snowblindrpg | [network] @Enoch; audio; early morning 342 [open]

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[network] @Enoch; audio; early morning 342 [open]

[Though Enoch doesn't show his face, the people who were in the room with the pit might be able to connect the dots if they saw him jump after Angel. It's early in the day, too early for Enoch to realize he's risking himself the way he is.]

I can't sleep. I'm-... I've been so afraid that I've been losing myself to this place. That when this is all over-...

[He stops and swallows heavily.]

I- I'm going to preserve part of who I am on this network. My earliest memory. That might ease my mind, knowing it's here. Even the previous sessions' deleted conversations remained in some recoverable form.

[He pauses, the faint sound of water sloshing in a near empty bottle as he wets his lips and throat.]

I don't remember much of my time as a mortal, much less a child. It's all in scattered, foggy pieces with a few moments of clarity. And this is one such moment.

I was very young, I can't recall exactly how, but for my mind to work as it did... I saw my mother shooing flies away. I noticed she flattened those she could, and asked why. She told me it was for our own safety, because they spread pestilence. I somehow got it into my mind that if I could catch one, I could ask it why it was spreading pestilence and if it could stop, so that way nobody could come to harm.

So I determined to catch the first fly I saw. But I hadn't yet learned that not every flying, buzzing insect was a fly. The creature I caught was a bee, which stung me, as bees do. I screamed at the pain at first, but then...at some point I noticed it was staggering in flight. I looked at my palm and saw that a part of it had torn off with the stinger.

I learned that day what a bee was, and it was the first instance I can remember of hurting because someone or something else was in pain.

[He pauses again, to take another sip of water, and then the rustling of sheets as he settles again.]

I felt like I had to share something. To say something. If this inspires you to share something of your own, feel free. Thank you for hearing me, if you've stayed to listen.

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[Flynn listens attentively, rubbing the side of his face with a keen expression. It's a touching story. Especially the parts about Enoch's mother and trying to reason with the alleged fly to keep it safe resonate with him; but there's something else that catches his attention also.]

Thank you for sharing, Enoch. So you weren't always immortal, huh?

No. I was born a perfectly ordinary boy, to entirely ordinary humans. Perhaps the only strange thing about any of us was that my father and I were of Seth's direct lineage. It was nothing truly special, but the luck of being able to claim a line of entirely firstborn children.

Wow. It's funny, I never really asked you about these things, it was just 'oh wow, this person has seen Akkad' but I never... You're a descendent of Seth?

Well, I'm-...fairly sure nearly everyone is by now, distantly.

[The divide between Cain's and Seth's descendants was already falling apart by his generation. Only the firstborn-of-firstborn lines really cared anymore. To say nothing of Adam and Eve's subsequent children and their descendants, who likely never bothered in the first place.]

A direct one then.

[Good point, though.]

Maybe what is happening is related to lineage? Do you have the red eyes? Could they go back to Seth in any way?

I do. But I doubt this has anything to do with my lineage. We've never been marked or divided based on wherever we used to be or who we are in relation to our own worlds.

[In fact that's kind of strange, but he can't say exactly why it strikes him that way.]

[I do. Flynn's body language shifts almost imperceptably into something more wary, tense.]

There's a first time for everything, don't you think? Everybody has very different, particular patterns. And I mean, being of Seth's direct lineage, that's, hey, that's a pretty big thing, it could manifest itself visually.

It's not, really- We're human. Nothing more or less. There was nothing he gave Adam and Eve - or Seth - to...diminish over the generations.

[That admission, that there was nothing special is...potentially new. It's the default for humanity, but...perhaps, to Flynn, it counts?]

...People who weren't even born on Earth have them. And for what it's worth, we're doing our part. We've gone somewhere far from traffic, where we'll be hard-pressed to harm anyone.

[It does. Everything counts for him. Every piece and bit of information he can take he will because everything is important.

The devil is in the details, as they say!]

So there's nothing that sets you apart from other humans. Or at least there weren't? Then why did that change? Why were you chosen for... whatever you did?

No, it- [he winces through the rest of the sentence, a burning that wasn't there before just under his skin. The new sense of emptiness, well, doesn't feel new. He doesn't notice that part just yet.] -it has nothing to do with my lineage. I was chosen- I wasn't told why.

... Well, I know what that's like. [Mutter, mutter.]

Was it very biblical then? Light from the sky and thunderous voices?

That's "biblical"? That is, related to the same book I've been linked to? I've never seen such a dramatic display. No- I was...simply invited, by- I can't remember if it was one angel or a pair of them.

[Of all people, it had to be Enoch.

Beckett had known about Enoch's jumping in the pit; he'd been trying not to think about it, as time passed, as paranoia progressed. It's a very different kind of paranoia. He's worried about what the red-eyed would do, certainly, and Enoch is not exempt, but here he is much more anxious about what would happen after. And there is always an after. When the effect wears off, and the affected realize what they've done.

He can't let it happen. Not this. No matter how far he's walked away, he can't let Enoch surrender to that madness. Not this, not this.]

I'm listening, Enoch. I want to hear more. About how seeing another's hurt had hurt you, too. [He swallows.] So I can remind you, if we need me to.

[We.]

[We. The solidarity is a touch of soothing warmth, one he has always needed. The ever-vital I am here for you. Something in his breathing eases. A pain that perhaps even he had stopped consciously registering is faded, even as his heart aches at the absence of the physical shoulder to lean on. It's funny, how going without one for the better part of three centuries never trained his mind to not ask for one. The heartache covers for the slight burning of that little piece of him going to Beckett. He doesn't notice.]

So you might help me, the way you kept the cult's illness at bay. The way you broke through it then.

[Through the traumatic memory of the tower, there is warmth in his voice. He has always wanted to share with Beckett, up to and including Heaven itself, which would have been unthinkable before this place - Beckett did register as more human than not, but it didn't matter anymore.]

It's hard to talk about something so broad. Something that's, so far as I know, always been a part of me, when "always" means...well, four centuries, by Eve's estimate. I- I told you about my mission, didn't I? The Grigori, and their Tower? Did I ever tell you they had cities in there? Each was almost an entire world of its own, governed by its own laws of nature according to its ruler's ideals.

Edited (better icon choice) 2018-04-22 06:35 (UTC)

Yes - exactly. So whatever happens, I can always try and do the same.

[Always that touchstone, the breaking of the cult's conditioning. One of two that they have, as Beckett thinks of the tower, and himself choosing to stop, the root, he thinks, of Enoch's otherwise inexplicable insistence that he is capable of correcting past mistakes. The circle doesn't yet close, though, he doesn't yet see what he does now as any extension of what he did then. He's trying to work with Enoch, doing what his friend thinks is right.]

I don't think you have, no - entire cities, built in their own image? You haven't told me much, though I know your mission wasn't always one you were eager to fulfill. That you did not always think your targets were deserving.

[With those dearest to him, Enoch sees them with all the kindness he sees all humanity, with love for everything they are, and everything they can be, where flaws only serve to highlight the good. A broad-reaching optimism condensed into the feelings of a single relationship.

Some might say it makes him susceptible to abuse. Enoch would say it's worth the good it could do.]

Some weren't, but had to be stopped nonetheless. They were- their followers were condemned to The Darkness, even those under the most just and kind Watchers. Lucifel...I don't know if he ever understood the pain of knowing that from their perspective, I was tearing families apart. He never- I don't think he considered, even as hard as he tried to understand my emotions, that they didn't know. They didn't know- they didn't realize their pact with Belial had such far-reaching consequences.

[He notices the pain this time, but lets it happen, letting it go with a shuddering, pained breath. If anyone is allowed to have such an integral part of him, it's Beckett.]

[Why does receiving this knowledge come with such a feeling of satisfaction? Beckett registers it, doesn't have the presence of mind to explore it, which is his downfall as he would know perfectly well if he were aware. But this strange confessional draws him in too easily. He asks questions. It's who he is.]

You have said before... that the angels don't truly understand. That you have had difficulty even with Lucifel, your friend. He didn't feel human pain as you do.

[And as eager as Enoch is to learn, he loves giving of himself and teaching as well. Here he is, doing both. The continued burn is welcomed as it hasn't been for the others.]

No- angels don't understand because they don't need to learn, usually... I didn't realize this at first. I-...I can't remember it clearly, but I think I disliked him at first.

[He laughs, a soft chuckle full of fondness for the two most important people to him in all the worlds, and how similarly that fondness grew. Beckett's had in a fraction of a fraction of the time Lucifel's had, but that was more wisdom on Enoch's own part, he thinks, a better understanding of minds not human.]

Just as he couldn't understand me, I couldn't understand him. I thought his coldness was deliberate. The sarcastic wit certainly was, but his detachment from human feeling was certainly not.

[It's still fairly surprising to Beckett to think of Enoch as disliking anyone, so Lucifel here is not that unusual a prospect, despite the great closeness he knows man and angel have attained in time. And he sees the echo, as well; he's quite sensitive to them considering how often they come up for him in this friendship.]

That certainly puts a new perspective on your resolve to put up with me.

[With a wryness there that Enoch should be familiar with enough not to mistake for a lack of fondness. Quite the opposite.]

I would like to know more about him, if you're telling. I wonder sometimes if we'd have gotten along.

[Oh, he knows. He knows it from before Beckett, even. Sometimes that particular expression of fondness was all he felt was between him and insanity. Some of these times are very recent.]

You would have, certainly. You have many similarities, and I think-...I think it would be good for you to meet him. If we can find some way to travel freely between worlds after all this, if we can restore everyone, I would take you to meet him. I still-

Do you remember that dream, that didn't happen? It's grounded in truth. I would like to show you where I worked, lived, where it all began.

[This is very close to a deeper, larger truth that he finds himself desperately wanting to give, and he shudders in pain as the burning sensation swells. It's fine though - it always has been. He knows by now what is happening and knows that he still wants to give. To Beckett, he always wants to give.]

[If there was one way to guarantee that Beckett would keep asking, would ask more, it was to mention the dream.

Not an easy way. It rattles him, even apart from any sense of what Enoch is feeling. He's made a great effort to put the remnants of it - already blurred by the barriers of the dreaming itself and the time-that-wasn't - as far from, as deep down under his mind as he could. And whenever he did think of it he tried not to think of it as any truth. And now here it is.

Enoch speaks of it like - like - he swallows hard.] It sounds so... simple to you. So natural. Where you lived and worked...

[It takes a moment to recover - the sensation lingers like a raw patch.]

It is, it isn't, I never forgot or could forget. You've shared so much of yourself with me, and I want to do the same. And- At that time, when the dreams happened in reality, you said something- [his voice softens.] -you wanted grace. And I wanted to show you that...

There is grace to find in shadows and night, a place for shadow on Earth, in Heaven, all creation. God's own right hand.

I've wanted peace for you for a long time now.

[The irony is, Beckett has heard pretty much exactly this before, many times. That there is a place for shadows in creation, under God's hand, at God's side. But these have always been very different conceptions of God. He'd rejected, refuted, and mocked more Cainite heresies than he can count in his long and storied scholarly career. Their leaders were always power hungry and their followers always desperate.

None of them have offered peace. He feels Enoch's story and secret sink into him like rain into earth, but his instinct is to recoil. In the way of his kind in the face of change.]

I don't know if the comparison can quite be made. In that place... [He can't say the word. He licks his lips nervously, tongue over fangs, tries a weak chuckle.] Though there were all the books...

[He realizes now that this entire post, that is a piece of himself given to anyone who even looks at it. If he is to be hollowed out, who does he want to have the most? It's not even close to a contest.

No one will have any of this from here on just by glancing at it. No one but Beckett. If he entrusts as much as he can to Beckett, do strangers or untrustworthy people get less?]

That was my desk. The books were mine, mostly observation diaries, for months on end, in every detail. Very boring, but-

[He switches to video, giving Beckett a smile just as weak, his eyes hazy in sleeplessness.]

-I wouldn't keep you from reading them. I kept- I used to write down my dreams, too, I remember. For myself, not for Heaven. I had often wanted to try, on Earth, but it would be a waste of paper. In Heaven, it was never a concern.

I don't know what they would see you as. But I don't think it would be as a monster.

There is nothing boring about detailed diaries.

[Says Beckett, with the absolute conviction of the lifelong historian. He switches to video without really thinking about it, an obvious echoing gesture. He and Enoch have nothing to hide from each other - well, he certainly doesn't, at this point. He might try, but he knows it's not video or not that will let Enoch see right through him on this as with every other subject. Might as well surrender from the get-go.

It's not like him, but that is the effect Enoch has. Beckett always has been weak to being seen through, for the very, very few that manage.]

They must have wanted your perspective. Your... human view of history. Of time, and change. It's different, when the story is told and written down... [He glances down at his hands, suddenly abashed at the thought of comparing his own meager endeavour to Enoch's.]

I suppose they might see me as that. The record of my people.

I can imagine you'd only be able to read the same description of my daily routine so many times.

[Somehow, he manages a laugh despite the ever-lingering burn.]

But you'd-... I knew you would understand. And when you tire of my books, you and Lucifel could always commiserate about how difficult I can be.

[Very much unlike his messages before, this self-deprecation is good-natured.]

I- levity aside, I do appreciate all you have been and done for me, Beckett, especially when you never needed to.

If there is one thing I can imagine even less than being in Heaven, it's commiserating about you, except possibly about your absolutely inordinate constant goodness...

[He says it without much thinking, the way truth of this sort often happens between close friends. What a concept. Sitting at the feet of God talking with His right hand about the mortal they both love. If that picture wasn't missing worthier pieces than him, he could have...]

You say that. [His voice is hoarse.] It's... I wish I had it more in me to believe that I've done for you anything that all the great and good you've known could not do. But maybe that it what it means, what you say about shadow... Anatole would have said so, I think.

[It's strange, sometimes, how there are two of them speaking, and yet often it feels like really there are four present.]

He and your Lucifel would have had a lot to say to each other too, I can't help but think.

Beckett, I-...

[Part of him, like Beckett's own doubts, really thinks it wouldn't take long before they'd talk about his emotional neediness and his mood swings. That he couldn't be all that he says.

But the way he'd said it, like it had taken no consideration at all, like his flaws never came to mind for a second... just like that, the pain is a more pleasant ache, full of a secret he's compelled to say, a piece of himself to share.

He finds himself at a loss for words when he desperately needs to say them. They are too far apart for him to share in gesture.

But Beckett has given him a means to sort it out, another avenue of conversation, something else to share in the meantime. In contrast to his recent misery, the warmth of his own fondness for vampire and angel both is overwhelming him, wrapped around his every word.]

Catalysts of our lives as they are... I'm sure. You had "wake up". I had "I'm not going anywhere". I wonder if they know the weight such simple words hold.

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[network] @Enoch; audio; early morning 342 [open]

@librarian; video

perma-audio (does he know he has red eyes yet?)

perma-vid (he saw Enoch jump, i'd say he probably expects markings but doesn't know about the eyes)

Okay! He won't hide it if asked, so the soul-snatching can start whenever!

sweet!

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@Mnemonsyne; voice

voice

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->private, video

->private, video

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private, video