the marquis de Carabas (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mattersverymuch) wrote2014-01-27 07:20 pm
mattersverymuch) wrote2014-01-27 07:20 pm
19 ɂ spam & text; fin.
spam } snow
[He doesn't know how he knows. He just does. Every atom in him turns like a key in a lock, with a very nearly audible click.]
[All that's left to do is wait. Which he does on the deck, looking out at the stars with a curious and abnormal stillness.]
private } ned
I want pie.
[Firm and straightforward, for once.]
private } door
[He heard it once, from mysterious sources. His voice is rich, thick, syrupy as he repeats it. The sound of satisfaction.]
I turn my head and you may go where you want. I turn it again, you will stay 'til you rot. I have no face, but I live or die by my crooked teeth.
What am I?
spam } dean
[It's easy enough to let himself into Dean's room after all this time. He knows how and, moreover, is allowed; is encouraged, in a silent way. Because Dean is his friend.]
[Out of respect, he doesn't sit on the bed, but leans against the dresser and thumbs through one of the more arcane books on the shelf, for something to do until his friend - his friend - comes back.]
[Attachment was unforeseen, and distresses him.]
text } public
[The marquis de Carabas is not in the habit of goodbyes; certainly not to a population that he is not, as a whole, fond of. This is what he gives instead, as a gift, or something.]
There are a hundred thousand ways to die, a hundred thousand traditions of death, a hundred thousand death gods. The people who know all of them are probably dead. [Which is fitting enough.] But death isn't exactly real.
An image can die. A person can die. But they don't have to.
There was a monstrous giant named Goëmagot, set by fate or one or the other's stupidity against Corineus in what is now Cornwall. He slaughtered a number of men who are forgotten by history and then was captured, by some miracle, by Corineus, who wanted to wrestle him, to best him. Goëmagot broke three of Corineus's ribs; then Corineus threw him into the sea, and Goëmagot died. That place is called Lam Goëgamot - Goëgamot's Leap - probably to rub it in.
So the giant was dead. But remembered alongside Corineus, which was probably not the man's intention. Corineus is, in fact, inextricably tied with the story of the monster now. And somewhere under the ground two very tall men walk hand in hand, and we call them Gog and Magog, because that's what they're called. That's what they've always been called.
That's what death is.
[And that's all.]
[There may be a point, but there is no moral.]
[He doesn't know how he knows. He just does. Every atom in him turns like a key in a lock, with a very nearly audible click.]
[All that's left to do is wait. Which he does on the deck, looking out at the stars with a curious and abnormal stillness.]
private } ned
I want pie.
[Firm and straightforward, for once.]
private } door
[He heard it once, from mysterious sources. His voice is rich, thick, syrupy as he repeats it. The sound of satisfaction.]
I turn my head and you may go where you want. I turn it again, you will stay 'til you rot. I have no face, but I live or die by my crooked teeth.
What am I?
spam } dean
[It's easy enough to let himself into Dean's room after all this time. He knows how and, moreover, is allowed; is encouraged, in a silent way. Because Dean is his friend.]
[Out of respect, he doesn't sit on the bed, but leans against the dresser and thumbs through one of the more arcane books on the shelf, for something to do until his friend - his friend - comes back.]
[Attachment was unforeseen, and distresses him.]
text } public
[The marquis de Carabas is not in the habit of goodbyes; certainly not to a population that he is not, as a whole, fond of. This is what he gives instead, as a gift, or something.]
There are a hundred thousand ways to die, a hundred thousand traditions of death, a hundred thousand death gods. The people who know all of them are probably dead. [Which is fitting enough.] But death isn't exactly real.
An image can die. A person can die. But they don't have to.
There was a monstrous giant named Goëmagot, set by fate or one or the other's stupidity against Corineus in what is now Cornwall. He slaughtered a number of men who are forgotten by history and then was captured, by some miracle, by Corineus, who wanted to wrestle him, to best him. Goëmagot broke three of Corineus's ribs; then Corineus threw him into the sea, and Goëmagot died. That place is called Lam Goëgamot - Goëgamot's Leap - probably to rub it in.
So the giant was dead. But remembered alongside Corineus, which was probably not the man's intention. Corineus is, in fact, inextricably tied with the story of the monster now. And somewhere under the ground two very tall men walk hand in hand, and we call them Gog and Magog, because that's what they're called. That's what they've always been called.
That's what death is.
[And that's all.]
[There may be a point, but there is no moral.]
spam
spam
[It's odd to care for such a creature. Fragile as a well-moisturized fist to the face. But then, he's never cared for those who couldn't care for themselves.]
[After a while:]
Space is so extravagant. I still don't understand the point of it.
spam
[She looks at him finally.]
spam
Is it? If you say so. Vast and beyond oneself isn't all it's cracked up to be.
spam
No, I suppose it is not.
spam
[He grins.]
Aren't you supposed to be congratulating me? No manners at all.
spam
What? Should I reward you with a knighthood?
spam
[Like, obviously. Duh.]
spam
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Not nearly half as much as friendship, de Carabas.
spam
Oh, you've ruined it now. We were doing so well.
spam
[She "threatens" with an arm like she just might.]
spam
Don't you dare.
spam
You're probably absolute rubbish at giving hugs at any rate.
spam
[He has no practice. Therefore, he's definitely terrible.]
spam
[She cants her head.]
What shall you do Below now?
[Because there's no doubt in her mind he will return home. Where he belongs.]
spam
[Use his contacts to bind rather than to fray. It may work, it may not. But he's preparing the way for something greater.]
Try not to get too many people killed along the way.
spam
[Snow realizes that's about as good as it will get for de Carabas. He's better, not changed. In some ways, that's perhaps for the best. Below is a ruthless place and kindness would not do in the long run.]
spam
[He hesitates - truly hesitates, it isn't deliberate - and considers his hands, the calluses on his knuckles.]
I suppose that's my role now. [My archetype. He doesn't say it. But it helps to think it.]
spam
[That goodness, regardless of how much is there, has always been there as far as she's concerned.]
spam
[Which means thank you.]
[And incidentally, something occurs to him.]
What was your deal? I never thought to ask.
spam
I sought to undo Ravenna's suffering.
[Because she did not believe Ravenna was a wicked woman. She was simply struggling to survive, to have the control that was wrenched from her.]
[Snow can only pray that perhaps if her life had not been so full of pain and helplessness that she might have led a happier one.]
spam
[He smiles, vague.]
Do you believe you'll see her when you return?
spam
I do not know. Truthfully, I've no idea for how long magic prolonged Ravenna's life.
[She supposes it boils down to whether or not Snow would want to see her.]
I would be satisfied simply knowing that she lived well, but I suppose a selfish part of me would like to see it for my own eyes.
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