Hammered out at last
Mar. 16th, 2003 03:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparkindarknessBah. Not happy with this one, I may come back and severely edit later. I've become seriously unhappy with my writing style, too descriptive, too much waffle. I can almost feel the Monty Python crew in the background screaming "Get on with it!"
It was good in my head, but putting it on paper (figuratively speaking) required much hammering. It doesn't help that my muse is cheerfully throwing hard core sex scenes at me. Gah, be patient wretched muse! Will someone distract Erato long enough for me to attract Melpomene's attention?
::mutters and rants for hours on end::
There is power here tonight. Magic rides the air, it's wild and strong and energising. I focus my sight briefly and see the wispy forms of spirits riding the air and power. What is happening? Who could call spirits here, in the middle of the city? Who would want to? They're driving the dancers to a frenzy - certainly an unusual use for the spirit world. The feel of life is thick and rich. This shaman is good.
The spirits avoid me. They know darkness when they see it, they won't come near the diseased pariah. Good. I shudder to think what I would do if these things tried to drive me to wildness. Few would survive. A part of me smiles at the thought and I shiver again.
There. He dances with the energy of sheer joy. His movements are fluid and wild, utterly abandonning all thoughts of propriety, all worries of what people think. He dances as someone who knows what he is, where he is and loves every second. I can't help but watch him. Watching the wild gyrations of those limbs and sheer exuberance of his every movement. Wildness given human flesh. I swallow convulsively.
NO! I jerk my head away, angrily. My power flares up, driving the spirits a little further back. I will NOT be part of this! I will not surrender to this! But the image of his body is branded on my eyes. Tall and slender, but strong, beautifully muscled. Yellow blond hair bleached by some sunnier climate teasing around his ears. Unruly ruffled hair that could never be tamed - not curly, not wavy, just wild. Uncontrolled, like him. His eyes are blue, not the dark, deep pools leavened with darkness that stare leadenly from my face. No, they are pale sky blue, touched with sunlight and shining brightly with energy and mischief. The whole effect makes me think of a mischievous child. No, something older, stronger... sexier.
Someone for illegal raves, week-long parties. Someone for spontaneous action and mad, joyful plans. Someone not afraid of fun, of life, no matter what. Someone for a wild ride and mad passion under the noon day sun.
I close my eyes. I cannot fall into this temptation. Not again. Please gods, not again. Behind my closed eyelids I am tormented with an image of my last lover. I see David's beautiful face twisted in a scream, I see a hand stretched out, rotting, corrupted, dead. I shake away the image. The memories won't leave so easily.
Oh gods, why?! He's sat next to me - he's a shaman! Can't he feel what I am? Why doesn't he run? Why doesn't he scream? Time to stop this now, no matter how gorgeous the smile in that pretty tanned face. I turn away. Read the body language, flee now and you can spare yourself a painful death.
And spare me another agonizing step into darkness.
"Don't you like dancing?" The question catches me off guard, I turn to look back at him before I think. Eyes innocent and open as the sky stare back.
"Excuse me?"
"Hey, cool, are you British or something? C'mon I never danced with a European before!" I grace him with a cold glare, and signal the barman to top up my whiskey. The stuff over here's foul, but I need alcohol tonight, something to ease the depression of my failed ending. Trying to get drunk off american beer is only slightly more effective than trying to get drunk off the tap water. Slightly.
"What, you don't dance? I suppose the hair gets in the way. By the way, the all black? That is an ultra-cool look."
He was tenacious, I had to grant him that. But his exuberant energy was making me feel worse. Reminded me too much of what I cannot have, what I can never have again. Time to get rid of him.
"I don't care how it looks. I only have black clothes - I have more important worries than clothing. Far more than to listen to clumsy pick up lines."
Yes, like the fact that I am evil incarnate and likely to cause genocide and even worse humanitarian disasters on a grand scale. That everyone close to me will eventually die. Don't look at me like that, I'm not being melodramatic. I've been there, they've been close, most of them are dead. They died slow. Those who survived wished they hadn't and doubtlessly curse my name every morning they wake and every night they sleep. Hah, like there's any point. I am already cursed beyond anything they have the power to inflict. Already damned beyond any hell they can imagine.
He looks shocked. Ah, the pretty boy's ego is hurt. Hah, if that is the worse fate he suffers near me then he is luckier than he will ever know.
Damn. He looks hurt, upset. My hand has reached out for him before I realize, I quickly drag it back. No! I cannot, WILL NOT go through this again! I have too much pain to welcome so deep a wound. No matter how much I want the guy, how lonely and empty I am, I cannot go through that again!
I stand and leave the bar. I can't take his presence any longer. His vibrant, beautiful life mocks me with everything I so desperately want and can never have. I push through the thin crowd, out onto the street, turn into an alley and lean back, closing my eyes and try to get a grip. Images of David scream in front of me. His last words desperate, pained, cracked and alien from a ruined face and ravaged body. "Why?.. Darren, why?... Please... help... please.!" Like a dagger. "please... love.. why?" Never again.
He grabs my arm. What is wrong with this man! He's followed me! I feel his life energy pour along my skin. I open my eyes and find myself looking directly into his - eyes wide with concern and worry. Eyes of kindness. Eyes that offer hope, offer pleasure, offer happiness. A smile, gentle and sincere. He can help ease the pain.
No.. it's a lie. It has to be a lie. Never again. Never again. I push him back, fighting tears. His sympathy mocks me! His kindness is just another weapon against me! His hope another way to bleed!
"What is wrong with you, fool?! Can't you feel what I am? Do you hate life so much, you would throw it away so casually?" how can he look so surprised? So shocked? "Idiot. I'm a sorceror! A necromancer! An infernalist! Do you even know what that means?" My voice has dropped to an acid hiss, fury and frustration war with grief that decorates my cheeks with silent tears. "I am darkness! Run back into the light, you lunatic! Run back while you still can!"
It whirl, my coat flaring like a cape, or the wings of some vile daemon and run, run from his shocked hurt face. Run from his pity. PITY! Run, shaking with silent sobs I cannot suppress.
He grabs my arm again. The man WANTS to die. "Please! Let me help you!" Help. David offered his help. That was the first thing he said when we met. 'I can help you. Let me try.' The memory drives me to my knees. The darkness feeds on it, on my pain and soars angrily through me. I turn to him with eyes eaten by darkness, black from edge to edge. The wards flare and begin to burn.
My voice is a whisper, there's too much pain for more. "You cannot help. No-one can." I gather my power and throw it at him. The wards scream, wracking my body with burning agony. The sickly smell of burnt flesh fills the air. He flies back, the spirits that guard and protect him flee in the face of my magic. They are wiser than him. He hits so hard he bounces and rolls. Not stopping until he hits heavily against the building across the street.
Maybe he's dead. Either way he is away from me. If he's dead, it's far kinder than David's death. I stagger home, hunched over the pain of the wards. I stop only once. At an off-licence. Maybe I can finish with alcohol what I couldn't with knives.
It was good in my head, but putting it on paper (figuratively speaking) required much hammering. It doesn't help that my muse is cheerfully throwing hard core sex scenes at me. Gah, be patient wretched muse! Will someone distract Erato long enough for me to attract Melpomene's attention?
::mutters and rants for hours on end::
There is power here tonight. Magic rides the air, it's wild and strong and energising. I focus my sight briefly and see the wispy forms of spirits riding the air and power. What is happening? Who could call spirits here, in the middle of the city? Who would want to? They're driving the dancers to a frenzy - certainly an unusual use for the spirit world. The feel of life is thick and rich. This shaman is good.
The spirits avoid me. They know darkness when they see it, they won't come near the diseased pariah. Good. I shudder to think what I would do if these things tried to drive me to wildness. Few would survive. A part of me smiles at the thought and I shiver again.
There. He dances with the energy of sheer joy. His movements are fluid and wild, utterly abandonning all thoughts of propriety, all worries of what people think. He dances as someone who knows what he is, where he is and loves every second. I can't help but watch him. Watching the wild gyrations of those limbs and sheer exuberance of his every movement. Wildness given human flesh. I swallow convulsively.
NO! I jerk my head away, angrily. My power flares up, driving the spirits a little further back. I will NOT be part of this! I will not surrender to this! But the image of his body is branded on my eyes. Tall and slender, but strong, beautifully muscled. Yellow blond hair bleached by some sunnier climate teasing around his ears. Unruly ruffled hair that could never be tamed - not curly, not wavy, just wild. Uncontrolled, like him. His eyes are blue, not the dark, deep pools leavened with darkness that stare leadenly from my face. No, they are pale sky blue, touched with sunlight and shining brightly with energy and mischief. The whole effect makes me think of a mischievous child. No, something older, stronger... sexier.
Someone for illegal raves, week-long parties. Someone for spontaneous action and mad, joyful plans. Someone not afraid of fun, of life, no matter what. Someone for a wild ride and mad passion under the noon day sun.
I close my eyes. I cannot fall into this temptation. Not again. Please gods, not again. Behind my closed eyelids I am tormented with an image of my last lover. I see David's beautiful face twisted in a scream, I see a hand stretched out, rotting, corrupted, dead. I shake away the image. The memories won't leave so easily.
Oh gods, why?! He's sat next to me - he's a shaman! Can't he feel what I am? Why doesn't he run? Why doesn't he scream? Time to stop this now, no matter how gorgeous the smile in that pretty tanned face. I turn away. Read the body language, flee now and you can spare yourself a painful death.
And spare me another agonizing step into darkness.
"Don't you like dancing?" The question catches me off guard, I turn to look back at him before I think. Eyes innocent and open as the sky stare back.
"Excuse me?"
"Hey, cool, are you British or something? C'mon I never danced with a European before!" I grace him with a cold glare, and signal the barman to top up my whiskey. The stuff over here's foul, but I need alcohol tonight, something to ease the depression of my failed ending. Trying to get drunk off american beer is only slightly more effective than trying to get drunk off the tap water. Slightly.
"What, you don't dance? I suppose the hair gets in the way. By the way, the all black? That is an ultra-cool look."
He was tenacious, I had to grant him that. But his exuberant energy was making me feel worse. Reminded me too much of what I cannot have, what I can never have again. Time to get rid of him.
"I don't care how it looks. I only have black clothes - I have more important worries than clothing. Far more than to listen to clumsy pick up lines."
Yes, like the fact that I am evil incarnate and likely to cause genocide and even worse humanitarian disasters on a grand scale. That everyone close to me will eventually die. Don't look at me like that, I'm not being melodramatic. I've been there, they've been close, most of them are dead. They died slow. Those who survived wished they hadn't and doubtlessly curse my name every morning they wake and every night they sleep. Hah, like there's any point. I am already cursed beyond anything they have the power to inflict. Already damned beyond any hell they can imagine.
He looks shocked. Ah, the pretty boy's ego is hurt. Hah, if that is the worse fate he suffers near me then he is luckier than he will ever know.
Damn. He looks hurt, upset. My hand has reached out for him before I realize, I quickly drag it back. No! I cannot, WILL NOT go through this again! I have too much pain to welcome so deep a wound. No matter how much I want the guy, how lonely and empty I am, I cannot go through that again!
I stand and leave the bar. I can't take his presence any longer. His vibrant, beautiful life mocks me with everything I so desperately want and can never have. I push through the thin crowd, out onto the street, turn into an alley and lean back, closing my eyes and try to get a grip. Images of David scream in front of me. His last words desperate, pained, cracked and alien from a ruined face and ravaged body. "Why?.. Darren, why?... Please... help... please.!" Like a dagger. "please... love.. why?" Never again.
He grabs my arm. What is wrong with this man! He's followed me! I feel his life energy pour along my skin. I open my eyes and find myself looking directly into his - eyes wide with concern and worry. Eyes of kindness. Eyes that offer hope, offer pleasure, offer happiness. A smile, gentle and sincere. He can help ease the pain.
No.. it's a lie. It has to be a lie. Never again. Never again. I push him back, fighting tears. His sympathy mocks me! His kindness is just another weapon against me! His hope another way to bleed!
"What is wrong with you, fool?! Can't you feel what I am? Do you hate life so much, you would throw it away so casually?" how can he look so surprised? So shocked? "Idiot. I'm a sorceror! A necromancer! An infernalist! Do you even know what that means?" My voice has dropped to an acid hiss, fury and frustration war with grief that decorates my cheeks with silent tears. "I am darkness! Run back into the light, you lunatic! Run back while you still can!"
It whirl, my coat flaring like a cape, or the wings of some vile daemon and run, run from his shocked hurt face. Run from his pity. PITY! Run, shaking with silent sobs I cannot suppress.
He grabs my arm again. The man WANTS to die. "Please! Let me help you!" Help. David offered his help. That was the first thing he said when we met. 'I can help you. Let me try.' The memory drives me to my knees. The darkness feeds on it, on my pain and soars angrily through me. I turn to him with eyes eaten by darkness, black from edge to edge. The wards flare and begin to burn.
My voice is a whisper, there's too much pain for more. "You cannot help. No-one can." I gather my power and throw it at him. The wards scream, wracking my body with burning agony. The sickly smell of burnt flesh fills the air. He flies back, the spirits that guard and protect him flee in the face of my magic. They are wiser than him. He hits so hard he bounces and rolls. Not stopping until he hits heavily against the building across the street.
Maybe he's dead. Either way he is away from me. If he's dead, it's far kinder than David's death. I stagger home, hunched over the pain of the wards. I stop only once. At an off-licence. Maybe I can finish with alcohol what I couldn't with knives.