Leave out all the rest, Allistair/Delilah

[Allistair Taliesin]

Allistair lounged on his bed, his lovely ipod speakers quietly filling the room with the sounds of violin and piano melodies. His arms were folded behind his head, and his eyes were closed. He hummed softly along with the tune, feeling completely calm and relaxed. His mind let sluggish little thoughts trickle through it, one of them being his wish that he'd learned to play some sort of instrument in his youth. The thought ended his reverie abruptly as he sat up, the chocolate brown bedspread creasing beneath his weight. And why couldn't he still learn to play something? He cocked his head, excited light sparking into his warm eyes. There was no reason he couldn't! He jumped up, hopping across the room to grab his slightly tattered blazer. As he did so, he decided he was going to go find himself a store, and he was going to buy a piano AND a violin. He would teach himself to play both. His hand shook as he pulled his ipod from it's stand, shoving it into his pocket. He was so excited, and so impatient. He shoved his bare feet into a pair of flip flops, looking like a bit of a slob, but he didn't care. He patted his pockets, and had to hunt around for a moment to find his canvas wallet, which he shoved into the previously-patted pockets of his worn jeans. He bounced down the tiny stairwell, careful not to trip, and bounded toward the front door.

The moment before his hand touched the door handle, his phone went off, filling the entry way with Iron and Wine's 'Flightless Bird, American Mouth.' He fished the clunky piece of technology from his pocket and answered the call cheerily, without bothering to check the caller id.
"Hello and good afternoon!" he said happily, so excited with his mission.
"Allistair," came the quiet greeting. Al paused for a moment, frowning, but then recognized the voice. A voice he hadn't heard since he was sentenced to do time in this concrete fishbowl.
"Oh! Dad, wow...Um, how are you?" Allistair stuttered, not even sure what he should say, or if he should say anything. He was, however, too excited not to.
"I'm alright," his father said, though he sounded like he was whispering. Allistair barely took note of that detail, before he launched into an excited explanation of what he was about to do.
"Guess what?! I'm going to buy a piano and a violin and I'm going to--" He began, but Arthur cut him off.
"Allistiar, son, you must listen to me. There is no time." The man said hastily, still in a hushed tone. Allistiar stopped, his mouth still slightly open, mid-sentence. He closed his mouth, and leaned against the doorframe.
"Er, okay?" he said, not sure what else he ought to say. On his father's end, there was a loud crash, and a fast intake of breath. Allistair's eyes darkened, and his bushy eyebrows tugged together in confusion. Something, obviously, was going on.
"Dad?" Allistair whispered.
Arthur was silent for a moment, and Allistair could hear some scuffling and static.
"Dad, where are you?" Al tried again.
"I am in the downstairs laundry cupboard." Arthur answered, and Allistair almost wanted to laugh at the mental image that provided, wondering vaguely what the hell his father was doing huddled in the laundry cupboard.
"What are yo--" Allistair began, and was again cut off.
"Son, my Allistiar, listen to your old man." Arthur said, his voice sounding desperate, like he was close to tears. Allistair froze, feeling suddenly very fragile. He'd never, not ever, seen his father cry. His father was like a really big, really solid brick wall. His father had been for all his life, a strong, quiet, emotionless man. The only emotion Al had ever seen his father display was a soft expression that would cross Arthur's face when Allistair's mother came up in conversation. And that wasn't often at all.
"Listen to me," Arthur repeated, his voice so hushed that Allistair had to struggle to hear him. "You must leave your house, Al. Get out. Don't go back until someone checks it. They are coming." his father said, his hushed tone full of intensity. Allistair's eyes widened. Who was coming? Why? He could feel old memories trying to break through the surface of his mind, but he did his best to supress them. He felt that all he must do right now was listen. He crushed the mobile phone to his ear, his hands beginning to sweat.
"You must get yourself out, and go to--" Arthur began, but there was a second loud crash, and then silence. Allistair listened desperately, waiting to hear something. Abruptly, there was a strangle gurgling, and Allistair felt butterflies of fear blossom in his abdomen.
"Son, you must find the Krelborns." Arthur choked out, and Allistair realized the gurgling sound was coming from his father.
"Find them." was all he heard, and the line went dead.
"Hello? Dad? Father!" Allistair shouted into the mouthpiece, feeling a range of different emotions blow through him. He pulled the phone from his ear, hitting the redial button, and mashed the piece of metal and plastic against the side of his head again. There was nothing, no ringing, no voicemail, just the occasional crackle or bit of static, which was actually his own panicked breath coming in gasps, which his brain didn't bother to register. What had happened? He was shaking, and his mind was so muddled and panicked, he didn't know what to do other than stand there listening to himself hyperventilate. Krelborns. Who were they? Okay, okay, he had to find them. That's what his father had said, to find the Krelborns. Allistair knew he didn't have a phone book, so he launched himself out the door, not even bothering to close the thing behind him. He dove down the few steps, and ran the few feet to his neighbour's door, which he pounded upon, not thinking that anyone who was home would probably have a stroke in response to the sudden racket he was making. He could feel his eyes filling, but he swallowed back the lump which had developed in his throat, devoting himself to the present moment only, trying to block the horrible, macabre sounds he'd heard moments ago from replaying in his ears. He hammered on the door, desperate.
"Please, hello, is anyone home? I need help!" He shouted, brushing his dark hair out of his face. A small woman, looking rather startled and dazed, answered the door, a little girl with cornsilk blond hair clinging to her neck cradled in her arms.
"Yes?" she asked, looking him up and down. "Are you alright?" she asked, a nurturing, motherly tone taking over the fearful part of her voice.
"Yes, no, um, I'm your neighbour, I live right over there," he said to her, pointing quickly. "There's been some sort of emergency and I, well, I need to use your phone book. Do you have one? Please say you have one," He said, feeling the panic rising. He tried to shove it back down, so he would be capable of forming mostly-coherent responses to whatever the woman would say.
"Oh, yes, of course. Wait here." The woman said, setting the little girl down and closing the door behind her. Only in New York would someone leave a person in need standing on the doorstep, Allistair thought, rocking from the balls of his feet to his heels. He ran his hand nervously through his hair, unable to stand still. The woman returned, handing him a massive book.
"Thank you so much," Allistair said, taking it from her. He flipped quickly through it, his dark eyes scanning the pages almost too quickly. He found the page he needed, and tore it from the book, which he handed back to the startled and confused woman. "Thank you," he said again, meeting her eyes for only a moment before he turned and hopped down the stairs, launching himself back towards his townhouse. He ran back in, grabbing his bicycle from the spot where it leaned beside the stairs and the doorway. He yanked the thing out the door, chucking it down the stairs. He pulled the door shut this time, though he didn't bother to lock it. He had no time to hunt for his keys. He scrambled down the stairs and righted his bike, getting a running start as he hopped onto the thing. He uncrinkled the piece of thin paper, his eyes absorbing the information on it. The Krelborns apparantly owned the second floor of some upscale apartment complex. He checked the address, and pedaled like a madman, flying past joggers in terribly ugly tights, women walking in their stiletto boots with their four hundred dollar outfits, and men in their business suits. All of them gave the strange, disheveled looking boy on the bike a look, like "Tcsh, who wears a blazer with flip flops?"

Ignoring everyone he passed, Allistair felt as though he had some kind of tunnel vision going on. The panic was so intense in his chest that he felt he might explode. All he could focus on, though, was where he needed to go, or it would overwhelm him. He set his teeth, careening across the street, where a cab driver layed on his horn as he swerved to miss him.
"Fuck you!" Allistair shouted, the vein in his forehead standing out, as he passed by. He was normally not one to swear with such fervor, but he couldn't really concentrate on feeling bad for it. His mind was elsewhere.

Finally, after weaving through block after block after block of concrete and glass buildings, storefronts and so much traffic, Allistair pulled to a hasty stop in front of a very classic looking building. He checked the piece of phone book paper again, to be sure, and hopped off his bike, leaving it where it fell. He ran to the door, tugging the heavy wood-glass and metal thing out of his way. He hurried through the entrance, feeling as though he couldn't breathe, and that he may possibly vomit from the amount of physical exertion he had just put himself through. He searched the buzzer panel for the name, stabbing the button beside the elegantly written word "Krelborn" with a sweaty, shaking finger. He waited impatiently and desperately for someone to answer, not knowing what was going to happen.

[Delilah Krelborn]

"Infincatum decius loctum . . . Doesn't that mean . . " Delilah was muttering to herself again, laying on her stomach and reading a book she had borrowed from the repository. Defeated, she pushed herself up from her bed and closed the book. She sent a glare in the direction of her window. It was rush hour and the honking and beeping was going to drive her mad. That and the studying of the old language had started to give her a blooming headache.

"Damn it," she said, looking at Barry. He was taking up more than half the floor in his own, gigantic-dog way. "How am I supposed to get anything done with that butterscotching racket?" Del asked him, her tone only a bit annoyed and more tired than anything else. "I swear, this town is . . ." The word came to her later than it would've earlier that day. "Loud." Loud indeed: she had spent the entire day bouncing around the city before finally settling at a fund raiser for illiteracy where she flashed a smile even as she realized that her mother was at the exact same event. Naturally, they just had to stand next to one another for pictures because they were the perfect mother-daughter duo, weren't they?

It hadn't helped that her mother's outfit was the exact opposite of her own: dark navy, shimmering with blue and green. It was beautiful, but to Delilah it was just another dress of the devil. Her own was supposed to suggest that she was the virginal young belle of society: white and flowing silk with a classic cut and a classically high price tag. Her hair had been styled with extensions and the clips were still in, much to Della's dismay. The dress was hanging in her closet, long replaced with her lilac PJs and white slippers, but the memory of her mother just walking in like that and stealing the show irritated her. Delilah was trying to do something good. Her mother was just trying to gain publicity.

With a sigh, she went to her window and opened it, trying to see what sorts of people were walking around out there. The smoggy air hit her almost immediately and she let out a series of coughs before finally just holding her hand to her mouth and leaning out, letting the extensions hang out. They honestly looked horrific on her: the long hair was her mother's thing, not her's. Yet, the stylist had said they would look wonderful and that they did look wonderful, once done.

Della knew that the papers tomorrow would say something about 'similar locks on the Sinclairs!' and she would rip it to shreds the minute she saw it sitting on their coffee table. The complete opposites of one another. People must've loved that to bits.

She heard a door slam shut. "Home." God, the witch was home. Which o'which? The Wicked Bisnitch. The thought of her mother being green wasn't all that odd considering her one-night role of Elphaba. Yet again, another publicity stunt. Della turned her head towards her own open door to catch a glimpse of her mother setting down her Prada on the coffee table, yet again not paying attention to the girl just ten yards from her.

When she looked back, she caught a glimpse of something racing to their doorstep below following by the pleasant ting of the intercom. Ting. Ting. Ting. "Get that, won't you Del?" her mom called from just outside her door. Her voice sounded tired and for a moment, Delilah pitied her. Probably out all night with Monty.

Following her mother's orders for once felt horrible, but she pushed the button by her window.

"Sinclair-slash-Krelborn residence: Delilah speaking."

[Allistair Taliesin]

Allistair stood impatiently, and pressed the buzzer a few more times. Lord, please let someone be home, he thought, his exhaustion from the bike ride over and his currently out of control emotions hitting him like a brick. He'd never felt so lost, so unable to do something, so helpless. Moments after he hit the buzzer for the fifth time, a pleasant female voice came through the intercom.
"Sinclair-slash-Krelborn residence: Delilah speaking." The voice said, and Allistair felt a wave of relief. Hopefully, here he would find some answers.
He stabbed the talk button, and spoke. "Hi, um, I don't know who you are, but my dad told me to find you, and so I'm here, and I have no idea what's happened but I don't think he's okay and I didn't know what else to do other than come here." He said in a rush, feeling that annoying lump force it's way back into his throat. He felt like a scared little boy, all alone in the world.

How he hated this city. There were so few people who were genuine, and his father, in his quiet and gruff way, had been genuine. Why did he have to send Allistair here, to live amongst the heartless? All this passed through Allistair's mind as he waited for some sort of response, and he paused. His father had been? He shoved the thought violently from his mind. He didn't know what had happened, he didn't know if his father was actually...Well, he wouldn't think the word. He simply wouldn't. He didn't know anything, he told himself, trying to ignore the truth that his heart felt regardless of his denial.

Allistair poked the talk button again, "I just need your help." He said weakly, sounding defeated, feeling like a dried out corn husk.

[Delilah Krelborn]

Della listened for about five seconds before rolling her eyes. Not another one of these. They happened more than what some would think, incidents of guys or drunk girls stumbling to their door and pressing the intercom. She had heard that other people had the same problem. Personally, Del found it pathetic.

"Mom, you've been followed home by drunks again," Delilah called to her mother, accidentally leaving her finger on the intercom. Turning back to the window, she pushed down the button. "I'm sorry whoever you are, but I think you have the wrong house." Her tone implied that she was not, in fact, sorry.

Del looked out the window, sticking her entire head-blond extensions and all-out and dangling to try and get a better look. "We have a dog," she called out the window in hopes he could hear her. "A big dog. I'd suggest you go away." She motioned for Barry to approach the window and then she signaled for him to bark.

When Barnabus barked, you did not question or talk back. You simply listened to the fact that a big-as-Hell dog was barking and walked away. It was that simple: you did not mess with Barry. No one except Delilah, whom the dog wouldn't dare go against for any reason save evil scientists brain washing him,

Delilah leaned on the sill. "Are you gone yet?" she asked, though she found it a bit pointless.

"Delilah, who is that?" Mariella asked from the door. Her big eyes were even bigger, in shock or fright, and her face was pale from something that definitely wasn't booze or wine. "Delilah Audrey Krelborn, who is that at the door?"

"Mom, it's just some drunk kid," she told her, starting to get freaked out by the way her mother was looking at her. "He probably just took a toke of something or LSD. I don't know!" She paused. "Mom . . What's wrong?"

Mariella blinked. "Nothing. Just. . . . Nothing." And with that, she left Del's room. Probably to pass out on the couch or take a long bath, Del didn't know or care. She awaited an answer from the drunk boy. Pressing the button once more, she said "I don't see you leaving yet" in a somewhat annoyed and somewhat frightened voice.

[Allistair Taliesin]

Allistair listened desperately for a response, still partially trying to catch his breath from the mad ride he made to get to this place. He heard shouting from above, and looked up to see a long-haired blonde girl poking her head out of one of the second story windows. She shouted something about having a dog, and then he heard barking. He heard the girls voice explaning to her mother, apparently, that she'd been followed home by drunks. The girl sounded extremely spoiled, and it didn't sound like she knew anything about his situation or that she would bother to find out what his situation was. Even if she did, he doubted she would do anything about it, either way.

"I'm not a drunk!" Allistair cried into the little speaker. "I don't have the wrong place, either, my father, he told me to find you!" he shouted, frustration filling him up like a hot air balloon. Allistair didn't have an easy temper, it had a long fuse, but the recent events he'd experienced seemed to have cut that fuse into bits. He could feel his face flushing with anger. Why would his father send him to these people? They obviously didn't have any answers, high up in their apartment complex that probably cost them what his townhouse was worth five times over, and then some. His hands reached up and tangled in his hair, and he felt that he was close to tears. He was sweating, his heart hurt, and he just wanted to know what was going on.

"And, I don't care about your stupid dog!" He shouted, "I think my father is dead, and he told me to come here, and you ought to do something!" he shouted, the tendons in his neck standing out. He looked up at the girl, raising his arms desperately.

"I'm looking for the Krelborns, are any of them there? Maybe I could talk to them instead." He called, trying very hard not to shout and stomp his feet and curse at the girl, trying to reign in his temper and quell the storm of emotions that was whirling around in his chest cavity.

[Delilah Krelborn]

Delilah could not believe this. He had seen her mother, followed her home, and was now harassing her through an intercom. She had all the right mind to turn it off, go to bed, and sleep worry-free. Let her mother deal with it. ./ . . . Speaking of mother. . .

Delilah's mother stumbled back in with those expanded pupils and a somewhat dazed look on her face. "Della .. Answer the door," she said in what Delilah now realized was a drug-induced stumpor. She blamed Montgomery almost immediately: It seemed that he forgot that Mariella wasn't immortal nor was she immune to illegal substances.

She palmed herself in the forehead and went to go close her door, wishing that she would take care of herself for a change. It was getting annoying having to deal with things like this among with her studies. It was summer. Wasn't this the time in which she made delicate plans to go out with those of the male persuasion or, perhaps, scheduled a meeting with the Committee to see if there were any requests for her yet. She had expected her mother to send in the second request for them to recommend her, but she probably hadn't But she had gotten a call from her father stating that he had, so it was all well and good.

"Go to bed," Del told her before turning back to the window. "Oh, you'd care if you saw him! He's probably taller than your scrawny bohemie!" she growled. But when she finally registered the second bit, she fell silent. " . . Dead? As in dead-dead?" Delilah asked, her tone wavering through the intercom.

"My name is Delilah Krelborn," she told him. "I think . .I think you need to go to the police, young man. We only help certain types around here." There was a touch of snobbery to her voice as she stated this, but she hardly noticed. "And unless you are carrying around a Committee membership card or something, I doubt we can assist you here. If you like, I shall call a policeman for you?" It was hard to conceal the tiniest bit of concern she held for the boy outside, but she did it.

[Allistair Taliesin]

Allistair felt completely exhasperated, hearing that the girl thought he should go to the police. Obviously she knew nothing that would be useful to him. His father must have been mistaken, or perhaps Allistair had heard him wrong. Perhaps he had told him a completely different name, and Allistair had misheard him through all the commotion. Allistair stood there for a moment, feeling dejected. He didn't bother to register what the girl was saying, it didn't matter. He might as well go home and wait for whoever his father had said was coming. Or maybe, Allistair thought, he should hop on a plane and fly home to B.C. and see for himself what became of his father. No one would stop him, he knew. No one would notice he was gone, either, if something were to happen.

He paused mid thought, having heard the word "committee" come out of the girl's mouth. He looked up at her, his mind going over the words she'd said about a membership card. Allistair let out a puff of air, and reached into his pocket, digging for his wallet. He pulled the canvas thing out, and flipped it open, yanking a card he had stashed in a secret-esque compartment. He held the card up, not caring if the girl could see it clearly enough. His mood was too far gone for caring about much. He felt his emotions seeping away into numbness, which was the way he usually coped with hard situations. He'd be a mess for a little bit, and then he would just go numb. That's was just how he was. It was easier to react to things, easier to do what he needed to, when he went numb. He was relatively relieved, but also surprised that it had taken so long for his coping mechanism to kick in.

"I'm Allistair Taliesin, and my father was...is, Arthur Taliesin. I am a member of the committee." He shouted up to the girl, not caring about or acknowledging curious passers by, or the people who stared as they rolled by in the sluggish afternoon traffic.

[Delilah Krelborn]

(PLEASE, ANYONE WATCHING: FORGIVE THIS POST.)

Delilah looked out just in time to see him flash his wallet. She could only stare dumbly at him as he continued and . . And she was confused. Why was there a Blue on her stoop? Oh smudge, oh smudge, oh smudge, oh ditter-winkle and apple sauce and Sri Lanka.

"Oh shit," she whispered, instantly despising herself for doing it but feeling that it was necessary. In a situation such as this one, a 'shit' was practically required. It was in the job description. Conduit: protect Blues, curse when confronted by one you just treated like shit. Repeat act until dead. Thank you. "Oh shit. Oh shit," she whispered before yelling, "I'm coming down!" to the boy outside.

Delilah ran as fast as she could to the stairs and nearly fell over herself trying to get to the door in time. She flung it open and smiled as widely as possible at him. "Come in, come in! I'll make you some hot chocolate!"

[Allistair Taliesin]

Feeling a wave of relief, Allistair stuffed his committee card back into its slot and moved toward the door to meet the girl, who came flying from the stairwell like a bat out of hell. Momentarily stunned, Allistair cracked a nervous kind of fake smile as the girl swung the door to the building wide open, declaring that she would make him hot chocolate. He stepped through the doorway around the girl into the air conditioned lobby, and turned to her.

"Er, it's a little hot for cocoa, isn't it?" he asked, not even sure how to respond to the change in the girl's temperment. She'd been rude and awful moments ago, and was now welcoming and offering out-of-season beverages.
"Thank you, though." He added, trying to be polite. He stood awkwardly, waiting for the girl to do something. He didn't want hot chocolate, he didn't want lemonade, he didn't want anything. He just wanted some answers, and to know what had happened to his father, and what, if anything had happened, was going to be done about it.

[[Also, forgive this one for it's shortness >_<]]

[Delilah Krelborn]

Delilah smiled at him as if he were just a child, a tiny itty-bitty child who had no idea what he was doing. "You're going to drink the cocoa and you're going to like it, okay?" she said in a somewhat cheerful voice. Del began to walk up the stairs one by one, her slippers making soft pooshes against the mahogany wood.

"My name is Delilah A. Krelborn," she informed him, not looking at him but at the stairs. "That's an answer, I suppose. The second is that if your father told you to come here, he was probably loony." She turned around and beckoned him to follow. "Come on, Robin's Egg. If you won't take cocoa, then you're going to drink something else. You look pale." She tutted at him. "You need sugars, most probably. Then again, I'm no doctor."

She had left the door wide open and, at the top of the first line of stairs, was said door. She didn't even need to get the keys. The dark wood was shimmering a bit from the street lights and the dimmed fire-light-esque lights in the hall. "Do close the door, it'll get hot in here. Then I'll be angry." She beams, little off-white teeth in a little pale mouth. "Hurry up before my mother stumbles out from her tomb. You'll have a genuine horror story then, now won't you?"

Pretending like she didn't care if he followed, she proceeded through the door and right into the kitchen. The fridge was open, probably from Mariella earlier. Reaching in, she pulled out a gallon of Sunny D and a juice box of Hi-C. If anything, she would at least give him a selection.

[Allistair Taliesin]

Staring after the girl as she abruptly departed to the stairwell, Allistair shook himself and hurried to follow her. This was ridiculous. He decided that the girl, Delilah A. Krelborn, was obviously manically bipolar. He was completely stunned. He walked behind her, his flip-flops snapping against his heels as his feet went from stair to stair. Upon reaching the landing, he was told to close the door behind him, which he did, stepping into the posh and classy looking entire second floor. Who the hell needs an entire second floor of an apartment complex? he thought, distracted momentarily from the occurrances of the afternoon as he looked around. The place was nice, but it was beyond him how people lived like this. Sure, you could have every floor of a building, but you'd probably still be miserable. Allistair thought that perhaps that was why miss Delilah Krelborn, snobette extrordinaire, was so snippy and, well, strange. She must be trapped in this place all day with nothing else to do other than sit around amongst her possessions and complain to herself about how her life wasn't fair. Allistair paused, feeling bad immidiately for the judgement. He normally wasn't one to make such swift judgements about people, and he didn't know the girl from eve. Who was he to make assumptions? Mind you, his first impression of her hadn't been a pleasant one.

Following the girl into the kitchen, he ignored the juice she pulled out of the fridge.
"So, Um, Miss Krelborn, can you help me or not?" he asked, impatient to do whatever it was he was going to do about his father. He fidgeted as he stood there on the expensive looking floor, feeling sick and distracted and worried, and a tumult of other things.

[Delilah Krelborn]

She looked up from her pouring of Sunny D and smiled at him. "Thank you for closing the door, Cerulean," she said with a nod. "Hi-C or Sunny D?" She held up both the juice box and the glass. "I'd personally prefer the Sunny D if not for the satisfaction of seeing someone who is obviously in mental anguish drink from a juice box, but I'll have either one." She held them like a balance, one on the top of each hand. "Or are you old enough to . . If I may say so, be on the Circulatory system diet?" Del looked at him sideways. "You don't look it, to be honest.""

When she was done, she set both on the counter and looked down at the tile (marble), kicking one slippered-foot out a bit and trying to think. This guy was probably just another Blue who was having panic attacks during the Sunset years. It was natural for him to think his dad was dead, probably was if it was from another life.

He looked a bit too old to be having those sort of hallucinations though. Probably . . seventeen at least, twenty at most. She was drowzy though, so her measure was a bit off. . . . Okay, maybe a lot off. But it was still probably true that he was between seventeen and twenty. She didn't recall seeing him at Duchesne though. . . Then again, she hardly saw anyone at duchesne anyway, she didn't exactly like the people. They were all either overly unsophisticated or too snobby. Del hated snobby.

She considered other possibilities: That his father, as in the father he had this cycle, was dead and/or drained. In that case, she should probably call the Committee or something. Then again, he should've done it. Why her? She wasn't his Conduit. Unless that's what his dad meant? Oh goody! If only his dad had told him earlier, maybe then they could've become friends sooner. It was always easier when you were a kid to make friends.

She wasn't quite sure she would want to be friends with this bloke. He looked. . . He looked like he belonged on Nickelodeon. That and the fact that he was probably the fallen angel of clear skin and wimpering made her wonder exactly how he made it to her doorstep.

"I told you earlier: I probably can't do diddly squat to help your daddy. I can't even keep my mother in check," she told him. "But . . . What family did you say you were from? The Krelborns normally Conduit for the Jones' but there was probably . . Hmm . ." She shrugged. "I honestly don't know what to tell you, Robin's Egg."

[Allistair Taliesin]

Sighing, Allistair reached for the glass containing the generous portion of Sunny Delight, and as he did so, he pondered why they'd called it that. It was neither sunny, nor was it delightful. In his opinion, it tasted chalky and fake. Definitely not like any kind of orange he'd ever had. He leaned against the counter, sipping at the glass quietly, to appease the blond girl.
"I haven't done the, er, no. I haven't had a familiar yet." He muttered akwardly, thinking that he probably would have, if he'd had anyone he was close enough to do such a thing with. To him, it seemed like something almost more intimate than sex.

He watched the girl while she seemed to mull over a few things, the quiet between them feeling not-quiet awkward, but not-quite comfortable either. He shifted, and set his near-empty glass on the counter behind him.
"Um, the Taliesin's." He said, frowning. "And, why do you keep calling me Robin's Egg?" he added, slightly confused. He'd noticed she'd also called him cerulean but...Oh, har har, he thought. She was calling him different colors of blue, because he was a Blue Blood. Very funny. Allistair rolled his eyes, his lips tugging down at the corners.
"Nevermind. That's very clever of you." He mumbled, folding his arms across his chest.

[Delilah Krelborn]

Delilah giggled, though it was a bit bitter and punctuated by a swift puncture with the straw into the juice box. She despised the smell of Hi-C, the color. . She liked the taste well enough, but was equally repulsed by the other factors. That was why she had wanted the Sunny D but had he even offered her that pleasure? No. Selfish, this one was. Not that she didn't expect it.

"Aren't you the clever cookie?" she asked with a touch of sarcasm. "Are you going to tell me the answers to the New York Times cross-word now?" She rolled her eyes before slurping the entire juice box in about five seconds. It was a rather small juice box. With that, she threw it in a nearby trashcan and went back to the fridge. It seemed a fine time for a ham sandwich.

As she made it, she began to speak again. "Rings a bell. I'd ask my mom, but she's a bit preoccupied at the moment." As if on cue, singing began to flow from a far corner of the apartment, probably her mother's bedroom from the sound of it. It was not the usual junkie's screeches of their random urge to sing the theme song from 'The Love Boat,' no. This was beautiful and serene and absolutely wonderful if not for the fact that it was singing the 'Spongebob Squarepants' theme song.

Ignoring her, she pulled out a cell phone from her sleep pants' pocket. "But I'll call my dad if you want?" She was partially embarrassed to have him here with her mother having one of her 'episodes,' but she was trying not to let it show. For all she knew: it was working. In truth? It wasn't. Her skin was peachy pink in a blush and she seemed a bit twitchy. "He's the real Conduit in the family."

[Allistair Taliesin]

Allistair cocked his head, thinking that he probably could tell her the answers to the newspaper crossword, if she really wanted him to. He sighed, feeling too idle. He wanted to do something, even if that something was useless and wouldn't help the situation at all. He felt restless, having no idea what he was going to do or even if there was anything to do. His mouth tasted bitter, a result of the fradulent orange beverage.

Absorbed in his own issues, Al didn't notice how jittery and twitchy the girl across from him was. All he noticed was what she said.
"Yes, If you wouldn't mind calling him. Maybe be can help somehow." He said, heaving a second sigh. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, searching for his ipod to fidget with, though after a moment he realized the gadget was absent. He must have dropped it somewhere in his rush to find these people. His shoulders slumped; he was feeling defeated. He felt exhausted and lost, a result of his recent emotional trauma.

[[Sorry it took so long, and also sorry it's so short >_<]]

[Delilah Krelborn]

Delilah sighed and went to dial in the number, knowing it by heart and not needing the contacts list. She wondered many things: why he was here; what he wanted; who he was, exactly; what her father would say . . . Above all else, she hoped that he wasn't one of those who reported to 'Paper Dolls.' The last thing the world needed to know was what Mariella Sinclair did things that respectable operatic singers were not supposed to do.

Just as the dial tone began to go off, she heard what sounded like a singular stampede throughout the apartment. From the entry, a large dog entered the room, no collar or identification but it was obvious that it was Della's by the way her face suddenly lit up, how she removed one hand from her hip to pet as the dial toned on.

Hello? Jessica?

She sighed into the phone. Jessica was his assistant. "It's me, Dad. Your daughter. . . Delilah." It was late and his voice was groggy, but Del recognized the humph of recognition that came from the speakers. "I've got a boy here. He's about . . I'd say seventeen, eighteen. Committee member stating that his father wanted him to come here. He says his name is . . Taliesin, I believe. Or Robin's Egg."

Del listened then for three minutes on how the Blues were to be treated with the upmost respect and dignity and calling them 'Robin's Egg' was not the proper way to accomplish this. Before she could repeat the question, he did it for her.

"Taliesin. That was his last name, so I recall. He's here demanding in my house at late hours of the night when you know mother and I think," she turned from Allistair as she said this and whispered. "I think he has a wire on him. He might go to the press!"

And then spent another three minutes about the virtue of the Blue and how he would not be wearing a wire on such short notice and how, Delilah, sweetheart, honestly needed to be in bed. Now would you repeat the question darling?

"Taliesin, daddy! Allistair Taliesin!" she finally said, growing into the phone. "His name is Allistair and he drank my Sunny D, so if you could just tell me why he's here and let me kick him out!?" She pulled the phone away from her head. (You can godmod her dad, I really don't care). "He wants to talk to you," she told him, holding the phone out for Allistair to take.

[Allistair Taliesin]

"Er, alright," Allistair stuttered, taking the phone from Delilah. He didn't expect the man to want to speak to him, but he supposed it made sense. Al just wasn't used to being the focus in most conversation, so this was a little weird for him. He pressed the phone gently agianst his ear.
"Hello?" He said, not knowing how else to begin.
"Hello, youngster," came a husky, sleepy sounding voice. "So you are the one bothering my Delilah at all hours, eh?" the voice said, though Allistair incurred from the tone that the man and his daughter weren't that close.
"Um, yeah, I guess, Sir." he said, fidgeting with his left belt-loop nervously. The wayward thought that this was the first girl's father he'd ever spoken to popped into his head, making him blush slightly.
"Well, what do you want mister, uh...What did you say your name was?" The man huffed, and Allistair had to crack a half-hearted smile. Delilah had told her father his name a handful of times.
"My name is Allistair Taliesin, Sir." he said, fidgeting even more. He wondered if this would just be a dead end, a mix up of some sort.
"Taliesin, eh? I knew some of those folks back in the day, you must be of some relation. Tell me, how did you find us?" the gruff voice responded.
"Well, my father called me and....Uh, I don't know what happened to him. All he really managed to say was to find the Krelborn's. So that's why I'm here. He said to find the Krelborns because 'they' were coming," Allistair relayed, making little quotation symbols in the air with his fingers as he said 'they'.

There was a long silence on the line before Delilah's father spoke again.
"And who was your father, boy?" He asked, sounding serious and finally like he was following along. Allistair felt a wave of relief. Perhaps this had been the right place to come after all.
"Arthur Taliesin." He said shortly, holding his breath.
"Arthur. Well, dear boy, I absolutley did not think you would be his son, of all people. Perhaps some distant relative, but I never would have thought he'd send you to me." Delilah's father said, all a rush.
"If you please, young Allistiar, put Delilah back on the line, would you?" The man said, and Allistair reluctantly handed over the phone, which felt hot in his hand. This man did know who his father was. He wished the girl's father would just tell him already what was going on. He felt so worn, and he thought that once he got back home, he would sleep forever. He watched Delilah carefully, hoping that perhaps her half of the conversation would give him some clues.

[Delilah Krelborn]

Delilah took back the phone delicately. She didn't . . want to expect anything. She did not even wish to hear anything on the other side of that phone line. She actually expected not to expect anything. But she didn't. She expected her father to reveal some sort of revolution, some sort of truth that would strike her in the bones and leave her breathless . . And preferably with an excuse to send him out the door as fast as humanly possible.

What he said instead was: "We've got a problem."

"What kind of problem?" she hissed back, petting the dog with one hand while Barry growled at Alistair. He went on stating that it was, in fact, a big problem and one that needed to be handled by a Conduit. Guess what lucky maiden in the room was a Conduit? Oh yes, Della, you're trained. You can handle it. You're a big girl. Yeah daddy, well why don't you actually treat me like one? she thought as her dad continued to ramble on. . . Something about . . . Damn it, Dad. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

She closed the phone midway through her father's sentence and glared at the boy. Glared as him as the grumbling roll of Barnabus's growl grew louder. "My father . . . He was your father's Conduit until . . Certain circumstances pulled him away," she told him, her dark eyes examining him with that same passionate anger that talking to her father had caused her. That and not getting HI-C. She was still quite irritated about that.

"And he wants me to help. So what do you want, Mr. Cerulean?" her tone did not imply she wanted to help him in any form or fashion. In fact, quite the opposite. She looked like she wanted to pick him up and carve him like a Thanksgiving turkey. She sort-of did, but more like a Christmas turkey, which is, all in all, much different. Less fat people.

"Would you like me to buy you a lollypop? Kiss the booboo and make it all better? What can I do to make your day?" Delilah slurred as she said this, wishing she had one bunny slippers. They would be much more appropriate. Yes, bunny slippers. " . . By the way," she added, somewhat reluctantly, as if she knew it would ruin any sort of violent image she had going down. "I'm not buying you anything. I'm saving up for a trip to Bangkok."

[Allistair Taliesin]

Allistair leaned against the expensive countertop, his hands fidgeting away in the pockets of his blazer. He could hear Delilah's fathers voice coming through the speaker on the phone. When he heard the girl ask, "what kind of problem," he stiffened. He could vaguely hear Mr.Krelborn's voice speaking about Conduits, and his mind began to wander off. He thought that perhaps, it would be nice to finally have a conduit. Someone who knew what he was, who he had been and what he was on the earth for. Someone he could really be himself around...After Delilah hung up the phone and proceeded to tell him that her father had been his father's conduit, he felt the corner of his mouth twitch into an almost-smile. Yes, maybe it would be a good thing after all. He pulled his thoughts back to the present moment, listening to what the girl across from him was saying. At her words, he went very still. He felt the thick tendrils of anger sweeping through him, wrapping their arms around his veins like a lover. He was still for a long moment, unnaturally still, and then he took two steps towards Delilah. It was enough to bring them almost nose to nose. He seemed no longer a distraught teenage boy. He seemed like his real self. It was as though Zadkiel himself had fully awakened inside the pale skin of the boy named Allistair. His eyes, which were normally a warm and inviting brown, had gone flat and empty, almost black. He narrowed his eyes slightly, gazing into the girl's.

He felt old, far older than he was in his present cycle. "You stupid girl." He said softly, slowly. "You stupid, selfish, spoiled girl." He almost whispered. He wasn't interested in being intimidating. He was trying to get his point across without losing complete control of himself. The rage that radiated in his chest thrummed like a living thing.
"The only family I have had or met in this cycle may be laying at this very moment destroyed. Everything he ever was, everything he ever did or would do, stolen and disgraced, and you speak of boo-boo's and lollipops?" He continued, his voice eerily even. He felt the anger swell. All this girl thought about was herself. He'd seen her lip curl when he'd chosen the Sunny D, and had been minutely startled to see such anger over such an inconsequential thing. A blue blood may have recently been attacked by a silver blood, and her present frustration was that she didn't get the sunny delight? He was disgusted.
"Being a Conduit used to be an honor, child." He said, "It was a duty, a gift. Albiet a difficult one, but a gift none the less." He added, enunciating every word. He was so angry. He wanted to destroy her. Bigger things were happening, and here she was acting like a spoiled five year old with mommy and daddy issues. He wondered what had happened, and decided right then that if this was how conduits were, he wanted nothing to do with them. If they were all spoiled and lived with every material thing they wanted and were overcome when they didn't get what they wanted, he would look after himself.
His thoughts turned back to his desire to hurt her, and he felt his anger receed dramatically. He wasn't a violent being, he was the embodiment of mercy. Even if she was a spoiled rotten selfish stain of a human being, she didn't deserve any harm. She was just unlearned, he told himself, feeling his anger abate and his heartrate slow. It was just sad, what had become of the definition of "Conduit" in his mind. Either way, he would have to hop on a plane home and find out what had become of his father himself. There was no help for him here.

"I will show myself out." He said, and turned, heading towards the door. He wasn't even going to bother packing anything. He would just go directly to the airport and leave.

[[OOC: it was much better the first time, but it got erased. /sigh. Also, Lena, I thought you were quitting SA?]]

[Delilah Krelborn]

Delilah had spent her life surrounded by types. Good ones, bad ones, angelic and demonic alike. A girl came to know the source of pure evil and the source of divine grace and as she had often told herself: they both resided in the human mind. It had been something to distract her from her studies that all told her the same thing: that she was inferior compared to those she supposedly served. Now. . Now she realized something. It was a layer she had always seen in those same she had detested for their artificial tabloid feel. Never had she felt that she was standing before a force when she was near one of them.

This was what the tabloids were keeping away from the public. The fine saran wrap layer was slowly peeling and if anyone was made to notice such a delicate slip of reality, it was Delilah. Suddenly feeling inappropriately dressed . . As if she were suddenly on a divine panel, counting sins on a scale. And there it was. The judge reading them out to her. Selfishness. Stupidity.

Delilah did not speak. She awaited more and she got what she wished for. More of that delightful anger. Fear in it's purest form, that was all anger was and she was getting it straight in the face by one of the greatest beings on Earth. Of this, she was absolutely certain. Regardless of how absolutely insane it sounded, this was perhaps the best thing that had ever happened to her. She saw truth and it was glorious, beautiful.

And she was smiling. Subtly and with that hint of insanity that could only be found on the lips of those who had glimpsed the divine, she was smiling and looking right at him and she knew her purpose. No longer was she actually listening, though she was clinging to each word's melody and devoting the notes to memory. She needed structure. She needed something to follow. To lead. She saw possibility in this and as the possibility turned away, she reached a hand out and made a move to grab his shoulder.

"Stop," she said in a voice that was entirely sure and entirely shaken. "You are staying here for the night." Flipping open her cell phone, she pressed 5. This sent the connection directly to a representative to the Committee. "You are staying here and we will send someone to check out your place. I need you to give me the address." She raised her left eyebrow, perfectly sculpted by Cecily Kuliana Jackson, a young beautician in Manhattan, and held it there as she regained a hint of the usual Delilah A. Krelborn attitude. "Now, can you do that for me?"