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~Moment's repose
The thoughts, ideals and words of one alone in the sanctum of his mind. IC things.
Nocturne
Once you desire something...

The dance had ended abruptly that evening with a hard stomp of heel, sleeves fluttering to his sides. The thick locks of his hair fell limply about his face as he shook himself, whirling about to stride away, the other dancers stepping quickly out of his way. It wasn’t often that such moods took Cuprum, but when they did... the drums had fallen silent, the only sound was the quiet chime of the little copper medallions at his ankles. Each step was slow and deliberate, the chime and jangle so loud now that all else had fallen silent.

His posture, his demeanor said it all. Something was on his mind, something that would make him falter in his steps and lose the very essence of their movements. Expression. He was pure expression when he moved, sleeves rippling and flying through the air with every twist and turn of his body, but this evening... his movements had been jerky, unsynchronized. For something to trouble him so deeply, deeply enough that it would make him fall from the dance itself... Medaine made a move to call out after him, but Askalan, with his white duck in her arms, lifted a hand to silence her. It was best to leave the graceful dancer be.

You cannot undesire it...

Out of the clearing that they had practiced in ever since they arrived in this territory, sleeves billowing behind him, hair came alive with a lurch, braids sweeping forward from over his shoulders. A single flick turned the thick tufts of hair at the weighted ends into individual fingers, a hand balled into a veritable fist. Wings were far too heavy to express the emotion that roiled beneath his skin, the locks that surrounded his face dulling and sharpening like flexing claws.

Tonight of all nights... when his heart became weak enough to let these colors show through, the bright azure pigment flooding the whites of his eyes... normally he would dance his time away, keep his silence to himself... his strange accent stood out enough already, to hear it come thicker and far more pronounced... he didn’t want to be questioned. This side of his nature wanted only to be left alone to his thoughts, thoughts that were so many and so... distressing this evening.

He moved silently back to the troupe’s encampment, the plethora of brightly colored tents and decorated caravans, many lit up from within at the later hour. Living with a band of gypsies had warmed his heart in many ways he did not wish to admit... to be amongst them was to be amongst family again. These people had shown him such care... fed him, clothed him, given him a place to stay... they were always moving around, always meeting new people... and as long as this went on he could gather news of the world, the ones who sought him, Balbreth and Hoderai... they wouldn’t be able to locate him so easily.

His own little caravan was at the edge of the circle of lights, the interior as dark and quiet as he had left it. One braid lifted to quietly pull the door open, closing it quietly behind him with a click of the lock.

The care of being under wings...

Care. Warmth. They were all here, amidst the troupe, amidst the dancing and the steady beat of the drums that he’d grown to enjoy, that he’d come to appreciate even in this state of mind... with every sweep of his wing came the hiss of the air, muted by the trailing sleeves he wore, but regardless... he’d often slipped away on his own, late in the evenings to glide away, far enough that he wouldn’t be seen but within running distance should he be needed, and simply... dance to the drum of his own heartbeat. But where wings glided gracefully, on his own they were once again blades of death. As his heart labored, so his dance became wilder. He’d had no reason to raise his wings in aggression for quite some time now... but as long as this nature within remained, he would long to. The dance was the closest thing that would calm his mind. It was... almost enough.

Dreadlocks sharpened suddenly as he shook his head, closing the shutters of his little home so that nobody could look in, braids lifting to unclasp the copper chain .

No matter how much I take...

Circumstance and fear had called him back here, to Anelldon. And his heart still mourned even though three years had come and gone in the company of these people, his troupe, his new-found family. The rest of him, his nature, his instinct was aggrieved by this behavior, fleeing desperately from the pain, the unwillingness to let go, to believe that the one he had... his heart had held to so fast... was gone.

Three years in the troupe and how many before then? The flow of time was not fast enough, no matter what he did, could not erode this pain quickly enough, assuming it had eroded at all. So many years and his heart still bled, so many and despite all the joy he had come to know amongst people who accepted him, cared for him, gave to him he still hurt as though something vital had been torn from him. His heart simply could not let go, though so many years had passed since he had last given it a true thought. He had lifted his wings, his voice, in song, in dance, in battle. He had thrown himself to the skies and let the majesty of the landscapes sweep him away. Storms had jolted his body, lightning had danced over his wings. Yet no matter what he did, no matter where he went and what he experienced...

I need it still...

Sleeves fell silently to the ground, revealing the enormous copper wings that lay in place of his arms, the burnished metal as dark and cold as his soul felt in the tiny, empty little caravan.

Once you desire something...

Blue eyes lifted to the mirror on the wall before him, gazing into the painted face of his reflection. A braid rose slowly, touching his cheek, fingers smearing the greenish-blue marks upon his skin. The painted patterns meant that he was a performer, a troupe member, were a sign that he was accepted, belonged. He leaned forward gazing into the azure and steel of his reflection’s eyes, palms resting on the dresser before him, knocking lightly against the basin of water resting in a shallow indent.

If he hadn’t taken that flight days ago, if he hadn’t sailed the skies of Anelldon for the first time in five years...

You cannot undesire it.

The cliffs. The memory. His gaze traveled down over his hair, braided hands gliding gently over the smooth surfaces of his wings. He hadn’t needed to be close in order to see them, from the air so much was laid out before him... these wings had been crushed, damaged, broken... strong hands and hell-energy had repaired them to the state that they were now. The greatest weakness, the most terrible illness... fingers trailed carefully over the burnished metal, his expression quiet and thoughtful, surveying his limbs as though seeing them for the first time.

The care of being under wings.

Eyes closed tightly as a grimace of pain pulled at his lip. The days, the years after that fateful encounter, spent entwined in strong arms, in tendrils of sentient hair. Never had a body mirrored his own so closely, never had pain brought him closer to comfort. His skin seemed to tingle with a warmth that was no longer there, the barest whisper of breath, heat that paled in comparison to the arms of the one that held him. Braids trailed silently up to his own shoulders as his head bowed, staring down at the basin and his dresser but not seeing them, the azure depths clouded with the memory of such gentle touches, a body that longed to protect him, and protected him with everything it had.

No matter how much I take...

How could it still be? The day he had fled, he had pushed it all from his mind. Everything, everything... his heart had broken again and again, every day in some form of pain, but this part of him and only struggled to clear it away and forget. He didn’t fear. He didn’t worry though the rest of him yearned. He had told himself softly that that time was over. That time was gone now and he was dead. He was dead and there would never be any chance of going back.

Fingertips became claws, digging into his skin as he hugged himself so tightly, his body shaken with involuntary tremors. So cold, so suddenly... all because of one memory that refused to leave him, one man he simply could not forget... his fingers drove deeper into his flesh, he could feel blood flowing, so tight was he gripping himself...

No matter what he did, where he went, this would not leave him. This hollowness within... they... they had touched souls the day they had met, and though he had never wanted... never fully believed... although he denied it at every turn, ever since he had left the warmth of the Caldera of the Equinox... it had felt like something was missing. Something was lost. A piece of him had fallen away, dropped so carelessly and now... now when he wanted it back, was nowhere to be found. He would never admit. But that... the other’s spirit, the other’s being. To lose something so precious and be left with this niggling... annoyance of a pain...!

His knees hit the floor with a dull thud, head curling against his chest as braids twined tighter about his body. Azure eyes remained tightly shut, silent tears forming upon dark eyelashes, as a hiss of a sob was drawn between tightly clenched teeth. So cold, so hollow. So alone.

I need it still.





 
 
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