[Awakening] Dance

[lslaw.livejournal.com]

Co-written by quinqui

There is no thought to the tune I play, it comes directly from her and in a way I've not experienced for years. I glean new insight from the lessons she has taught me and it is death, of all things, that unfolds this melody before me.

As before, there is no question in my mind of the instrument to choose. The Flavia is a living thing in my hands, the notes shivering almost unbidden from her strings until I am unsure which of us is playing the other.

Apt.

Its just a dance.

No matter how many times I reassure myself, I'm still unable to shake the overwhelming sense of vulnerability I feel as I stand before the latest of my 'mentors'. Janos Caligari, the man destined to spend an eternity burning in hell with me. I'd almost prefer to strip for him, at least that way he'd never get to see me quite this exposed.

As we stare at one another, the half second pause somehow begins to span more time than is possible and I feel an unfamiliar warmth prickle across my cheeks. He lets a small almost imperceptible smile curl at the edges of his mouth and I hate him all the more for it.

She is so like me, and so different. She is, and this is her fascination, an anomaly in a world of greater uniformity than most people suspect.

I close my eyes and focus, letting my mind and my body drift steadily into the rhythmic heartbeat of the music softly filling the room.

The tune quickens, Tinker's theme unfolding and evolving, swifter now than when I first composed her song, more vital and urgent and alive; more deliberate and directed, but filled with defiant flourishes that seem to mock the tune that moves inexorably onward.

The world slides out of focus and I watch as a girl very much like me begins to dance. Her movements are imprecise, but fluid and light; her grace and form and his music bonded together in perfect synchronicity.

Perhaps childishly, I let my mind wander. Neither she nor he appear to lead the song, the dance, it seems to come from a perfect nothingness. With a smirk I allow myself to speculate, how good would the sex be if this is what we can do with music?

Even as I watch from somewhere outside of myself I struggle to fight her emotions as they gnaw at me. To dance, to dance like this, I am forced to accept and use her, but with her come her dreams, her hopes and her inadequacies fraying the seams of my thoughts. Unnecessary distractions.

Study the ripples, anticipate the changes beyond the immediate. Fate is a subtle, fickle mistress; do not lose sight of the here and now, do not forget the games you play lest you be lost to them. There must always be a goal.

It's almost strange to see such music in the soul of one who fights to remain cold.

The tune surges and recedes, rising and falling like a wild wave and as she dances, I see the same waves crashing in Tinker's heart; a wild, terrifying undercurrent of delight and cruelty below the calm surface.

There is a sudden uncertainty, I can feel my fingers slip on the strings and her feet slide on the floor, and then it snaps back. I take the warning as the dance continues; we walk a tightrope, bound together by our own intentions. We have the ability to hold each other up, or to drag each other down, and our own wishes will only play a small part in the final outcome.

The music continues and I feel it rush through me, relentless and suffocating, endless like the web of fate I study, infinite, vast and cold. I see the patterns build and shift and I feel the pull of opportunity. Twist the threads here, cut them short there, lengthen, draw, tie, untie, weave, break, join... jesus I cant breathe.

I watch her fight to control the weave, dancing herself ragged to seize fate and make it hers, little realising that it already is; that fate bends quicker to a breath than to a hammer.

It's just a dance... but I can't fight anymore.

Standing in the room with my arms wrapped around my body I'm suddenly aware of the space surrounding me; only moments ago it was filled with music, now somehow it feels vacant. I don't look up, I can't, not yet. I know that when I do I'll be greeted by his empty stare. It terrifies me that any man can be so still, it's not human.

The Flavia's strings are still now, almost dead things. I look on her, Tinker, my Hierarch, with the cord of our pact hanging loose about her neck, at the centre of the web she has woven; the web that she casts over us and the web that binds her, one and the same.

I look and I know where she is going. I look and I know that I am going with her. The dance will break her, because she can not dance any other way, and I will play her tune.

In the recent past Fate told me that I would die to save each thread I weave, the threads that bind me, the threads that bind us. I look out over the web of connections along the cords and finally allow my eyes to once again meet his. I don't know when my time will end, or even how, but I do know one thing... the Sovereign is coming with me.