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tampered2006-09-12 04:35 am
last-thessaliad.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-09-12 04:35 am
Log; ongoing
When; Monday, afternoon.
Rating; PG?
Characters; Morpheus and Thessaly.
Summary; Morpheus goes to pick up a book in the library. Sadly, Thessaly was there first.
Log;
Silence reigned in the Academy. The golden halls illustrated with Christian pictures (Byzantine period, she had recognized) were almost empty. Thessaly only spotted very few people within the Cathedral (there was another tainted by angelic presences but not this one) and they avoided her very well, so she found the enjoyable stillness the witch treasured the most.
The library was at least as big as the one in the Dreaming, it had every imaginable book ever written within the bookcases - all that knowledge at the each of her hand. Oh, she loved what the City offered, even if she had a bad impression after the coffee rain that ruined her new shirt yesterday.
Holding a copy of forgotten Dialogues written by an unknown Greek Sophist (it was a treat that he was born in Thessaly), Larissa returned to her seat surrounded by volumes of ancient art and occultism, reading them and trying to ignore the ticking the best she could. She had endured worse distractions. Yet suddenly, the noise stopped. Thessaly put her book down and adjusted her glasses. Evidently, someone decided to join her in the library.
The witch frowned in recognition. The tick-tock was a better companion.
Rating; PG?
Characters; Morpheus and Thessaly.
Summary; Morpheus goes to pick up a book in the library. Sadly, Thessaly was there first.
Log;
Silence reigned in the Academy. The golden halls illustrated with Christian pictures (Byzantine period, she had recognized) were almost empty. Thessaly only spotted very few people within the Cathedral (there was another tainted by angelic presences but not this one) and they avoided her very well, so she found the enjoyable stillness the witch treasured the most.
The library was at least as big as the one in the Dreaming, it had every imaginable book ever written within the bookcases - all that knowledge at the each of her hand. Oh, she loved what the City offered, even if she had a bad impression after the coffee rain that ruined her new shirt yesterday.
Holding a copy of forgotten Dialogues written by an unknown Greek Sophist (it was a treat that he was born in Thessaly), Larissa returned to her seat surrounded by volumes of ancient art and occultism, reading them and trying to ignore the ticking the best she could. She had endured worse distractions. Yet suddenly, the noise stopped. Thessaly put her book down and adjusted her glasses. Evidently, someone decided to join her in the library.
The witch frowned in recognition. The tick-tock was a better companion.
no subject
He still retained some of his power, however, and so with a thought, he was away from the Hall of the Lost, and walking between the rows and columns of knowledge from an infinite variety of worlds, and an infinite variety of times.
The peace of the great library suited his mood today, but he had also come with a purpose.
There were many things within the Ticking-Clock that were new and interesting, and Dream was wonderfully intrigued, because for something such as he; 'new' was a near-foreign word. He had walked amongst the dreams of Gods, and mortal alike for eons upon millenia. There was so little that was truly 'new' anymore.
His purpose now was to see what may be learned from the records of the city. How it first came to be, and where it chose it's inhabitants.
Dream wished to learn so that he may, perhaps, visit these places that existed beyond the known universe.
Being what he was, Morpheus did not hear the ticking, but hecould sense the presence of another.
...a presence known to him already.
She had told him she wished to never speak to him, nor see him only a few days ago, but he was not about to leave to prserve her solitude.
Ghost-shite hands trailed over the musty spines of ordered volumes, while eyes as dark and fathomless as a nightfall without a star regarded the library's other occupant with what could be called a pained expression on a mortal.
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She had mad peace with his death. It infuriated her that he was ruining that with his abrupt appearance.
Her scrutinizing gaze dropped to the book she had been reading, reaching out to pick it up again. The witch deposited it on her lap and took out the glasses, examining the crystals as she attempted to find the right words to utter.
What she could say? She was not familiar of how to act in this situation. That ignorance bothered her.
“Not even death changed you,” she pointed out dryly. “Still so thin and brooding, Morpheus. And so very persistent to pry my solitude.” She rubbed the glass from the spectacles and placed them back over her nose. There had been no filth over them but she had a nervous quirk.Clean the blood, wash away the filth and dust, Thessaliad. “Are you looking for a book in special?” Or are you looking me? “Well, where are your manners, Morpheus?” she demanded, crossing her arms. “At least have the courtesy to greet me.”
((OOC: Triple post! I wasn’t happy with the previous one)).
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True he wasn't Lord Shaper, King of Dreams any longer but a measure of courtesy would not be too much to ask for a creature that still held the extensive power he did.
" I did not come here to disrupt your solitude" he said in a voice that one could almost swear had an echo. An echo of a long forgotten dream...
" I came looking for a book...or perhaps a story, for they are not always one in the same." The not-quite-a-voice held an edge of something else within that echo now, a taste of an edged metal.
Annoyance.
He did not need to explain himself to her, but he did so only because she spoke with the sense that she had been hurt, angry, accusatory even during thier last encounter.
He had made mention already that his 'death' was not intended to occur in such a way, but it did, and there was no changing that now.
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“Please, Morpheus,” the witch started, gesturing with a haughty bat of her hand to the bookcases, “Choose your books or ask a story from the others who dwell inside. I am not a good storyteller. My tales lack humour.”
She wanted to return to her reading as soon as possible but at the same time… It was good to converse with Morpheus again. How did she attach to him? She did not love him, she knew.
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It was true they had not parted on the best of terms...it was true that he had been much to blame for her departure from the Dreaming, but she claimed to no longer love him.
Why the emnity?
One mut have felt a deep emotion for it to turn to such emnity, so the question now was if not love, then what?
Infatuation? No, that was a hot fleeting thing that burned away quickly, even for his kind.
Curiosity? Perhaps in some sense on her part, but once that curiosity was satisfied would she not have tired of him?
That left only...kinship. Connection.
Some small part of her had to have felt a connection, and, just maybe, vice versa?
His expression turned softly nostalgic, and even hinted at a half-smile.
" There was so much revolving around and between us during our last meeting."
He said...Always one to state the obvious...
" Is it so terrible to see me 'alive'"?
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Thessaly was surprised to see a smile on Morpheus’ face. He was usually so brooding and serious, even during their best time together he remained so depressed. But that was unlike most men in love, maybe that was one of the reasons she had lingered briefly at his side.
She forced her eyes to meet his gaze again when Morpheus asked her obvious agitation of seeing him alive.
“You probably think I fear your wrath,” she pointed out calmly. She should, logically, dread what he might do. The former lover status had not protected other women from his wrath, yet her pride was so strong that could not allow herself to be nervous or wary.
Morpheus was but a tall, thin, pale man who was not even handsome. Too brooding.
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True enough; Morpheus could be called hot-tempered, were he mortal, but since there was little he could do to her in this place, he chose to set the anger at her past actions aside for the time being.
Those emotions were by no means gone, however, but curiosity was a stronger sensation, and one he meant to see satisfied.
If her answers pleased him, then he had every intention of leaving well enough alone.
After all; the last time he punished one of his lovers for the grave sin of not accepting the extraordinary gifts he wished to bestow on her....well...he had cause to rue that day.
Perhaps, though, this temperance stemmed from the current lack of desire to hurt her as hehad bee hurt by her.
He did not feel such pain at thier parting...but later there had been a sense of nostalgia that the once-dream-king was unfamiliar with, and now that he was 'retired', so to say, he was intent on enjoying such senations when the oppurtunity presented itself.
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“Perhaps…” started the witch, musing her answer carefully. “Perhaps is because that I never truly saw you as Dream of the Endless. I may have called you Dream King or the like but you were always… a pale, thin, brooding man to me.” She paused, realizing something. “This was probably the reason why I was furious when you started to neglect our relationship. I never considered you Dream, therefore your duty and rules weren’t important.”
She tilted her head to a side, moving to sit again. “Did the answer satisfy you?” Thessaly had never been awed or impressed by him, she knew that very well and thought Morpheus had been aware of that.
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" It is not uncommon for many to forget what I am, and that I was created to serve a purpose, beyond that of my own wishes" he commented, essentially agreeing with her observation.
In truth, a large part of the allure she held was the fact she did not harbor some small amount of enchanted awe at who he was, and the percieved power he represented. Perhaps the fault was with both of them, for he had been intrigued by her willingness to regard him as simply a man.
Both had forgotten that though he may act, and look to an extent, mortal; he was not.
There were too many things expected of him, and even now he was still fullfilling the responsibilities set out for him by the current Dream ( who could not pass the boundaries of The Ciy)
"I am not satisfied, or dissatisfied." he replied neutrally.
It seemed an easier path to allow her to come to many of these realizations on her own, else she would discredit his words for the simple fact it was he, instead of she, that said them.
A feint smile settled across his features as a shaft of sunlight arched from the upper window casement and settled in her hair.
She had always fascinated him. Her beauty born of a strength of character rather than outward appearence, and perhaps it was fascination that led him to court her, rather than a sense of love?
He could not say...for love was a thing he understood only in the abstract, and never in it's application to him.
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“Perhaps, but I know what you were and what you could do,” Thessaly pointed out, passing a yellow page idly. “Even so, I never regarded you as such.” That was probably a mistake, it would have spared them many trouble.
He did not leave. Wasn’t he going to choose a book or two? The more time he stayed, the worse for her to remain alone. She knew; it was illogical and frustrating.
“If I answer to your first query, will you choose your books?” inquired the witch, meaning the reason why it was so terrible to see him alive. Maybe if she had no more mysteries, Morpheus would stop haunting her.
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If she truly wished for solitude, he would grant her that, but not before she answered her own questions by seemingly answering his.
" Very well." he replied neutrally. His voice a whisper of resigned temperance.
" I will leave you in peace, if you give me an answer."
As if to prove his good intensions, he drew a small, crumblingbook from the shelf.
Morpheus, of all people, understood the way locating something lost, misplaced, or quite simply; desired worked.
One must needs think of that which they sought, at the exclusion of all else, and then let the city provide.
The tiny book he held would be what he sought, of not all of what he sought.
This place was very selective on what it wished to provide, after all.
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"Will you be able to leave me in peace?" wondered aloud, removing her glasses one last time. A nervous quirk she wished to stomp down.
How could he grant her peace if he would haunt her even if he was absent.
"Very well, I will tell you why it's so terrible to see you," Larissa agreed at last, tempted to be petty and utter a lie: that he was despicable and his presence destroyed her small joys. But what would be the point? He would know she was insulting him in purpose. Instead, she braced herself and looked down, a shadow crossed her features. "Because I was trying to mourn you, Morpheus. I was there at your funeral, I bid my farewells, I wept for your loss when your other women did not shed a single tear and I was about to close the chapter by avenging you." She looked distressed as the witch met his gaze again. A distress that became resignation. "Yet you appear, alive, in front of me. You don't understand how... that is." Painful? Joyful? Bittersweet?
She put her spectacles on again before she started to cry again. No more tears, not for him. She had shed enough when she should not have offered any.
"Are you satisfied? I forgot, you are neither satisfied or unsatisfied," she repeated dryly.
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There was little to be said to such a revelation, though a mortal man may have tried.
Instead Morpheus simply watched her reign in her emotions and look at him as though daring him to gainsay her feelings.
Feelings she denied even to herself.
He had loved her once...or rather, had felt something akin to love.
Perhaps it had been...or perhaps it had only been adream of love. A dream of what many wish love could be.
Contrary to appearences he did feel regret at the thought of her shedding tears for him, and so without words or warning, he reached out one pale hand and traced a single finger across her cheek as though following the trail of an imaginary tear.
In a blink of an eye, or rather the emergence of her irritable expression at being touched so intimatly, he had dissapeared.
Leaving only a few startled dust motes shimmering in the beam of sunlight that cut through the window.
She had asked for him to leave her be, though unfortunatly he could not leave her in complete peace.