Information

Recherche
Legacy Name: Recherche

The Sweetheart Jollin
Owner: Phonetic

Age: 10 years, 7 months, 2 weeks

Born: October 5th, 2013

Adopted: 10 years, 1 month, 2 weeks ago

Adopted: April 3rd, 2014

Statistics

• Level: 2
   
• Strength: 10
   
• Defense: 10
   
• Speed: 10
   
• Health: 10
   
• HP: 10/10
   
• Intelligence: 0
   
• Books Read: 0
• Food Eaten: 0
• Job: Stock Worker

{{{CUT OUT CLARENCE THOUGHTS, REPLACE IT WITH HIM BEING CAPTIVATED BY THE ROSES}}}

"Darling! It looks like someone liked your performance!" ,Clarence's nasally voice called out as he pushed open the door of the dressing room. Rainor turned around in his greased stool to look at handful of peach colored flowers.

"Adam roses, " he mumbled as he swung back around and grabbed a damp cloth to wipe off the copious amounts of makeup plastered to his face.

He didn't say anything more, he didn't have to because Clarence already knew that was him accepting the gift and also an order to thank the man or women who had given them to him. For him to say more would have been unusual for the normally quiet cabaret singer, he had tried at one point but considering how popular he got in what short amount of time he had tried Rianor had been too flustered to keep up with his fame.

"They came with a note, should I call a cab for you yet or do you have other plans this evening?" ,A vanilla colored envelope was placed next to a bowl of already milky pink water.

It took him a moment, he was working on his eyes after all, but Rainor finally acknowledged him with a vague hum while he opened the letter. Clarence let out a sigh, typical Rainor. He never seemed to give an answer and although he was patient he knew he couldn't wait forever. He let a few moments slip by as he simply looked at the, admittedly, handsome man in front of him. His face was like a circle of playdoo, it looked soft and it was round, with two indents made from a child's fingers which signalized a strong jaw line somewhere with in it. His hair was red and was somehow held together in fetheary clumps that might of been represented by yarn if anyone ever cared to make a doll out of him. Although, Clarence wasn't sure if that was possible because of the fact his eyes were such a cutting blue that it was clear the only thing that compared to them were the sharpest of Aquamarine gems. Any toy maker with sense wouldn't make dolls of a only slightly famous man since they would et to expensive or wouldn't sell because of that fatal error.

"I'll just call you a cab." ,He said deciding that spending his time on such a trivial subject was useless. His hadn was on the door, opening it, before a soft gasp made him look back with a quizzical look on his face. Rainor's sparkly eyes had started to leak their beauty onto his cheeks as Clarence had been thinking.

The letter had been a short one. It was a scrawny paragraph but it had been too much for him. He had probably reread the letter atleast four times but only now was he beginning to show how much it had impacted him and still the few tears digging trenches in his concealer didn't begin to show exactly what this letter meant to him.

Clearance shut the door, his eyebrows still scrunched-now they were out of concern, "Rainor?" His tone was gentle but it still startled Rainor into looking up. He weren't attentive to what had called him though, Clarence had only been the alarm clock-not the routine, and so his eyes grazed over him but skidded to a stop at the roses. "H-have I ever told you how much I hate roses?" ,the singer pondered.

Clarence was probably awestuck, not really because he recieved roses atleast monthly and just hadn't spoken up, but because of how irrelevant it was! He was crying for god's sakes! "What has that got to do with anything?.. Rainor?.. Hello?" ,His question wasn't answered, it simply hang their and it seemed that even calling his name wouldn't work because Rainor was lost in the past.

Rianor's mom had told him the story a million times but the beginning of it never seemed to change.

"Mom, tell me again about the baby angel?", he would ask almost every night before bed until he had finally 'grown up' and went through his stubborn stage of 'i'm too big for stories' (although, even after then, his mother would often tell it to him). She would wrap him in what ever she could find-her arms, a blanket, a bath towel, as a reply "Of course my love." ,she would coo before clearing her throat.

"His eyes were an almost colorless blue, so clear and untainted from the moment they opened to the world. Oh, but don't let that fool you, they looked like two painted oceans on a bright day, they weren't boring in the slightest. Infact, they seemed to soak up anything and everything and they grew more beautiful and intelligent as the baby did.

"But before they even opened, it was customary in heaven-just like it is here-for the mother to name her child before she even knew him. That is probably why she mistakenly stacked the odds against him by whispering into his damp blonde locks, "His name shall be Rainor".

"You see, unlike here, names were everything. Back in the old days of Heaven, if your name was Rainor then you had to be a strong warrior, a king who's crown was a helmet and who's sword was his scepter. If you weren't then you were an outcast. But she hadn't known that he would grow into a long limbed but weak boy. She hadn't a clue that her son wouldn't have the hands to hold a weapon or the heart to even point it at anything. Not even Rainor had known until the first night when he had come home from school with mud streaked across his face and he mumbled in his shy, fluttery, voice, "I am a feather. To do more then caress another's skin would drown me." His mother hadn't cared though. Even though this did make him something different she simply titled his chin up and said, "There, there, Rainor. You do not have to be big to be strong, you do not have to use a sword to fight."

"Those words were his first light bulb. You see, Rainor had always been a lamp in his appearance. He was tall and gilded a honey gold, he was thin and he could sit still without trouble. All that had been missing before was his lightbulb but, at that moment, he had one and his face lit up the room brighter then the ones we have down here in this house."

At this point his mother’s solidity would break and she would end the story differently. She would sometimes continue with a 'And that was the key to his success' then tell him about how the angel took favor on the second part of his mother's words and begun to take to his more intelligent mind. He would read and that is what lead to the second meaning of his name, Strong counselor, because he would become God's right hand man.

Other times, she would claim that his face lit up because he was smart enough to realize that he could use his small size and flexibility to be 'strong' but not big. She would claim that he eventally kept his name sake and became one of the fiercest warriors around his era.

But most of the time, she would simply leave it at the description of the young boy and add a coy ‘What happens next was up to the angel, Goodnight my beautiful boy’ Then giggle as Rainor whined and asked her to 'pleeeeeeaaaaaaaasssssssseeee' finish.

What he did not know at the time, but he had come to recognize as he reflected upon this story, was that those two endings and that whole story was a lie. She hadn't gotten it from his grandmother when she was just a child, she had made the story for Rainor. Rainor was the angel; she didn't know the ending of the story and it was up to him to decide.

That idea, true or maybe just his own imagination, was his solace after the day he ran his string bean legs home with a dozen red roses in his grimy hands.

His biggest doubt on that day was if the roses were good enough. His mother was a simple gardener, she saw flowers every single day and he felt stupid for giving her more and picking the gift because flowers had always captivated him. Still, he held them with anticipation and he made sure to hurry home because it was mother's day! He had flung open that door and ran into the home, ignorant for a few seconds more before he saw how gravely wrong everything had gone.

The police would describe it as a robbery gone wrong but all Rainor could see was the red. His roses paled in comparrision to the red which crawled towards the hurrican of his livingroom and out of his mother. Or maybe they didn't because they flew from his hand and into the puddle and there seemed to be no difference in the red to his young eyes.

Again, he was running, only this time he couldn't seem to stop. He sprinted away from his house and out of his home town. He had lost his mother, his home, his life and so he resinated to adopt the ways of a stray cat. Maybe that is why a routoune women was the one to wrap her thick arms around him and practically yell 'OH YOU POOR BABY! LET ME TAKE YOU HOME!' Or maybe it was the fact that Rainor had lost all sense of hygine and had allowed his red hair to grow down his back.

This women, Patsy would have never taken him home if not for her assumption that Rainor was actually a she. She couldn't have because she lived in a women's only boarding house for those who worked at the theatre. She wasn't an actor, she was a makeup artist, so she couldn't take risks like that.

Rgardless, Rainor was androgynous and Patsy took him in with out a second thought. She fed him, gave him water, and threw a clean dress and shower in front of his face so that he was able to ignore the 'WOMEN'S ONLY' signs and think 'I will only stay for the night'

But he was weak when it came to beauty and Patsy had the most elegant form of it-which she shoved right on his face. "I know what will cheer you up." She had murmered when she realized Rainor wasn't going to just 'cheer up' on his own, "Every little girl feels better with makeup." The flowers from his mother's work had enticed him, the makeup entoxicated him. He hadn;t meant to allow things to get that far, where he was being put in girls clothing, but he had been powerless to stop the large force infront of him from pacing him in a chair and he was powerless against the sensation of a brush against his cheek and red on his lips.

It was then he finally decided that he didn;t need masculanity, that he realized he never had.

~~~

Eventually, though, he was found to be a boy and the women kicked him out. From there he went back to his home, it had been five years since he had left the house since he had been ten when this event happened, and he had been sixteen when he had left his sanctuary. From there, he was given his own choice at life again and he was now twenty one, crying on the stole of his dressing women in a dress.

Patsy was the reason for his tears. The letter was from the group of women they had lived with and it was one proposing that she had died from a slow growing brain tumor and that he was invited to her funeral. They hated him and so it meant a lot they even sent it but it also hurt so much more. Now they expected him to run to the wedding with his second round of roses--but then what?

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