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03-17-2015, 06:35 AM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
[ I'm really sorry for the wait, love. ]
And it's time for me to clean up your mess,
I will take it without any regret
And it's time for me to open my eyes and to recognize
We don't beat from the same heart...
It's quiet, there by the ocean—a hushed song spun from the gentle rhythm of the sea, and the feather-soft whisper of wings shearing the sky. But the gulls, with their discordant voices, were silent. Perhaps the pearly glow off the waves held them as well in awed thrall. Perhaps something about it was holy to them, respected, something so absolutely divine to make more noise than your own heart was sacrilege. Because after all—what did he know about the faith of gulls?
It was quiet, because Mauja said little, and something about it seemed to lapse the girl into silence as well. After a moment, he glanced sideways at her. Where he came from, their color was a blessing, merging flawlessly with snow and rocks, breaking up the contour of their body and hiding them more thoroughly than anything else could (is that why I lived?). Here, though... Here, they were ghosts in the night-time, cruelly reflecting the glow of moon and stars—or, in the case of tonight, the sea. Its faint glow shimmered along their pale hairs, a dew-like light cast back at the water. Two ghosts, their voices more quiet than their hearts.
What was she thinking of? Was she thinking at all? Did.. did something about him invite these interludes of silence, did something about him spark these periods of introspection in others? Because come to think of it, time seemed to move more slowly around him, like the world froze, and slowed, until things simply crawled by.. at a pace where he could pick each moment up, scrutinize it, and then put it back down.
Control.
At last I know what I should do.. Undo my sad...
He swallowed. Each time he thought about it, it hurt; but each time he didn't think about it, it felt.. right. Not easy—never easy. Life was not easy. Life was full of hardship and difficult choices. Life was.. life was full of biting down and bulling through, and hoping that some day, you would be able to stop and breathe.. that your heart would be able to beat, without that hitch, the needle-sharp whisper coming just behind every pulse. Undo what hurts so bad...
"I'm sorry for not asking earlier, but might I have the honor of knowing your name?"
She was as quiet as the seas, just another shimmering wave rolling in, its breath an echo of the leviathan roars he had sometimes heard when the storms urged the waters to crash against the cliffs. The honor... Where was the honor in knowing his name? It was just a name, a specific noise to call for his attention—a name tag to put on all the shit he had done. It wasn't the name of retribution and redemption, not the name of an angel, just.. heck; his name wasn't even something that defined him. He could outrun his name any day, run away, change it, never again be Mauja and no one would know if they came looking.
He couldn't outrun his own spots, though. So names were useless, worthless, they held power only if you knew what that body had done while bearing the name. His sins were old and dusty, and many of them not known to Helovia—what would she know of any Mauja? Most had forgotten about him, if they had ever known.
"It is Mauja," he finally said, because that was what she asked—what his name was.
Not who he was.
And he was no one, and everything, and had borne more than a single name in his lifetime. He had had more identities than this, this birth-name, and this birth-name had been worn by more than one man. After a moment his gaze slid off the child, and back to the distant horizon. Names... Names and faith and doom and.. he thought for a moment of his brother. His name meant nothing at all, but he had the end of the world spelled out across his brindled flanks. Superstition forced him to remain in the north, though they both knew that he rather would've followed Mauja back ho—
—home..? Was this home? Helovia was the cesspool he'd lived in the past four or something years, but.. He glanced up to the Edge, its pale outline murky in the lacking light. Maybe, something up there was home. Maybe, someone up there.. was home.
"Does your name mean anything?" he asked, after another of those eon-like stretches of silence; asking it seemingly of the night, because his eyes were elsewhere, something distant and thoughtful drawn across his face. But then, after a moment, he turned them back to her, the innocent child who got tangled up with a tiger, the blue of them clearer, brighter—like stars.
[ @[Myrrine] ]
And it's time for me to clean up your mess,
I will take it without any regret
And it's time for me to open my eyes and to recognize
We don't beat from the same heart...
It's quiet, there by the ocean—a hushed song spun from the gentle rhythm of the sea, and the feather-soft whisper of wings shearing the sky. But the gulls, with their discordant voices, were silent. Perhaps the pearly glow off the waves held them as well in awed thrall. Perhaps something about it was holy to them, respected, something so absolutely divine to make more noise than your own heart was sacrilege. Because after all—what did he know about the faith of gulls?
It was quiet, because Mauja said little, and something about it seemed to lapse the girl into silence as well. After a moment, he glanced sideways at her. Where he came from, their color was a blessing, merging flawlessly with snow and rocks, breaking up the contour of their body and hiding them more thoroughly than anything else could (is that why I lived?). Here, though... Here, they were ghosts in the night-time, cruelly reflecting the glow of moon and stars—or, in the case of tonight, the sea. Its faint glow shimmered along their pale hairs, a dew-like light cast back at the water. Two ghosts, their voices more quiet than their hearts.
What was she thinking of? Was she thinking at all? Did.. did something about him invite these interludes of silence, did something about him spark these periods of introspection in others? Because come to think of it, time seemed to move more slowly around him, like the world froze, and slowed, until things simply crawled by.. at a pace where he could pick each moment up, scrutinize it, and then put it back down.
Control.
At last I know what I should do.. Undo my sad...
He swallowed. Each time he thought about it, it hurt; but each time he didn't think about it, it felt.. right. Not easy—never easy. Life was not easy. Life was full of hardship and difficult choices. Life was.. life was full of biting down and bulling through, and hoping that some day, you would be able to stop and breathe.. that your heart would be able to beat, without that hitch, the needle-sharp whisper coming just behind every pulse. Undo what hurts so bad...
"I'm sorry for not asking earlier, but might I have the honor of knowing your name?"
She was as quiet as the seas, just another shimmering wave rolling in, its breath an echo of the leviathan roars he had sometimes heard when the storms urged the waters to crash against the cliffs. The honor... Where was the honor in knowing his name? It was just a name, a specific noise to call for his attention—a name tag to put on all the shit he had done. It wasn't the name of retribution and redemption, not the name of an angel, just.. heck; his name wasn't even something that defined him. He could outrun his name any day, run away, change it, never again be Mauja and no one would know if they came looking.
He couldn't outrun his own spots, though. So names were useless, worthless, they held power only if you knew what that body had done while bearing the name. His sins were old and dusty, and many of them not known to Helovia—what would she know of any Mauja? Most had forgotten about him, if they had ever known.
"It is Mauja," he finally said, because that was what she asked—what his name was.
Not who he was.
And he was no one, and everything, and had borne more than a single name in his lifetime. He had had more identities than this, this birth-name, and this birth-name had been worn by more than one man. After a moment his gaze slid off the child, and back to the distant horizon. Names... Names and faith and doom and.. he thought for a moment of his brother. His name meant nothing at all, but he had the end of the world spelled out across his brindled flanks. Superstition forced him to remain in the north, though they both knew that he rather would've followed Mauja back ho—
—home..? Was this home? Helovia was the cesspool he'd lived in the past four or something years, but.. He glanced up to the Edge, its pale outline murky in the lacking light. Maybe, something up there was home. Maybe, someone up there.. was home.
"Does your name mean anything?" he asked, after another of those eon-like stretches of silence; asking it seemingly of the night, because his eyes were elsewhere, something distant and thoughtful drawn across his face. But then, after a moment, he turned them back to her, the innocent child who got tangled up with a tiger, the blue of them clearer, brighter—like stars.
[ @[Myrrine] ]
