Welcome to Gaia! ::

Anyone calling his cellphone was rare as blue moons and meteor showers- it happened, but it wasn’t usual. It was the ringtone, though, that sent a shock of electricity along his nerves enough to have broken his concentration and meditation completely.

It took precious seconds to release the catches of the corpse, listening to notes deliberately chosen but rarely heard. The sinew and clasps were suddenly hostile in remembrance of the caller’s music. No, I anthropomorphize.

Quenton found his cellphone out of the back pocket of his pants where they’d been abandoned on the bed-

Alois.
You’re dead.

It had been half the song already, not enough time to truly weigh all the options fast enough to a nicety of wisdom. Instinct, damnable instinct, made the choice for him and he found the phone at ear. His hands were shaking, but glad enough his voice did not likewise betray him. It was better trained. But the words came in German, “ Alois. ”

Why should officers of the Negaverse, creatures of magic, not also enjoy some measure of the same blessings as the Senshi? His own clothes went god-knew where. Alois' had shown on him in the moments before their subsequent loss to blood and heinous twisting to neither that of Bischofite nor the youth. Tatters of flesh, paint and clothe. He would have had his cell phone. His wallet. His switchblade.

All items I have missed and not found left behind. Subterfuge no strong point of mine, damned, that must bring you to some doom. Cannot jeopardize by slipping who or what the name I bear, or suspicion of it. He felt the muscles of his mouth tug, pulling a corner wry.

Aeeth

The light tease caught his attention like a unexpected group of healthy cells on a cancer slide. It stuck out among other words of a succession he was not expecting to come from Bischofite. Was the other wearing that face now, as he spoke on the phone? He must be, to call himself disfigured. Can Youma take any other form but their own? Is he as that other one, the blue one, that defended the corrupted eternal? It seemed less human, roaring to the sky and affection like a dog to the General.

Bischofite was his own General. When not a Captain. A Lieutenant. No wonder no one knew who you were- I don’t think you ever knew quite solidly yourself.

Come here- The request was a surprise and another alarm. Say no, it gives the impression of shutting him out. Say yes...it is dangerous to invite a demon through ones own door...and if pressed, could I transform in time? Would I need to? Bischofite took captives to many aims, and may seek my end as the last threads of connection. I...do not think so. I think this is Alois. If the two could be said to be separate. At least...I want to think it is an honest asking. I will help you, as ever, Alois. All that I can. Even if those claws bite into me. I only need one true strike. You painted the wings already where removal will set your breath free from your body. If I can tear it out, or get your knife. There are ways. Quenton considered his free hand, calloused fingers and cracked cuticles, as words came in answer.

“< It always was, with how little you ate.> “
“ < Come home. How ever long you can spare. I’ll unlock the door and get some clothes on. However strangely are your new changes constructed, I do not fear it. > ”

'Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.' wrote she of monsters and men. We shall have our test. But which of us is which.

Not far. No. But if you can still teleport, you never really are, are you? Was the creature going to walk through the building? He supposed plenty stranger things happened often enough in college housing- not the least of which being toga parties and pep rallies on the ovals. But what is the benefit of walking this time? Combined with the warning of his appearance...he is trying hard not to startle me. I think that is certain. This isn't an attack- it isn't a follow up wondering if I'm a knight or scout or sympathizer.

The sculptor's mind was pulled in at least seven different considerations, each straining on the other, as he bodily pulled on jeans. All thought ceased momentarily in getting himself caught in the zipper while an expletive coloured the already tense air of the apartment. Small clothes may have been a good idea- spilt milk now.

Being so careful that I not flee or panic...or rage? Is he here just to visit?
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Do I want to see him?


Whatever shirt on the top of the pile was pulled from the small closet, a tshirt requiring the trouble of hoisting overhead and pulling the length of his hair out while trying not to tear the thing to shreds. It was one of the older ones with holes like eyes to show the white skin beneath. He wants to see me. Why? It has been a month. That wound would take at least that much to heal for a man, let alone what he is now. It may still pain his cadence. Am I haven to him ? I sought that for each of us in each other. Not safety, necessarily, but haven. Safety so often a crutch. I-

have not given up our promises to each other. Clean change. Ash and new perspectives. I don't know if it is possible to give you anymore, Alois, or to help you to find, but I have not forgotten. Very well. You are Alois, I am Quenton. Let us see where we stand now. And if the cards fall right, we will still trust each other and I will have a chance to let it all drain out from you. I may not have a royal's strength to purify your body, but death can release the rest of you.

The door. Already. Swift steps carried him there, right-wrong hand to the odd side to pull it open. The taste of ash was in his mouth, but his heart stayed even. He had not expected cloaks and ...a mask? Quenton's expression didn't shift from a trained neutral, taking in the reaper-hallows-eve get up. Alois' scent was there and mixed with odd dust and heat. Blacking macadam? No, the tar of a road, hot, passed on bike on way to class as workers repaired the road. It was an odd addition. There was no strap to pull Alois in by this time, but the repeat of that performance felt not what he wanted. The sculptor stepped forward, that there be no room to breathe between bodies as often time before and pressed kiss to the other- mask or no. We've both worn masks. What does it matter if there is a physical one this time. We can still reach. Reach across to me, from the paths our feet follow.

He acquiesced to the wordless direction pushing back into the private space, stepping back to lean on the section of counter the small kitchenette offered, his palms supporting back on the smooth resin on either side of himself.

'More than I let on'...a dangerous attestation. This gets trickier, even if that isn't the point you want to emphasize now doesn't mean that it isn't settled as something to be approached in the long run. Thankfully, his own expression didn't register any differences with the outpouring of information. It sounded part confession, part series of postulates all meant to lead up to justifying an action- the meat of whatever it was that Alois was there for that the fore-mentioned time limitation dictated. But I now know what a Rift is. 'The Dark Kingdom'. I wonder if you've just damned me to hounding by Negaverse Geheime Staatspolizei for knowing too many state secrets. Is it heartening or equally asinine that you recognize the holes in their propaganda machine but still eagerly and gleefully patsied to their war engine?

No, 'tired' is no confession. It isn't even 'sorry'. I suppose, realistically, I wasn't looking for either. Evaluating for them serves what purpose? It doesn't change the outcome, certainly. Why then?

To better understand you. Yes, I think that is it.

The removal of the mask, the strange, sticky black that suctioned to it like some movie-borne effect, the shrugging off of the cloak were all events that did not produce a shift or note of revulsion. The admission on the word 'mistake', however, quirked the angle of the sculptor's visage. "I could ask what, in all that, you defined as the mistake. It sounds like justifications more than an explanation- recognition that you've discovered at long last that there are fates worse than death....no...more that they could happen to you. That they are not just distant ideas. "

"And you're coming to me in dread or spite of that- words like 'eternity', 'wicked'. You believe you deserve this ...set of justifications. " He shifted off from his lean against the counter. Took the scant steps to stand in front of Bischofite-Alois, and traced a finger along some of the revealed wood-like pattern. "You said you could only stay a little while. What is it that makes the while little? What do you ask of me, lover mine, who finds comfit in desolations? "

Had only you realised that part in the purpose of philosophy- giving direction when all else has fallen apart. Or found some part in it, more aptly, for yourself. You focussed on the tearing down, but not the why. Be this not curious, though, faced with 'impossibility'- a member of the Negaverse contemplating purification. No, not just any member- Bischofite. I am faced with Bischofite asking me if I think he should burn the chaos from him. If I point him to Iris, I reveal too much....

And what part of her would encourage any to that sacrifice?

The wings unfurling was no trouble, but the words from the feather leathers were unexpected. Goosebumps chased along his arms and neck in betrayal of the rest of the conditioning- they were unsettling in their close mockery of nature. Maybe it was their voices- were there mouths beneath the feathers? Mouths had no place anywhere but on a face.

...are there faces under those feathers? It was a c***k in the armor that would have to be addressed sooner or later, one of many in the process of months if not years. His eyes turned to the wings themselves, not speaking aloud, Nobody asked you.


"There is nothing easier than entropy."
"Chaos, entropy. But it is not the second law of thermodynamics that demands the increase of x to infinity, I expect, that your brand refers to- this Negaverse and their maiming and harvesting. It doesn’t concern itself with the probabilities of success and the creation of small successions of pattern in the overall distribution. This…blackness, “ Hips to hips, Alois' breath near, it felt natural to slide fingers along the ridges of ribs and down to the bands of midsection wrapping. “It is less than entropy. It is despair, dissolution, and destruction. It isn’t pure Chaos. Chaos isn’t malice. Chaos and Entropy…playwrights rail that the basic law of life is that ever more structure is the struggle, the guiding ideological maelstrom that forces people into routines- checking the mail, walking a pet, morning coffee, lawn-care, all instead of the enjoyment of the forest. But order is there as well. Chaos pure has order within it at chance- Fibonacci’s numbers and the golden mean. “

“ ‘for all that comes to be
Deserves to perish wretchedly;
'Twere better nothing would begin.’ …I can’t agree with that as a part of pure Chaos. ”

Peace held a moment, considering while his hands wrapped full to the back of the too-thin waist and interlaced fingers over the top of Alois' a**. It felt natural and, in the deeps of the emotional well they'd capped, abhorrent all at once. Gleeful murder, and petty are you that feels remorse because only the selfish self has finally found loss. You are the opposite of Fearnot, Bischofite....but ...you are Alois. And having known you thus, not Thraen myself in those days, I learned some of how you were rather broken to begin with, learning as we went with new graftings to the tree of your knowledge, what it was to feel more the panoply of life's experience.


“- the Orphic Egg. Everything will end, yes, that is the inevitable. That doesn’t mean that what exists for a time is meaningless. Or that we cannot look forward, in the end, to some new egg from the shards of the old. There is no reason, in your own logic, to fear death- you say that this Negaverse does not value or change with or without you. If you seek dissolution, maybe their paths are worthwhile to you. They are the room where entropy itself goes to die- they fill their established roles and their product ? They have none. Stagnant process and mandatory assumptions, promotion of false chaos as an idol to shatter and crush everything to Nothing. Its just turning everything to s**t instead of returning everything to …being everything all at once. The last thing that this world or you need, Alois, is everything getting shittier.”

“ This purification, even in losing memory or life, would preserve better infinity possible within you. At least the newness would offer not a corpse cage and slavery. It does not sound easy- ask any man who must start the stone from the bottom of a hill how easy it is to start over from nothing. Will others forget you in it happening? Could you have others near who ....if not so held up on what you were, could help provide the straw for your new bricks? Not charity, but honest help- a man who has nothing could use a roof and clothes, words and company. "

"Alois...it is better to die on your feet than live on your knees."
I have never expected or wanted to 'save' you, Alois. Help to learn, to grow, to watch and enjoy together all that you may or would be. I have wanted to be the one standing there beside you when you saved yourself.

The length of the fingers, no, claws, should have been more intimidating than registered- there was no point in being afraid with the current play. He is in his power, and I am not in mine. His strength and speed in this moment would mean I woudl bleed before I had much chance to register it.

The words held more interest as it was, enough that Quenton slowly leaned back away. He let his fingers unweave and slide with him to hold onto either hip instead of behind Alois' back.

Flame eyes sought gold, "You speak in too many uncertainties to me now."

" Not could or would. What I set my mind to, my will to, is what I do. Form is shallow. If memory is gone from you, a new name inscribed on your body to rebuild from, the curiosity and unique irreverence no doubt will carry true. "
"It was you I took as friend and lover, not the body you wear around. "

All true, damnably. As true as if you do not purify, I must maintain to kill you. You cannot be left like this. Your sin cannot go unresolved. I wish I could burn it from you, that I had that Power in these veins. So goes the use of wishes. What would you not flinch to...I should buy a switchblade. Hearing one would hardly register to you and is easily concealed.

In his asking for it, there was no point in pretensions.
"I already planned to. Knew to."

When that decision came doesn't matter- it could have been the moment I saw you at this door, it could have been in finding your note. It doesn't change much. As his hands were already on Alois' hips, Quenton shifted the other's weight trying to guide him further into the apartment. To the bed as the seating without a back to trouble the wings. "Sit. I'll preen your wings before you go. You're a mess."

"I have no regret of a month spent ....happy. Challenged for the first in too long. You wax between active and lazy, but that is far from s**t, Alois. You are petulant, but you question what others do not. You are oft possessed of asinine drives, but your reasoning when you offer it has often been sound with your arguments. And your pranks were funny, if frustrating. My books have been so still and solid in their order and march. You hate yourself so much, what need is there in confirmation from outside?"

" I do not hate you. I hate what you have done- what you traded for. "

"What we share is not superfluous. There was much done in our time together. We marked each other. I could not have come so far without your insight, your willingness to help me. Without your brand of tenderness and care. "

With so much chaos in your veins, changing the very form of you, who knows if you can see or think clearly anymore to remember or see value in what were mine to you. If any truly took root. It is hard to see them from outside, if any gifts remain....if any of that hope for true change and the seeds of it. If they were ever there. Men see what they want, sometimes, instead of what is. Maybe I failed all along. You left your resolve at the door and a note saying 'sorry', and come here wanting me to hate you because its easy. "We learned not to accept capitulation from each other. Why do you accept it from yourself again?"