He nodded. "They do, but ... not in the way humans could understand." Curran grinned. "You must think I'm mad, but it isn't so." To prove it, the dark eyed man brushed his fingers across a bud, and watched contentedly as it flowered. The soft fuschia petals unfurled, the flower swaying gently under Curran's touch. His grin softened into a smile. "You see..."

He would have to admit what he was. Curran knew it would be alright. The plants trusted the man, and so he would follow their lead. Even so ... explaining exactly what he was would be complicated, at the very least. Even he wasn't a hundred percent sure.

Victor stood, opening his mouth but finding nothing could come out. What he saw was barely some magic trick---it bordered on the absurd. "I knew it." He raised his hands. "I knew it. I've been alone so long I've gone entirely crazy!" He laughed. "You don't even exist, do you? I've been talking to myself this whole time. I'm probably in a padded room somewhere in a trance and thinking I've got this great life, like I could really find this house abandoned by chance, that just doesn't happen, does it? Naah. Like I'm really that well know, just my dreams! And now they're unraveling, just like I knew they would!" He laughed again, raggedly, and wandered out of the room, feeling numb. No one could just call a sleeping flower into bloom with a movement, not even a professional magician. And what magician in their right mind would go to such lengths to mess with someone's head? Victor was obviously seeing things because he was lonely bordering on psychosis.

Curran blinked, and stood still among the plants as the other man broke down. He hadn't thought his simple action would have such an effect. Slowly, he walked from the greenhouse and followed his innate sense of knowledge, where the house was concerned. It was as much a part of him as his home tree. The two were inherently linked, and Curran didn't quite know why. "Victor, you haven't gone mad." He leaned against the doorjamb, crossed his arms.

The cinnamon skinned man, with darkest of brown hair tinged with green, walked forward and placed his hands upon Victor's arms. "I am real, just as real as you are. And ..." He had come into his home. The house was Curran's, just as the large tree nearby was his. "This is my home," stated Curran simply.

For a moment Victor felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. He struggled to take a breath, but when he did, Victor let out a pale squeak. "Your." He blinked hard. "Your house? You lived here before?" He pushed back. "Well where the hell did you go!? I found this place abandoned---the damage made it out to be decades old, where have you been!? You just wandered off into the forest one day, got the hell beat out of you and come wandering back forty years later? Wha---" He shook his head, brushing back his hair so he could see the man more carefully. "Look---you don't even look as old as this house is. How did you live here?"

He backed away from the man's touch, remembering the flower's immediate bloom. "No, no. No. This is ridiculous. Look---what are you? You, what are you?" Victor had never believed in fantasy among reality, despite his writing, but this seemed too fantasy-based. Too fantastical to be real. A dream, at least, but everything felt too real.

Curran smiled sadly as he felt the memories return. "I failed to take care of this place. I ran away, I didn't want to be tied down ... I left my tree, and the home I was meant to care for. That is why I'm so bruised and battered. The only reason I'm not dead is because of my mixed blood. Usually a tompte, a house spirit, would die upon leaving their home tree and their home." He moved forward, lifted his hands once more.

"I am a household spirit, and this is the house that I was born to care for. I am also part dryad, a spirit of nature tied to their tree ..." He had never wandered too far off, oh but how he had always hated to be tied down. He wanted to travel, to see other places and their beautiful flowers, but couldn't. He'd made himself forget, to try and escape. That was why he was so bruised. He'd nearly made it, and then been drawn back.

Victor opened his mouth as if to respond, but didn't know what to say. He wasn't quite sure what to say, so he snapped his mouth shut. He had done some research on the concept of tomte, and found them in folklore that centered around Sweden. Of course he had taken it as just that---folklore. It wasn't real. They were stories passed down from generations long ago. He shook his head. "So... So... Ahaha, so..." He bit his lip, sighing. "So you made this house...? Or did you just find it one day and take it over?" Where had the house come from in the first place, then? Who had built it if this man didn't? And why had he left it to fall apart at the hands of time? "Why would you leave your tree...?" If it meant he would die, why leave his tree at all? Why leave the home? And why had he been born to watch over the house at all? Victor felt flooded with questions, and now he didn't feel as though he were tumbling down a path to insanity. He surely would have awakened by now if it were a dream.

Curran nudged and prodded the other man until Victor plopped down onto a seat. The tomte settled down upon a nearby chair. "I didn't make it. The house was here, new and standing proud, when I was no more then a sprout. I took care of it for years, then ... No one lived here anymore. I was lonely ... so ... I tried to leave." But he hadn't been able, and now, he was glad he hadn't.

"Now I finally have someone to take care of again." He smiled. "My name is Curran."

He felt a bit more grounded now that the man---if he could be considered a man---had a real name. But it still felt so heavy. He stared at the form in the lamplights with a little awe, a little skepticism, a little shock. He didn't know how to feel, really, it was late and the storm outside raged, and everything was compiling into a big mess that Victor had a very hard time understanding. He rested his head in his hands, staring at the floor in front of him. "That's... great..." He muttered. "Curarn. Um... D-do you mind if I..." He closed his eyes, feeling as if the world had compiled against him. "Do you mind if I go sleep...? I think I'll be able to understand this better tomorrow morning..." He could think, then, when he was alone and resting, and when he got up, it would be definite: It would have all been a dream, and he would still be alone in his home, or Curran would still be here, and he would be sure what had happened most definitely wasn't a dream, and wasn't him going crazy.

The tomte nodded. "As you wish. Rest well, Victor." In the mean time, Curran had plans of his own. "I can find my way around on my own now." Now that his memories weren't blocked anymore, anyway. The young seeming man turned his back, and walked away. The home wasn't screaming anymore. Was that because it had missed him? In any case,thought Curran, There are things to prepare.

He wandered into the kitchen, and took a peek at the food. He could work with what was there. Then there was the lights. He hate fire, and every time Curran blew a flame out, he flinched. Leaving them light was beyond the question. Each one had to be gone before he could sleep well. And he did sleep, once the house was taken care of, in his room conveniently near his tree.

Victor wasn't entirely sure how he got up the stairs without thinking about where he went, or where his feet were landing. He didn't even think about blowing the candles out, but was sure the tomte would handle it. He nudged his way into the room he called his own, similar to the one he showed Curran, and didn't bother taking his clothes off or changing at all. He left the door open and flopped face-first onto the bed, breathing in and closing his eyes.

He was so exhausted. Victor couldn't think---he hid his face in the midst of the dark room, and despite the way the storm went on, easier to hear on the second floor, he fell asleep.

The next morning, Curran was the first to wake. His feet carried him to the kitchen, and soon he had begun preparing breakfast for Victor. Toast, eggs and a good heap of fruit. He carried it all up, along with a glass of orange juice, to Victor's room. The tomte didn't wait to be invited in. Instead he walked inside and placed the other man's breakfast upon the bedside table.

Curran settled down upon the bed, and waited. He knew there were things to do about the house, but it seemed the most important of all was taking care of Victor. The rest could wait. It would be something to get used to, actually being able to care for the person who resided within his home. The whole thing hadn't been planned, not one bit.

He managed to sleep deeply, forgetting the world and the rain and everything else. He barely dreamed, what he did dream of included the lake on the property, his tendency to approach it and lie on one of the stones to trail his hand through the water. There, he could think clearly, and could hear the lapping of the water on the shore of the lake and the whistle of the grass. When it was cold enough that the lake froze over, he would slide out on it, enjoying the cold for a while.

When he opened his eyes, the sky outside the window was clear and the air felt warm and heavy. But something felt off. He wasn't alone, and he smelled something cooking---or was it finished cooking? Blinking, he rubbed his head, pulling his hair out of his face and looking slightly confused at the form just beside him. "Ah...!" He startled, gasping backward until the previous night's events piled down on top of him. "C-Curran..." He remembered the man's name---but he wasn't a man, he was a tomte. And he did, indeed, exist. "You... startled me." He sighed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "How long have you been awake...?"

He smiled. Victor was rather endearing, when he woke in such a confused state. A glance outside was enough to reassure Curran that the day would be a wonderful one, very much unlike the storm of the previous night. "I've been awake long enough to prepare breakfast for you." He tilted his head. "I hope you like it." He nudged the plate nearer the bed, and the bed's occupant.

As the initial shock wore away, Victor sat upright and blinked the sleepy sensation away from his eyes. It was odd, not only to apparently no longer live alone but be in the presence of a man that was not a man, but a spirit-based figure from a different part of the world. He already began to question the presence of other things. Things he otherwise didn't believe in. "Ah... Thanks..." He leaned forward, looking at the plate and its contents and surprised at how well Curran could cook. Had it been a long time since he did? Or had his memories come back with a great enough intensity that he remembered cooking, perhaps for himself, or perhaps for whomever lived in the house before Victor had come to refurbish it.

He picked up a piece of toast, nibbling it carefully, as if it would be offended and try to escape. "It's kind of you... but you don't have to, you know?" He didn't mind---it felt nice to wake up to something as kind as this---even if a near stranger had done it for him.

"I do have to." Curran leaned back and let himself fall down against the bed. "And I want to ... It feels wonderful, having someone to take care of again." He sighed. "With no one here, I lost my purpose." The horror of crushing loneliness... Just remembering it made Curran tremble. He hated being alone, more then anything else in the world.

"And I hate being alone." With a tilt of his head, he caught full sight of Victor and smiled radiantly. He had been saved from the storm, and from himself. Now, well he wasn't lost anymore. He had a purpose again. The trees were whispering, birds were singing outside.

Victor set the toast aside and dusted his hands, turning to face Curran. "I... see." He nodded carefully, closing his eyes. "Yesterday, I was kind of glad you appeared, I'll admit. I was trying to write, and... was having a terrible time of it---there are nights I'm uninspired, and it takes a lot out of me, because when I'm not writing, I'm focusing on anything else, and it gets a little hard to stay... okay. And when you appeared, it was a bit of a relief. Even if I was worried that you were about to die." He chuckled, shaking his head a little. "But... it's kind of nice to wake up and not be alone for once." And among a heavy, nice scent. He picked up a piece of fruit---a strawberry---and bit into it lightly. It felt good to not be alone now.

"What kind of things do you write?" Curran flipped to his stomach, leaning his head against his crossed arms. The soft covers made him feel sleepy all over again. It was such a comfy spot. He wriggled about, inching closer and closer to the other man with every movement. " I do agree ... it's nice not to be alone." Curran felt like a cat, wanting to be pet and yet not wanting so. It confused his mind, and made him stop to look up with big brown eyes at Victor.

Victor couldn't help but smile at the way the tomte moved about, looking restless but at the same time, unwilling to move from where he was. "Ah, well... I write a lot of fantasy, actually. I mean, stories about ghosts, and demons, and angels and vampires, werewolves... And other times I write modern stories. Things about kidnapping and murder, dark stuff sometimes..." He grimaced, feeling as if the description were rather rough. Instead he focused on the tomte, pulling his fingers through the man's odd-toned hair. There was a bit of green when the light hit it right. "Where have you lived all this time, anyway?" Victor asked. "If you haven't lived here, I mean..." He was curious about what the tomte had come to do, why he had actually wanted to leave his tree and home.

Instinctively, Curran leaned into the touch with half-closed eyes. "Sounds ... interesting." The tomte shifted some more, until he lay across Victor's lap. He'd never been able to get so close to anyone before. It was a wondrous thing. A sensation he could get used to. "On the very edge of what I could endure, across the lake. I've simply been, existing." His voice was a little muffled as he shifted a bit to settle in.

Victor tensed a little, raising his hand away from the creature that wasn't necessarily human. Perhaps he had no sense of space and it was normal to him, and despite himself, Victor didn't really mind it. He had existed alone for so long that the sense of closeness was rather nice, and different. "That's not too far away." He said, folding his hands. "You can't get very far away from your home tree at all...?" That seemed like a bit of a prison. Open and beautiful though the forest was, Victor wouldn't like to be tied to a specific area, no matter how reclusive he felt at the time. "You can't cross the lake...? But you can approach it, right?" There was little doubt about that, but Victor was suddenly curious about how far the limits were safely stretched.

" I can cross, and have. And I can wander near the road, but those are my limits. That was how far I was, before being drawn here once more." He twisted about so he could look up at Victor. It was odd, speaking of such things with a human. A man who accepted such things with ease was rare indeed. Curran had only ever heard of a few. "Being so far is why my skin was bruised yesterday, but now look." What had once been full of mismatched mottled skin, was now near whole and healed. Simply being in the house, near his tree, was enough to make Curran's ills disappear.

Victor nodded, feeling the disbelieving numbness fall away a little more. This man---Curran---was definitely real. There was no doubt about it. Nothing was happening in his head, otherwise he would have truly woken up by now. He nodded again, shifting a bit. "Well, I guess this is less crazy than it was last night..." He muttered. "I mean, it's still difficult to really... understand." He closed his eyes. "Because if a tomte exists, then other creatures of folklore do too. Ghosts, spirits... Maybe demonic and angelic beings too." It suddenly occurred to him---why couldn't vampires and werebeings exist too? Why couldn't lore of China, Japan, Egypt, Greece and Rome exist too? Or that of Mexico, or the various countries of South America? A tomte's existence, to Victor, opened up thousands of doors for him to investigate.

The tomte chuckled. "Whatever made you believe creatures, beings, of legend didn't exist? Humans are so silly, making themselves forget about the others that share the world with them. " They had been ignoring that for far too long. Curran had heard of how things had once been, when there was peace between the races. It had been an idyllic time... But now all that was long gone. It didn't truly bother Curran. He had never known that peace that others spoke of with fondness.

Opening his mouth to reply, Victor paused and thought. "But... I mean, they're all stories. I mean, spirits are plausible, but magic or fantasy creatures just doesn't exist... Or I mean, it didn't before you came around. Not that I knew of. I mean it was all supposed to be storytelling, things to pass the time. Because I've lived here for a while, and I've never even seen anything that wasn't... human. Just campers passing by." He sighed, closing his eyes. "But you're real. I mean, I saw a flower open up purely at your will. I can't exactly explain that away. Not a trick, of course, but... I mean, I just never... believed those silly stories. And we're nowhere near where those stories originated." He put a hand to his head, blocking out the morning sun. It was crazy. Or at least, somewhere in that general vicinity. Victor certainly didn't feel crazy.

"And what does that matter?" Curran tilted his head, and shifted so that he sat before the other man. Leaning against his palms, the tomte smiled. "We have spread through the world secretly, unbeknownst to humans. We are everywhere, and completely unseen save for a very select few. " Even so, their numbers had fallen as nature dwindled. It was the way of the world, and only certain types of beings could thrive in the new world.

Curran wasn't one of them. He had tried so hard to change his fate, and failed. It would be difficult to resign himself to it, after trying so desperately to escape.