. Also, if John didn't already know her true age, he'd never have been able to guess how old she was. She was small, certainly, but her fierce expressions and her self-possession gave the impression that she was quite a bit older than her height indicated. She looked young and innocent from a distance, but up close you could see in her eyes something ancient.
Ancient, and impossibly sad.
"Well, I'm glad to meet your expectations, I guess. When are we going to the NYC? I do LOVE the city!"
"We're leaving three weeks from tomorrow, on the first flight out there, from the airport in St. Louis, Missouri." Claire answered.
"Okay, then. I'm there."
The four of them talked long into the evening about everything and nothing, and Estelore suggested a hotel where they could stay the night.
"I'd invite you to stay here, but it's a small house, and the dog might eat you." It was hard to tell if she was or wasn't being serious.
After they had said their good-byes for the night, and they made their way to the hotel, a thought suddenly occurred to him.
"We just sat there for four hours talking to a person who, for all we know, really IS a star in disguise, and none of us even bothered to ask what her real name was."
The next day, after Claire had caught her flight back to Australia, and after Tyler had begun his trip back to his Georgia home, John pedaled back to Este's house. She was in the back yard, gardening.
"Hi, John. You want to ask my name, right?"
"Yeah. How did you know?"
She smiled sadly at him.
"Unlike every other sentient creature on this planet, I am not capable of telling an outright falsehood."
"Are you saying that you are really a star?"
"Do you believe that I would lie to you?
"Well, no, but-"
"Do you believe that I am not a star?"
He didn't answer, and something in her eyes said that she didn't need him to give her an answer.
"Bye, Este."
"Farewell, John."
She turned her back to him and resumed tying back some stray forsythia. She hummed softly as he walked away, a strange, unearthly tune.
He turned back, to see her staring after him with those strange, cold eyes.
Eyes like a November sky....
