03-20-2019, 10:11 PM
A thousand pinprick stars littered the black sky, like the world had been swallowed by the heavens. It wasn’t the first time he’d peered curiously into the between place Nimeda had showed him, and it was not the first time he had watched this one’s dreams in particular. But it was the first time he had passed the filmy threshold into them.
She sat amidst the darkness, gaze upturned to watch the constellations. Little else focused beyond formless shadow in the landscape around; just her and her nightly vigil. Auburn hair tangled against her shoulders, her palms cupped peaceful in her lap. A line pierced between her brow. She did not look down.
Sören’s gaze cast a wary net despite how little there was to see. His fingers flexed, testing his control. He was not sure of the consequences that might bite from such a breach, and Nimeda had certainly been her customary vague about the details. But desperation forced an impatient hand.
“You never used to be so hard to find.”
Her eyes swivelled and fixed, a frown pinching her lips to join the furrow of her brow. Confusion reigned for a moment before it crystallised to something vaguely annoyed. “What are you doing here?” Her accent lilted musical to foreign ears, belying the snap. She glanced into the hazy darkness as though seeking devils, but only found him.
“You haven’t been answering my calls,” he accused. His lips thinned to the displeasure of that, but truthfully it was the fountaining frustration within pushing him more than any perceived slight. His hands slunk in his pockets, gaze blinking away. Headaches plagued him frequently, burning every cognizant thought from his brain. Nimeda’s recent probing irked him too, stirring old vices to the forefront like so much irritating dust. He needed something concrete. Something tangible.
“You realise how rude this could be considered. If I had news for you, Sören, you would know.” Her thin shoulders titled into a shrug, but there was consideration in her gaze now. Too late he perceived the fly caught in the snarl of another’s web. When she stood it was to an unimpressive height, closing the distance unafraid. Starlight caught her pale skin almost to translucency. Chin angled up, she searched his gaze like she might find answers within. She would be disappointed. “What is the point of all this digging? What is the point of living forever if it’s in a ruined world?”
Sören’s jaw tightened, but he offered no answer. Truthfully he had none she had not heard a hundred times before, and of those she would accept nothing without a tiresome amount of debate. Her arms parted, unswayed by his silence. “I am the splinter of a splinter. I can’t watch all the corners of the world on my own. It would be easier if I were not alone.”
She was small, even in her dreams, and fragile as a bird cupped in a palm. The disparity had fooled him once. He stared down. Glared really. “A pointless task.”
“Because of what the soothsayer saw in the bones?”
“All things end,” he snapped. Such tired and bone-wearying philosophising was not why he had risked entry into her dream, and neither did he wish to crack the lids from secrets he had let her peer within once. She did not even deny it, and yet it was determination in her expression, not fear. Such fanciful commitment to a higher purpose. It grit his teeth in his skull, fanning the barest smoke from the fire of a temper rarely roused. He squared his shoulders. “What is the point of making a better world if I will not be here to see it.”
“I despair that you cannot answer that for yourself, Sören. If I had but a fraction of your gift, I would not be so wasteful with it.”
He came to in a flea-ridden, pay by the hour motel room; the closest thing that had been to hand for his purposes, and a far cry from the luxury of his usual haunt. He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing out the last vestiges of irritation. Failure was no balm to his foul mood, and a warning twinge flared as his eye adjusted to the light. Haart had promised aid, but doubt plagued the offer. Paragon had it uses, as did Ephraim, but the man had too smooth a smile to trust. He should have been able to rely on Morven’s services anyway -- the problem being he had not seen the damn girl since before the ball. A distinction he had not much noticed until he needed her, despite the fact she was supposedly living in his apartment.
She’d been a doctor at the Guardian before her temper got her suspended over some kid, thus fuelling his dire present circumstances. Room vacated, he dropped a handful of notes on the reception desk before he left. Outside’s sun burned more than it should, forcing a hand to shade across his forehead, and a scowl to darken his expression. If she had friends, Sören did not know of them, and her sister lived in the northern reaches of Scotland practically a world away. Duty tied tight chains to the people she cared for here; it was unlikely she fled home. So he searched all the likely places she might have found distraction.
And found nothing, despite all careful diligence.
Another possibility simmered, but it was not one he was particularly keen to consider. Giving up was not much in his nature, but neither was pointless action. He paused in the alley he had cut through, parsing through his next move while the humming burn in his eyesocket fought for the entirety of his attention.
The ache twisted quite suddenly to a stab. Sören’s hand flung out for the support of a wall, staggering a few paces blind before his palm scraped a bright burn, failing. He found himself braced against the ground instead. The vision in his good eye blurred double, spiking nausea in his stomach. The pain caught his breath short and hard as he pressed his forehead to the concrete.
[[@"Nina"]]
She sat amidst the darkness, gaze upturned to watch the constellations. Little else focused beyond formless shadow in the landscape around; just her and her nightly vigil. Auburn hair tangled against her shoulders, her palms cupped peaceful in her lap. A line pierced between her brow. She did not look down.
Sören’s gaze cast a wary net despite how little there was to see. His fingers flexed, testing his control. He was not sure of the consequences that might bite from such a breach, and Nimeda had certainly been her customary vague about the details. But desperation forced an impatient hand.
“You never used to be so hard to find.”
Her eyes swivelled and fixed, a frown pinching her lips to join the furrow of her brow. Confusion reigned for a moment before it crystallised to something vaguely annoyed. “What are you doing here?” Her accent lilted musical to foreign ears, belying the snap. She glanced into the hazy darkness as though seeking devils, but only found him.
“You haven’t been answering my calls,” he accused. His lips thinned to the displeasure of that, but truthfully it was the fountaining frustration within pushing him more than any perceived slight. His hands slunk in his pockets, gaze blinking away. Headaches plagued him frequently, burning every cognizant thought from his brain. Nimeda’s recent probing irked him too, stirring old vices to the forefront like so much irritating dust. He needed something concrete. Something tangible.
“You realise how rude this could be considered. If I had news for you, Sören, you would know.” Her thin shoulders titled into a shrug, but there was consideration in her gaze now. Too late he perceived the fly caught in the snarl of another’s web. When she stood it was to an unimpressive height, closing the distance unafraid. Starlight caught her pale skin almost to translucency. Chin angled up, she searched his gaze like she might find answers within. She would be disappointed. “What is the point of all this digging? What is the point of living forever if it’s in a ruined world?”
Sören’s jaw tightened, but he offered no answer. Truthfully he had none she had not heard a hundred times before, and of those she would accept nothing without a tiresome amount of debate. Her arms parted, unswayed by his silence. “I am the splinter of a splinter. I can’t watch all the corners of the world on my own. It would be easier if I were not alone.”
She was small, even in her dreams, and fragile as a bird cupped in a palm. The disparity had fooled him once. He stared down. Glared really. “A pointless task.”
“Because of what the soothsayer saw in the bones?”
“All things end,” he snapped. Such tired and bone-wearying philosophising was not why he had risked entry into her dream, and neither did he wish to crack the lids from secrets he had let her peer within once. She did not even deny it, and yet it was determination in her expression, not fear. Such fanciful commitment to a higher purpose. It grit his teeth in his skull, fanning the barest smoke from the fire of a temper rarely roused. He squared his shoulders. “What is the point of making a better world if I will not be here to see it.”
“I despair that you cannot answer that for yourself, Sören. If I had but a fraction of your gift, I would not be so wasteful with it.”
He came to in a flea-ridden, pay by the hour motel room; the closest thing that had been to hand for his purposes, and a far cry from the luxury of his usual haunt. He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing out the last vestiges of irritation. Failure was no balm to his foul mood, and a warning twinge flared as his eye adjusted to the light. Haart had promised aid, but doubt plagued the offer. Paragon had it uses, as did Ephraim, but the man had too smooth a smile to trust. He should have been able to rely on Morven’s services anyway -- the problem being he had not seen the damn girl since before the ball. A distinction he had not much noticed until he needed her, despite the fact she was supposedly living in his apartment.
She’d been a doctor at the Guardian before her temper got her suspended over some kid, thus fuelling his dire present circumstances. Room vacated, he dropped a handful of notes on the reception desk before he left. Outside’s sun burned more than it should, forcing a hand to shade across his forehead, and a scowl to darken his expression. If she had friends, Sören did not know of them, and her sister lived in the northern reaches of Scotland practically a world away. Duty tied tight chains to the people she cared for here; it was unlikely she fled home. So he searched all the likely places she might have found distraction.
And found nothing, despite all careful diligence.
Another possibility simmered, but it was not one he was particularly keen to consider. Giving up was not much in his nature, but neither was pointless action. He paused in the alley he had cut through, parsing through his next move while the humming burn in his eyesocket fought for the entirety of his attention.
The ache twisted quite suddenly to a stab. Sören’s hand flung out for the support of a wall, staggering a few paces blind before his palm scraped a bright burn, failing. He found himself braced against the ground instead. The vision in his good eye blurred double, spiking nausea in his stomach. The pain caught his breath short and hard as he pressed his forehead to the concrete.
[[@"Nina"]]
![[Image: odinraven.png]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/08/odinraven.png)