09-13-2016, 02:31 PM
Home has always been a fickle word for Pollute. It can refer to many different things – an emotion, a place, a person – and it can be many different things – a memory, a laugh, a song. Home is something Pollute doesn’t know well and so he rarely uses the word. His father is someone he has only heard about (an inferno of chaos, a fiery man from the once-Valley) and his mother is someone who only fed him (with carefully-chosen words, with little emotion, with precarious adoration). He cannot rely on family to be his version of home and nor can he rely on emotion.
Perhaps the closest thing he has to home is the fairies. They seem to be everywhere (whether he is alone or not) and he feels them wherever he might travel. Pollute spends most of his time in either the Playground or the Adoption Den, but both offer fairies to guard over the ambitious or frightened or confused children. Even in the spaces in between, he feels one or two of them watching his shoulders, making sure Captain Hook doesn’t slice his skin off.
The two girls seem like their home is each other. His attention is drawn from the fairy tending to an upset filly to the approach of the twins. They don’t look much alike – one dark, one light – but he can see by the familiar way they walk next to each other that they have rarely been separated. Their question is a straightforward one, and a reckless smile takes over Pollute’s face. Give it a few years and he’ll be so charming they’d want him as their own in an instant.
“Often enough,” he says casually, but it sounds more mysterious than anything. Although not entirely educated on the knowledge of behavior, Pollute can tell they are hiding something behind their pretty faces. He decides not to broach that topic outright, instead turning his attention back toward the fairy. She’s finished up with the filly by now; instead her glittering eyes scan the crowd for signs of danger. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Again, it’s a casual statement. Yet it is laced with hidden adoration. His eyes return toward the sisters. “I’m Pollute.”
Perhaps the closest thing he has to home is the fairies. They seem to be everywhere (whether he is alone or not) and he feels them wherever he might travel. Pollute spends most of his time in either the Playground or the Adoption Den, but both offer fairies to guard over the ambitious or frightened or confused children. Even in the spaces in between, he feels one or two of them watching his shoulders, making sure Captain Hook doesn’t slice his skin off.
The two girls seem like their home is each other. His attention is drawn from the fairy tending to an upset filly to the approach of the twins. They don’t look much alike – one dark, one light – but he can see by the familiar way they walk next to each other that they have rarely been separated. Their question is a straightforward one, and a reckless smile takes over Pollute’s face. Give it a few years and he’ll be so charming they’d want him as their own in an instant.
“Often enough,” he says casually, but it sounds more mysterious than anything. Although not entirely educated on the knowledge of behavior, Pollute can tell they are hiding something behind their pretty faces. He decides not to broach that topic outright, instead turning his attention back toward the fairy. She’s finished up with the filly by now; instead her glittering eyes scan the crowd for signs of danger. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Again, it’s a casual statement. Yet it is laced with hidden adoration. His eyes return toward the sisters. “I’m Pollute.”
pollute.