Subj: howl

Date: 4/27/02 2:57:19 PM Pacific Daylight Time

From: Tarrot Cat

To: Tarrot Cat

Sometimes when the cloud shade is just right and the moon is tinting the clouds an ominous grey, he lies outside on the grass and howls softly to himself. Its' strange to be sure, but no stranger then anything else he does, so why not?

The grass is damp tonight, the air chilly and he can feel it soaking in bone deep. A chill runs through him and soon, he's contemplating returning to his house, creeping up the stairs and climbing into bed.

If only it wasn't so quiet.

You would think that sharing space with eight other people would be noisy, but somehow, when it matters most on cool dark nights, he might as well be alone in the world. And its that feeling more then nearly anything else that scares him. That void that threatens to overtake him and drag him into its' embrace.

He knew that it was lack of sleep that was getting him down more then anything. These late night marathons and early classes were wearing him out, he could feel it fatigue settling in and he's sure that he'll work up a nice debilitation disease just when he most needs to go to class.

But the moon still calls and he answers, unable to move. Because somehow, this justifies the loneliness. Makes him feel special or something. This is his moment, his quirk and his odd verbal spar with the moon which looks tonight to be howling itself.

It doesn't mean he wouldn't like to share it. To curl up with someone on a blanket, howl and laugh together and maybe, take the cuddle back to his room for a serious hormone treatment. For someone to at least come out and scold him for being silly and worrying about his health. But everyone who cares about him is asleep in their beds, unconcerned with him.

He snorts. And why should they worry? Who would ever guess that this is where he was? Fighting back shivers and stubbornly absorbing dew. No one.

Plays with the thought of telling Skids about this. He knows that his friend would come immediately and sit with him, if that was what he wanted. But it isn't really. Because he doesn't want to ask for it. He just wants someone to provide it, unasked. Which is irrational and unreasonable, but he wants it anyway.

"Cyanide Torres! Get yourself back in this house, right now!"

What was Mama doing up?

He shurgs and stands, wiping grass from his pants and ambles back in the house. There's a kettle on the stove and after brushing off her questions, Cya makes her a up of tea.

"I couldn't sleep." She says vaguely as he hands her the warm mug.

"Me, neither."

Doesn't matter that he's still fully dressed, she accepts it. Maybe even understands a little.

"I worry about you." She says, suddenly. He shifts a little against the countertop he's leaning on.

"I can take care of myself." Slowly, doesn't want to sound stubborn.

"That's why I worry. You're so....independant. Like you don't need anyone."

And he remembers the chill of the moon and the emptiness of his bed and says nothing.

"Its' such a dark night. Like the moon is hiding." She's lyrical for some reason tonight, maybe the sleeplessness.

"Sort of." He gives a little. "Makes you want to howl a little."

"Grey wolves.....they mate for life." She rattles off, like reading from a text book. "Sometimes they howl to find their mate when they're separated."

He stares at her, not sure where his mother is and wonders if the moon has made them both a little crazy. Something in the blood.

" I'm okay, Mama." He manages. "I'm all right."

"If you say so." Heavy in disbelief and laden with a yawn. "I'm going back to my room to try and sleep. Don't stay up too late."

The ghost of a kiss on his cheek and the sound of her footsteps in the hall, leave him standing in the kitchen. He's torn between sleep and just going back inside. Eventually settles on his room where he paces and sheds his clothes for the night.

As he settles under the sheets, he knows he cannot howl again with his mother's words in his ear. He's okay by himself. He's always been okay.

And the thought that somewhere far in the night, someone else is straining to catch his call on the wood and return it is far too disturbing. To much like admitting to the void. But the moon doesn't care about such things and there will still be nights when it glows eeiry yellow behind grey clouds that pry him from his bed to try his luck again.