Carin tat....
Jun. 4th, 2008 02:10 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
unifex.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
writing_shadowsAfter several starts and stops, finally a piece of Carin fiction. I promise only that it might not be worth reading. It;'s wroth noting that a chunk of this was written ,then the project forgotten for a while, so there is a marked pace for the end. For this I apologise, and ask only readers treat it kindly.
If you were to ask his friends to describe him, they would be hard pressed to name any specific quality that summarised him. 'Flummery' Rea might say, but then she would be hard pressed to define that, save as 'Like Carin'. 'He scores Carin on the Carin scale', Jack might observe, yet such, to an onlooker, was not the most useful description. Possibly Doug would simply look at you in bemusement at the idea that you wanted to know about him, and hadn't yet spoken with him.
Carin, on the other hand knew perfectly well who he was. Currently he was the person shaving inordinantly carefully in front of a silvered mirror. He chose to leave the somewhat speculative questions as to the deeper metaphysics until he was certain that his throat was safe. You see, unlike others in this modern and civilized time, Carin approved of straight blade razors, and lather made in pots. It seemed to him almost unfair to put blades in a cage, and the notion of using electricity to power the whole thing was distinctly unsporting. Shaving with a straight blade taught you very swiftly some important facts about life. Primarily that blades were sharp. He thought that this lesson was one worth reminding himself of frequently.
He stared into the mirror, watching the undeniably handsome man look back at him. Carin was aware he was good looking. He didn't understand why people thought it was immodest for him to say so - truth, in his opinion, was not a subjective affair, and if one possessed a quality, one should refer to it honestly when it arose, and not lay a complicated web of words that might, if examined closely, refer the listener to the fact at hand. He watched as the mirror slowly became obscured aby the steam, and then looked harder, picturing faces other than his own in the covered glass.
The first face that leapt to mind was Doug. The Truefriend had been at Carins side, in Arcadia and then out of it, for almost as long as he could recall. Certainly since the time he had considered himself to be Carin rather than the person whos life he no longer wanted. The only time that the two of them had been apart for more than a few days was after Carin had escaped, and before Doug had rejoined him. Doug, in many ways, was everything that Carin was not - Carin was fastidious as to his routine, Doug was - Carin would admit - a whirling ball of chaos that abhorred the very idea of closed doors. Carin would stare at distant horizons, part of him yearning to go, to look, to see. Doug, if asked where he wanted to go would rarely be further than a stones throw from Carins side. Carin knew he spoke swiftly, cleverly, and potically. Doug jsut spoke his mind. Yet Carin knew that Doug was truely at his side, and that the day when one of them was no more, it was likely that the other would be lying at their side. Maybe it was the fact that differences attracted, but Doug occupied a special place in Carins heart, and he was deeply honoured that the Beast chose to remain with him after leaving the Hedge.
As he stared longer into the steam, the second face arose, grinning back at him. Jack was the third escapeee he knew of from their keeper. One forged, not into a Lord or a Hound, but into a creature of smoke and fire, a burning ember that embodied so many of the aspects that fire was. Carin respected the Elemental, and knew that he was a creature of his place - the boundary between the dark and the light, the known and the unknown. Jacks nature was something that Carin often pondered upon - by his very being, Jack was something that was not solid, a phantom, yet Carin knew without doubt that Jack would not leave the motley, nor betray a trust given and accepted. If the Fairest was teh Lord in the Keep, the Elemental was the watcher in the night, the Border Baron who carried his own light, for in the wilds there was none.
The third face was suprising to him. He had expected it to be Cormac staring back at him, but rather it was the childishly perfect appearance of Rosie. Whilst Carins features were fair - of his Seeming none ere ugly, and most attractive, yet in any description of beauty, Rosie would have to be held as a form of perfection. Sculpted, she shone in any company, everything about her having been craftedd to pelase the eye. Her nature was wahat truely captured Carin though - she was in his mind the most 'Lost' of all those he knew, a child wounded, and reaching for the only family she knew. Around her he felt inadequate, not a feeling he was either comfortable with or overly familiar with. She was compelling in a way that the others were not however - part of him for humanitarin reasons. Partly... He did not enjoy admitting it, but partly because she knew how to react when he flew into a temper, and her presence called to the part of him that he feared, and that slunk behind his eyes. If Doug was his friend, then Rosie was his daughter, and he loved her well.
He shook his head, and wiped his mirror, and then his face before looking back. The tears had begun to form when he thought of these people. He was not comfortable with loving, yet he knew in his own way he loved them all, the faces formed, and the ones yet to come.
He looked up, and for a second it was Aidan looking back at him. Aidan... Aidan spoke to the part of his that didn't want to scream defiance to the heavens, and to challenge the Gods themselves for daring to question him. Although Carin had arguably the clearer view, he knew that the hawk was a keystone in his mind. Aidan was, if Jack was the far ranger, the eyes that watched the home and hearth. The dragon smiled as he raised the silver blade to his neck. He knew that whislt the hawk flew, his home was safe. He wasn't certain that, if they were not Motleyed, he would be friends with the eagle eyed man, but as they were, he knew they were closer than blood. Aidan was the other lens in his mind - he took care of the details enough to allow the Draconics mind to focus on pictures he knew would never have been possible without the assistance that the other offered.
Cormac followed from the piercing gaze, and Carin felt - not guilt, for the heavy hand of that fell stranger was alien to him, but regret. Cormac had come to him to learn of the clarity of thought and division of self, and had learned first hand that the devastating lack of illusion of determining your own destiny could come at a heavy cost, both to you, and to those around you. The darkling spoke to Carin of the path that he was not following, but he could have done. The small voice in the back of his mind spoke quietly that Cormac was a noble and worthwhile companion. It suggested that Cormac had learned the last lesson he needed, and that when he was broug...
Carin paused, and grimaced, then brought the knife back to his neck, feeling hte cool metal. The slight nick, and the red dot of blood that welled out served him as a reminder of where he was, and what he was, as pointedly as the whole ritual.
Cormac was a friend who knew a great deal aabout value. Worth he was still learning, and how to be honest, that he knew next to not at all. It was, however, anobservation that in many ways Cormac came terrifying close to the perfection of Clarity - he had mastered the lack of pretending to be what he was not. He had simply missed the division of that which was, that which the Fae had made him, and that which he had been. He wore no mask, but stared into an oil covered mirror.
Rea followed on the Darklings heels her weathered face welcome. She didn't like it when he called her beautiful but she wore her own face, and he saw a glorious beauty in that. Not conventionally, certainly - he would never call her pretty, but there was a handsome quality he admired, coupled with her loyalty, and a dedication to the motley as a whole that was unshakable.
He sighed.
It would, however, be nice if the word 'diplomacy' would ever appear in her dictionary as something more than a vague word that seemed to mean much the same as 'flummery' - a word Carin was still exploring the depths of.
Tetsuyo was the last image of his motley to arise from the depths of his mind, to be painted in the impish swirls on the mirror. In theory, the shaver knew, they were the closest of the motley - twins in both kith and seeming, yet it seemed so often that there the comparison ended. Carin delighted in precision, and found his life comfortable when surrounded by formula, and ritual. The other seemed to ignore any form of protocol, save when it related to his hoard. Carin intially would tend towards an aimiable impression, whislt the dother would be suspicious. Yet Carin could see the points - when thTe started arguing over the palcement of a point, part of the bucaneer wanted to agree with him. When the other hoarded, and looked out jealously, Carin would feel the same urges. Whether it was a path less walked, or a idifference in their upbringing, Carin knew that Te was not so far removed from him that he could look at him without any knowledge that he as seeing himself. The thought both comforted, and worried Carin, for reasosn he was not certain he fully understood.
His motley. The Cavaliers. Carin rinsed his face, lookign at himself in the mirror once more before turning away and stepping into the bed chamber. There lay one of the two others who dwelled mightily in his thoughts. Aria.
He spent a moment studying her face. Long and elfin, the sight was framed by the scent of the flowers around her. He had known her since shortly after his escape from the other place (Even now his mind rebelled against naming it casually. He had admiration for those that could, but to his mind the naming and the calling were sites located too closely together for him to have comfort), and over that time they had been lovers, friends, shrews, and foes. His skin bore more scars from her than it did from any other individual, yet he knew that, outwith of those he was sorn to, she was the one person he would march to the gates of Hell for, and lay siege to heaven itself. He'd asked her to marry him, and his mild amazement at being accepted still soemtimes shocked him. With her in his life, he felt that the dawn rising, and the one after, were bright things indeed.
His mind went to one last person as he went to push open the blinds. One person who, although not Oathbound, he considered family. The large, heavy form of Deyinera formed up. Student, and companion, he had taught her to dance to the tread invisible, and to carr ythat dance into everything you do, be it wa, or poetry, swimming, or talking. She was, he knew, a better warrior by far, and as a Summer Courtier, more closely embodied the wrath incarnadine, yet still was unsettled in herself, still lacked the inner certainty. He lvoed her for it, not that such words would ever cross his lips, and he knew that, as with the others he had thought of, he could place his life in her hands, and know that should it be spilled, he would not alone journey to the dark halls.
As he reached for the blinds, and threw them aside, he pondered on his fate - to have met not only these, but the others - Aline, gacefuul in name and deed - a freind who had grown from an uncertain start. Sokol, the blazing Summer baron whos grim and humourless face played coutnerpoint to his own. Steampunk, the laughing lord of Dunasheen who communed with Carin on a level that defied any attempt to communicate. Amen, the flowering monarch who was everything Carin would have loved to be, but could not step away from his wall long enough to put down his sword to mimic, Smoke, foull of the mysteries and liberties of Eatern Europe. All those who who considered himself to be priviledged to know, all those who made up his world, and gave him his frame in this place.
Behind him sthere was strirring, and the pad of soft footsteps. He turned as her arms reached up, and her scent clouded around him.
Life, he wondered, could be so marvellous. And moments such as this were why he belted on his blade. He loved them all, and love stories never end.
If you were to ask his friends to describe him, they would be hard pressed to name any specific quality that summarised him. 'Flummery' Rea might say, but then she would be hard pressed to define that, save as 'Like Carin'. 'He scores Carin on the Carin scale', Jack might observe, yet such, to an onlooker, was not the most useful description. Possibly Doug would simply look at you in bemusement at the idea that you wanted to know about him, and hadn't yet spoken with him.
Carin, on the other hand knew perfectly well who he was. Currently he was the person shaving inordinantly carefully in front of a silvered mirror. He chose to leave the somewhat speculative questions as to the deeper metaphysics until he was certain that his throat was safe. You see, unlike others in this modern and civilized time, Carin approved of straight blade razors, and lather made in pots. It seemed to him almost unfair to put blades in a cage, and the notion of using electricity to power the whole thing was distinctly unsporting. Shaving with a straight blade taught you very swiftly some important facts about life. Primarily that blades were sharp. He thought that this lesson was one worth reminding himself of frequently.
He stared into the mirror, watching the undeniably handsome man look back at him. Carin was aware he was good looking. He didn't understand why people thought it was immodest for him to say so - truth, in his opinion, was not a subjective affair, and if one possessed a quality, one should refer to it honestly when it arose, and not lay a complicated web of words that might, if examined closely, refer the listener to the fact at hand. He watched as the mirror slowly became obscured aby the steam, and then looked harder, picturing faces other than his own in the covered glass.
The first face that leapt to mind was Doug. The Truefriend had been at Carins side, in Arcadia and then out of it, for almost as long as he could recall. Certainly since the time he had considered himself to be Carin rather than the person whos life he no longer wanted. The only time that the two of them had been apart for more than a few days was after Carin had escaped, and before Doug had rejoined him. Doug, in many ways, was everything that Carin was not - Carin was fastidious as to his routine, Doug was - Carin would admit - a whirling ball of chaos that abhorred the very idea of closed doors. Carin would stare at distant horizons, part of him yearning to go, to look, to see. Doug, if asked where he wanted to go would rarely be further than a stones throw from Carins side. Carin knew he spoke swiftly, cleverly, and potically. Doug jsut spoke his mind. Yet Carin knew that Doug was truely at his side, and that the day when one of them was no more, it was likely that the other would be lying at their side. Maybe it was the fact that differences attracted, but Doug occupied a special place in Carins heart, and he was deeply honoured that the Beast chose to remain with him after leaving the Hedge.
As he stared longer into the steam, the second face arose, grinning back at him. Jack was the third escapeee he knew of from their keeper. One forged, not into a Lord or a Hound, but into a creature of smoke and fire, a burning ember that embodied so many of the aspects that fire was. Carin respected the Elemental, and knew that he was a creature of his place - the boundary between the dark and the light, the known and the unknown. Jacks nature was something that Carin often pondered upon - by his very being, Jack was something that was not solid, a phantom, yet Carin knew without doubt that Jack would not leave the motley, nor betray a trust given and accepted. If the Fairest was teh Lord in the Keep, the Elemental was the watcher in the night, the Border Baron who carried his own light, for in the wilds there was none.
The third face was suprising to him. He had expected it to be Cormac staring back at him, but rather it was the childishly perfect appearance of Rosie. Whilst Carins features were fair - of his Seeming none ere ugly, and most attractive, yet in any description of beauty, Rosie would have to be held as a form of perfection. Sculpted, she shone in any company, everything about her having been craftedd to pelase the eye. Her nature was wahat truely captured Carin though - she was in his mind the most 'Lost' of all those he knew, a child wounded, and reaching for the only family she knew. Around her he felt inadequate, not a feeling he was either comfortable with or overly familiar with. She was compelling in a way that the others were not however - part of him for humanitarin reasons. Partly... He did not enjoy admitting it, but partly because she knew how to react when he flew into a temper, and her presence called to the part of him that he feared, and that slunk behind his eyes. If Doug was his friend, then Rosie was his daughter, and he loved her well.
He shook his head, and wiped his mirror, and then his face before looking back. The tears had begun to form when he thought of these people. He was not comfortable with loving, yet he knew in his own way he loved them all, the faces formed, and the ones yet to come.
He looked up, and for a second it was Aidan looking back at him. Aidan... Aidan spoke to the part of his that didn't want to scream defiance to the heavens, and to challenge the Gods themselves for daring to question him. Although Carin had arguably the clearer view, he knew that the hawk was a keystone in his mind. Aidan was, if Jack was the far ranger, the eyes that watched the home and hearth. The dragon smiled as he raised the silver blade to his neck. He knew that whislt the hawk flew, his home was safe. He wasn't certain that, if they were not Motleyed, he would be friends with the eagle eyed man, but as they were, he knew they were closer than blood. Aidan was the other lens in his mind - he took care of the details enough to allow the Draconics mind to focus on pictures he knew would never have been possible without the assistance that the other offered.
Cormac followed from the piercing gaze, and Carin felt - not guilt, for the heavy hand of that fell stranger was alien to him, but regret. Cormac had come to him to learn of the clarity of thought and division of self, and had learned first hand that the devastating lack of illusion of determining your own destiny could come at a heavy cost, both to you, and to those around you. The darkling spoke to Carin of the path that he was not following, but he could have done. The small voice in the back of his mind spoke quietly that Cormac was a noble and worthwhile companion. It suggested that Cormac had learned the last lesson he needed, and that when he was broug...
Carin paused, and grimaced, then brought the knife back to his neck, feeling hte cool metal. The slight nick, and the red dot of blood that welled out served him as a reminder of where he was, and what he was, as pointedly as the whole ritual.
Cormac was a friend who knew a great deal aabout value. Worth he was still learning, and how to be honest, that he knew next to not at all. It was, however, anobservation that in many ways Cormac came terrifying close to the perfection of Clarity - he had mastered the lack of pretending to be what he was not. He had simply missed the division of that which was, that which the Fae had made him, and that which he had been. He wore no mask, but stared into an oil covered mirror.
Rea followed on the Darklings heels her weathered face welcome. She didn't like it when he called her beautiful but she wore her own face, and he saw a glorious beauty in that. Not conventionally, certainly - he would never call her pretty, but there was a handsome quality he admired, coupled with her loyalty, and a dedication to the motley as a whole that was unshakable.
He sighed.
It would, however, be nice if the word 'diplomacy' would ever appear in her dictionary as something more than a vague word that seemed to mean much the same as 'flummery' - a word Carin was still exploring the depths of.
Tetsuyo was the last image of his motley to arise from the depths of his mind, to be painted in the impish swirls on the mirror. In theory, the shaver knew, they were the closest of the motley - twins in both kith and seeming, yet it seemed so often that there the comparison ended. Carin delighted in precision, and found his life comfortable when surrounded by formula, and ritual. The other seemed to ignore any form of protocol, save when it related to his hoard. Carin intially would tend towards an aimiable impression, whislt the dother would be suspicious. Yet Carin could see the points - when thTe started arguing over the palcement of a point, part of the bucaneer wanted to agree with him. When the other hoarded, and looked out jealously, Carin would feel the same urges. Whether it was a path less walked, or a idifference in their upbringing, Carin knew that Te was not so far removed from him that he could look at him without any knowledge that he as seeing himself. The thought both comforted, and worried Carin, for reasosn he was not certain he fully understood.
His motley. The Cavaliers. Carin rinsed his face, lookign at himself in the mirror once more before turning away and stepping into the bed chamber. There lay one of the two others who dwelled mightily in his thoughts. Aria.
He spent a moment studying her face. Long and elfin, the sight was framed by the scent of the flowers around her. He had known her since shortly after his escape from the other place (Even now his mind rebelled against naming it casually. He had admiration for those that could, but to his mind the naming and the calling were sites located too closely together for him to have comfort), and over that time they had been lovers, friends, shrews, and foes. His skin bore more scars from her than it did from any other individual, yet he knew that, outwith of those he was sorn to, she was the one person he would march to the gates of Hell for, and lay siege to heaven itself. He'd asked her to marry him, and his mild amazement at being accepted still soemtimes shocked him. With her in his life, he felt that the dawn rising, and the one after, were bright things indeed.
His mind went to one last person as he went to push open the blinds. One person who, although not Oathbound, he considered family. The large, heavy form of Deyinera formed up. Student, and companion, he had taught her to dance to the tread invisible, and to carr ythat dance into everything you do, be it wa, or poetry, swimming, or talking. She was, he knew, a better warrior by far, and as a Summer Courtier, more closely embodied the wrath incarnadine, yet still was unsettled in herself, still lacked the inner certainty. He lvoed her for it, not that such words would ever cross his lips, and he knew that, as with the others he had thought of, he could place his life in her hands, and know that should it be spilled, he would not alone journey to the dark halls.
As he reached for the blinds, and threw them aside, he pondered on his fate - to have met not only these, but the others - Aline, gacefuul in name and deed - a freind who had grown from an uncertain start. Sokol, the blazing Summer baron whos grim and humourless face played coutnerpoint to his own. Steampunk, the laughing lord of Dunasheen who communed with Carin on a level that defied any attempt to communicate. Amen, the flowering monarch who was everything Carin would have loved to be, but could not step away from his wall long enough to put down his sword to mimic, Smoke, foull of the mysteries and liberties of Eatern Europe. All those who who considered himself to be priviledged to know, all those who made up his world, and gave him his frame in this place.
Behind him sthere was strirring, and the pad of soft footsteps. He turned as her arms reached up, and her scent clouded around him.
Life, he wondered, could be so marvellous. And moments such as this were why he belted on his blade. He loved them all, and love stories never end.
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Rea knows diplomacy
Date: 2008-06-04 12:10 pm (UTC)I like this. Especially the last two sentences. I find it's always so hard to find something to end on that doesn't just peter out.