[Lost] Thoughts of the Weekender
Mar. 16th, 2011 08:27 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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writing_shadows Alright, this took me forever to write, but here's Heartless's view of the weekender. Mild spoilers for Spring related talks.
Have you ever felt like you were coming...unglued? Yes, that’s the right word or, at least, the right feeling.
Upon arriving in Buxton, Heartless feels unglued. She mentions this to Benjamin, who looks at her strangely, still frightened and new.
She knows, on some level, that she ought to be more sympathetic of his plight, but she is not a very tactful person.
She turns, instead, to ask Delun, who considers and, after translating from Heartless-speak to Delun-thoughts, he nods. “Yes, something is definitely...strange.”
His voice is cool and flat and Heartless closes her eyes to dip into it, searching for the hidden undercurrent. Oh, he’s worried. Good.
It’s not just her, then.
The air is sharp and cold as they exit the car and she grins. This is the sort of Spring weather she can get behind. She twirls, experimentally, only stopping when Delun clears his throat. Ah, left behind again. She waves him on, taking her time to collect herself.
It takes awhile...after all; there are a lot of pieces. Well, not as many as with Sid, but still.
“Oh! Sid will be here. Just wait, Benjamin, you’ll love him.” She enthuses, grinning broadly. Benjamin looks alarmed, but then, he’s spent the past two hours looking alarmed. Arcadia does do that to one, rather.
Inside, they naturally form a kind of conglomerate of concern. Delun and Heartless keep Benjamin between them and soon enough, like ducklings gone stray, Erin and Arthur join them. No matter how much you leave York behind, it always catches up and latches on. Come lost lambs. Come to Heartless.
Sid, Little Sid, Crow and Beauty join them soon enough, much to her delight. She remembers restraint, though, and doesn’t even break Sid’s teeth this time! Yes, all that enlightenment is finally paying off.
Still, though, the unglued feeling persists. Worrisome...
She cuddles Beauty to her as they traipse down to the Spring meeting. Why is Ella here? A small, spiteful part of her wants to leap up and call her a copycat, but this is a Heartless of refinement. A Heartless of enlightenment!
A Heartless that doesn’t want to embarrass Delun in front of the whole court...
Still, ugh.
She smoothes Beauty’s feathers as she looks around the room, taking the measure of those around her, assessing the threats and discarding people as boring and safe, time and time again. Oh, two new Satraps. Perhaps that will make Delun happy?
She closes her eyes to feel the texture of his words and sighs,
quietly, into Beauty’s feathers. No, Delun is never, ever completely happy.
What’s wrong with Mac? Why is Astrea petting her? Is this that dark side of Spring everyone was harping on about? She tunes into the conversation, catches the word tantric, makes a face and tunes out again.
Spring is lovely. Its followers are not.
Well...except for one. She looks up at Rosalba, tries to drink her in with her eyes. Rosalba is wearing a lot of pink—a violent colour, if there ever was one. She wonders, briefly, if Rosalba ever had to wash the blood out of her shirts. White becomes red becomes pink becomes Rose.
Beautiful.
She taps the seat next to her and Rosalba sits, allowing Heartless a moment of introspection and closeness. This is a meeting and not a time for talking, so she sketches instead. Here is a tiny Rosalba.
Full-size Rosalba looks bemused, though. Ah, once again, no one understands. Perhaps Heartless speaks the wrong language. It seemed perfectly clear to her.
Now Astrea is suggesting the Spring Court break into people’s minds. Oh my. She speaks up, quietly, but all eyes turn to her nonetheless. Novel.
She warns Astrea that people might not appreciate having the sanctity of their minds invaded, and Delun says as much as well, but Astrea just tuts and continues, entirely unconcerned.
Funny, a monster telling people not to do monstrous things—now more than ever, Heartless feels as if she is playing pretend. Astrea’s shoes probably won’t fit her, though.
The meeting dismissed, she wafts back upstairs to get involved in things, here and there, on the periphery. Lost are weird. Weird and bloodthirsty and snobbish and...weird.
She says as much, but most people don’t listen.
Suddenly: Patrick!
She cannot run away fast enough, but she seems to be in the minority, as the women around her are practically swooning and the miserable excuse for a Scarecrow is chewing on his hand. Since when was cannibalism endearing?
Oh, wait: Croc. Isn’t he adorable? She wants to speak to him, share experiences, but she is shy and stays away, watching him from the corners of her eyes.
There’s some talk of cats and a ritual, but she only gets involved as much as Delun does. The cats make her uncomfortable and she shadows her motley mate, as if her presence could form a shield. No rituals or dead felines will harm Delun while I am here.
Heartless is the best motley mate...well, at least she is better than Erin, who is currently kicking Arthur in the shins. Or Arthur, himself, who has not dropped everything to save her from dying of the plague!
But, then, perhaps it is not good practice to compare yourself to the worst and aren’t you supposed to be fulfilling desires, Heartless?
And, perhaps, not talking to yourself?
Oh, yes.
She drags Erin off to Astrea. Astrea is bossy. Astrea gets things done. The perfect tool for the task.
One good deed done...the rest are just for fun, but she’s not sure the rest of the court realise that. They see only what is there and everyone knows that that is a very silly thing to do.
Like the ritual site.
She steps into the Hedge, watching with pleasure as snow begins to fall and tiptoes to the site, Beauty’s languorous fan making crystalline trails in the frost as he sweeps after her.
All is blackness. Here a corpse is risen, here the grass is blood. Heartless is childish, but restrained and ends up not chewing on the grass, after all. Best not to lose face in front of Beauty, who thinks the world of her. Not yet, at least. Savour that sweet taste for later.
Oh, but it is fun to be a monster.
The day continues. Delun gets tea from the Underworld. She is really quite proud of him. Heartless, too, turns out to be an adept necromancer, a fact which makes Sid’s antennas twitch in frustration. She pokes at them, happily. Must remember to do that more often...
Ah, Rosalba again.
She suggests games and Rosalba brings her sweets and she musn’t, no she really musn’t...but she does. Lets enjoy ourselves. My Rosalba. All mine.
But Rosalba doesn’t understand and Heartless doesn’t have the words, again, so she drops it and retreats.
Day becomes afternoon becomes evening and still that feeling of being unglued persists. Now she knows where it comes from and she cannot help but look over her shoulder now and then, as if expecting something to sneak up and peel her skin from her, entirely, leaving her flayed and raw.
And then Delun does that terrible, wonderful thing. And he does it for her, for the Wyrd and for himself. He actually smiles and that makes it the best thing of all!
But, shh, it’s a secret.
Now to ball gowns and evening wear and Delun looks very nice in his suit and Heartless brings back the Spring corset, amused to no end.
And then...speeches?
Good grief. If the Lost aren’t killing each other, breaking their oaths, ritually murdering animals or...doing adult things...then they’re making boring speeches.
She flops onto a couch and decides to make pithy personal comments. Hurrah.
And then Scarlet comes back from the dead.
...
Oh.
So there is an afterlife. Who knew? He explains the levels and levels, spiralling ever downward and she thinks of the Greek myth of Spring and asks, fearfully, if this is true and Delun says ‘of course, didn’t you know?’
Of course not. I would have said something had I known. Infuriating Delun.
She promises to find him in the afterlife, should they both die and she sees the amused glint in his eyes but she means it. To lose him would be to lose herself and, if that is a bad idea in life, why would it be a good idea in death?
After all, if there is an afterlife, won’t she be a monster there, too? Monsters must be held in check.
They say their goodbyes and deals are made and tears are shed and the night goes on.
It is a blur, now, but some sparks light up the darkness now and then and she smiles to consider them. The pale, dark eyed look on Liam’s face as he told her he liked the taste of her blood. The slow, burning smile on Rex’s lips as he insulted and charmed in equal measures. The flutter of Beauty’s wings against her cheeks...
The world is ending tonight.
She is exactly where she wants to be. In this moment, all is well.
But Delun is not a big fan of dying, not even dramatically, so they make their plans to leave. But on the way out she feels it, again—that unglued feeling. She pauses, makes her excuses, promises not to die in the next few minutes and hunts down Isabelle de Vere.
Hunts down...
Apt word choice.
They speak for a long time and Heartless explains...herself. Risky, she knows, but the Duchy deserve as much and as Drago and Ella threw that right away and Lux, she thinks, she may have imagined in one of many fever dreams brought on by a lack of clarity and an overabundance of Wyrd, all that is left is Isabelle and she speaks to her, lovingly and holds her hand.
Apologies are made and tears are shed. Isabelle’s tears freeze, obligingly to her face.
Heartless’ do not.
She makes her way down the stairs, shaking and shaky. Should she smile? Or scream? She is free and oh, what a terrifying thing that is. She manages a word or two to Drago and Ella—what were those words? Her memory grows dim, already. Ah, yes. “And I didn’t break my oath.”
So there.
Apologies are made and more will have to be made in nights to come. Rosalba doesn’t understand, but Beauty does. He causes a scene.
Ah, well.
She leaves the chaos and the anger, the betrayal and the fear, the warmth and the light and hurries to catch up to Delun as they leave, walking off into the gathering darkness—together.
Have you ever felt like you were coming...unglued? Yes, that’s the right word or, at least, the right feeling.
Upon arriving in Buxton, Heartless feels unglued. She mentions this to Benjamin, who looks at her strangely, still frightened and new.
She knows, on some level, that she ought to be more sympathetic of his plight, but she is not a very tactful person.
She turns, instead, to ask Delun, who considers and, after translating from Heartless-speak to Delun-thoughts, he nods. “Yes, something is definitely...strange.”
His voice is cool and flat and Heartless closes her eyes to dip into it, searching for the hidden undercurrent. Oh, he’s worried. Good.
It’s not just her, then.
The air is sharp and cold as they exit the car and she grins. This is the sort of Spring weather she can get behind. She twirls, experimentally, only stopping when Delun clears his throat. Ah, left behind again. She waves him on, taking her time to collect herself.
It takes awhile...after all; there are a lot of pieces. Well, not as many as with Sid, but still.
“Oh! Sid will be here. Just wait, Benjamin, you’ll love him.” She enthuses, grinning broadly. Benjamin looks alarmed, but then, he’s spent the past two hours looking alarmed. Arcadia does do that to one, rather.
Inside, they naturally form a kind of conglomerate of concern. Delun and Heartless keep Benjamin between them and soon enough, like ducklings gone stray, Erin and Arthur join them. No matter how much you leave York behind, it always catches up and latches on. Come lost lambs. Come to Heartless.
Sid, Little Sid, Crow and Beauty join them soon enough, much to her delight. She remembers restraint, though, and doesn’t even break Sid’s teeth this time! Yes, all that enlightenment is finally paying off.
Still, though, the unglued feeling persists. Worrisome...
She cuddles Beauty to her as they traipse down to the Spring meeting. Why is Ella here? A small, spiteful part of her wants to leap up and call her a copycat, but this is a Heartless of refinement. A Heartless of enlightenment!
A Heartless that doesn’t want to embarrass Delun in front of the whole court...
Still, ugh.
She smoothes Beauty’s feathers as she looks around the room, taking the measure of those around her, assessing the threats and discarding people as boring and safe, time and time again. Oh, two new Satraps. Perhaps that will make Delun happy?
She closes her eyes to feel the texture of his words and sighs,
quietly, into Beauty’s feathers. No, Delun is never, ever completely happy.
What’s wrong with Mac? Why is Astrea petting her? Is this that dark side of Spring everyone was harping on about? She tunes into the conversation, catches the word tantric, makes a face and tunes out again.
Spring is lovely. Its followers are not.
Well...except for one. She looks up at Rosalba, tries to drink her in with her eyes. Rosalba is wearing a lot of pink—a violent colour, if there ever was one. She wonders, briefly, if Rosalba ever had to wash the blood out of her shirts. White becomes red becomes pink becomes Rose.
Beautiful.
She taps the seat next to her and Rosalba sits, allowing Heartless a moment of introspection and closeness. This is a meeting and not a time for talking, so she sketches instead. Here is a tiny Rosalba.
Full-size Rosalba looks bemused, though. Ah, once again, no one understands. Perhaps Heartless speaks the wrong language. It seemed perfectly clear to her.
Now Astrea is suggesting the Spring Court break into people’s minds. Oh my. She speaks up, quietly, but all eyes turn to her nonetheless. Novel.
She warns Astrea that people might not appreciate having the sanctity of their minds invaded, and Delun says as much as well, but Astrea just tuts and continues, entirely unconcerned.
Funny, a monster telling people not to do monstrous things—now more than ever, Heartless feels as if she is playing pretend. Astrea’s shoes probably won’t fit her, though.
The meeting dismissed, she wafts back upstairs to get involved in things, here and there, on the periphery. Lost are weird. Weird and bloodthirsty and snobbish and...weird.
She says as much, but most people don’t listen.
Suddenly: Patrick!
She cannot run away fast enough, but she seems to be in the minority, as the women around her are practically swooning and the miserable excuse for a Scarecrow is chewing on his hand. Since when was cannibalism endearing?
Oh, wait: Croc. Isn’t he adorable? She wants to speak to him, share experiences, but she is shy and stays away, watching him from the corners of her eyes.
There’s some talk of cats and a ritual, but she only gets involved as much as Delun does. The cats make her uncomfortable and she shadows her motley mate, as if her presence could form a shield. No rituals or dead felines will harm Delun while I am here.
Heartless is the best motley mate...well, at least she is better than Erin, who is currently kicking Arthur in the shins. Or Arthur, himself, who has not dropped everything to save her from dying of the plague!
But, then, perhaps it is not good practice to compare yourself to the worst and aren’t you supposed to be fulfilling desires, Heartless?
And, perhaps, not talking to yourself?
Oh, yes.
She drags Erin off to Astrea. Astrea is bossy. Astrea gets things done. The perfect tool for the task.
One good deed done...the rest are just for fun, but she’s not sure the rest of the court realise that. They see only what is there and everyone knows that that is a very silly thing to do.
Like the ritual site.
She steps into the Hedge, watching with pleasure as snow begins to fall and tiptoes to the site, Beauty’s languorous fan making crystalline trails in the frost as he sweeps after her.
All is blackness. Here a corpse is risen, here the grass is blood. Heartless is childish, but restrained and ends up not chewing on the grass, after all. Best not to lose face in front of Beauty, who thinks the world of her. Not yet, at least. Savour that sweet taste for later.
Oh, but it is fun to be a monster.
The day continues. Delun gets tea from the Underworld. She is really quite proud of him. Heartless, too, turns out to be an adept necromancer, a fact which makes Sid’s antennas twitch in frustration. She pokes at them, happily. Must remember to do that more often...
Ah, Rosalba again.
She suggests games and Rosalba brings her sweets and she musn’t, no she really musn’t...but she does. Lets enjoy ourselves. My Rosalba. All mine.
But Rosalba doesn’t understand and Heartless doesn’t have the words, again, so she drops it and retreats.
Day becomes afternoon becomes evening and still that feeling of being unglued persists. Now she knows where it comes from and she cannot help but look over her shoulder now and then, as if expecting something to sneak up and peel her skin from her, entirely, leaving her flayed and raw.
And then Delun does that terrible, wonderful thing. And he does it for her, for the Wyrd and for himself. He actually smiles and that makes it the best thing of all!
But, shh, it’s a secret.
Now to ball gowns and evening wear and Delun looks very nice in his suit and Heartless brings back the Spring corset, amused to no end.
And then...speeches?
Good grief. If the Lost aren’t killing each other, breaking their oaths, ritually murdering animals or...doing adult things...then they’re making boring speeches.
She flops onto a couch and decides to make pithy personal comments. Hurrah.
And then Scarlet comes back from the dead.
...
Oh.
So there is an afterlife. Who knew? He explains the levels and levels, spiralling ever downward and she thinks of the Greek myth of Spring and asks, fearfully, if this is true and Delun says ‘of course, didn’t you know?’
Of course not. I would have said something had I known. Infuriating Delun.
She promises to find him in the afterlife, should they both die and she sees the amused glint in his eyes but she means it. To lose him would be to lose herself and, if that is a bad idea in life, why would it be a good idea in death?
After all, if there is an afterlife, won’t she be a monster there, too? Monsters must be held in check.
They say their goodbyes and deals are made and tears are shed and the night goes on.
It is a blur, now, but some sparks light up the darkness now and then and she smiles to consider them. The pale, dark eyed look on Liam’s face as he told her he liked the taste of her blood. The slow, burning smile on Rex’s lips as he insulted and charmed in equal measures. The flutter of Beauty’s wings against her cheeks...
The world is ending tonight.
She is exactly where she wants to be. In this moment, all is well.
But Delun is not a big fan of dying, not even dramatically, so they make their plans to leave. But on the way out she feels it, again—that unglued feeling. She pauses, makes her excuses, promises not to die in the next few minutes and hunts down Isabelle de Vere.
Hunts down...
Apt word choice.
They speak for a long time and Heartless explains...herself. Risky, she knows, but the Duchy deserve as much and as Drago and Ella threw that right away and Lux, she thinks, she may have imagined in one of many fever dreams brought on by a lack of clarity and an overabundance of Wyrd, all that is left is Isabelle and she speaks to her, lovingly and holds her hand.
Apologies are made and tears are shed. Isabelle’s tears freeze, obligingly to her face.
Heartless’ do not.
She makes her way down the stairs, shaking and shaky. Should she smile? Or scream? She is free and oh, what a terrifying thing that is. She manages a word or two to Drago and Ella—what were those words? Her memory grows dim, already. Ah, yes. “And I didn’t break my oath.”
So there.
Apologies are made and more will have to be made in nights to come. Rosalba doesn’t understand, but Beauty does. He causes a scene.
Ah, well.
She leaves the chaos and the anger, the betrayal and the fear, the warmth and the light and hurries to catch up to Delun as they leave, walking off into the gathering darkness—together.
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Date: 2011-03-16 08:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-17 02:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-17 03:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-17 09:25 am (UTC)Lovely!
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Date: 2011-03-17 01:27 pm (UTC)That line was awesome...
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Date: 2011-03-17 05:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-18 10:02 am (UTC)(Isn't that shirt fantastic? £5 at the Reflex, it was.
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Date: 2011-03-17 04:34 pm (UTC)British understatement in action.
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Date: 2011-03-17 05:02 pm (UTC)