[identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
{{Placeholder for Carnival farewells}}
[identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
After the end, time unknown

And the wire snaps.

I scream, thin human sound, and start to run, barefoot and right now entirely mortal.  I'd know if he was gone.  I'd know it.  He must be here somewhere.  He must.

I look for him and look for him.  There is dust, smoke, blood, things and people fighting.  I go through it all blindly, again and again, like running my hands through loose grain over and over, everything slipping through my fingers.  I can't find him.  I can't find him.  I search until my feet start bleeding again, from grit and broken glass in the once-clean streets.

In the dawn there is an explosion, and I go out to the tower on bloody feet and it's a dead and broken shell, hollow, only the smell of cordite and a fading illusion-magic still trying to make me see what it thinks I want to see.  There's nothing in it.  He's not there.

He's not here.

Things are dying down.  Dying.

I go to Management in the end.  I'm not afraid.  I'm too tired to be afraid.  I know they fought.  I know he was - protective of me, in the way someone else would have been scared of me going near them.  I don't care any more.

It should be different in there with them.  But everything's the same, except even the hairs on my arms are too tired to rise.  I don't think they're very interested in me any more.  I know the smell of triumph, can hear it in their dry, haha, yes and, run along, dear boy, run along and play.  As they tell me what they did.

I look harder.  He'll be in danger now.  He's human, as I've been when I've been human and stupid and he's - loved me anyway.  The town is trying to put itself back together as it shook itself apart, Nanshe-saturated, people helping one another through the ruin.  Kindness to kindness.  I'll find him, I will.  I will.

I don't.

Closed
[identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
I felt her die, the girl. Beginning.

The end of worlds. Part of me knows this. But there's always been another after, and this time there won't be. And I should be glad. But the part of me that's young and saw some of the world with the Carnival and had that day with Brant and loves - too many people - I don't know. But I am tired. So tired, since that day. And this was what Management brought me back for, and what I was meant for from the beginning.

All of the parts of me, thought - the old god, the man who was Tez, and the me that's Micah - know where I belong, though. He always said that I'd betray him. I always thought I'd have a plan. Instead there's just rain, and me wondering whether, if we'd had a child, if would have been that one that'd died to begin this.

I wonder what Management will do. I can feel them in the night, as I can feel the dead goddess in the rain. None of this is very well organised. I wonder where Genny is, and Valmont.

I could make the earth shake again under my feet as I go, if I wanted. I could be the spaces beneath the earth and between the stars. I'm not. I'm just getting wet. But I know where he is. I always know.
[identity profile] genny-duvall.livejournal.com
A few weeks ago…

Ain't got no idea what he meant.

He didn't hardly say nothin' in the note 'cept he couldn't come back on 'count of havin' problems with Management. What's that mean? If Management wants to make problems with you, they could make all kindsa problems.

So I gotta go to him.

Leastways he said where he was gonna be.

Leastways he sent a note, 'stead of just goin' away.

Don't know whether to be surprised that he sent a note or not. Don't know what's like him or not like him, not even after all this time. He's still Tez, but he still ain't.

It don't feel like it used to when I'm near him. It don't pound in me, and it don't feel like I'm growin' bigger. I can't see the stars or pyramids or nothin', not 'less I try, and I don't think I should try. But there's still somethin' like before.

And it's still Tez. Sorta.

So I gotta go see him.

[Open to Tez]
[identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
From here. Iblis freed Micah!Tez from his bond to Management, and then gave him an unexpected gift.
*
"You had a riding crop once. I remember."

I drop my head forward again, and I look at him through my lashes. I remember looking at him like before.

"I don't remember that. But I would like to, I think." I eat my pie, tart berry and sweet pastry. "Eat your pie," I say, smiling, "and then find somewhere you can remind me of lots of things like that."

[ac: sex, some blood, as you might expect. Schmoop warning! ;)]
[closed]
[identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
The Carnival
June 3


Three years. Nearly, anyway. I've been angry the whole time.

I wanted to know why we left. I wanted to know why he didn't come and find me. I wanted things to be alright with Syl again. I wanted - want - to find a way to punish Management for what they did. I wanted things to be right. I wanted to go home.

The Carnival used to be home. It's not any more. I realised that soon after we left town. Leaving hurt, like something tearing in me. And even if I wasn't missing - people - things weren't how they used to be. I can't do the sort of show I used to, and if I could I don't like people looking at me, now. Working as a roustie's been different from being a turn.

I couldn't leave, so I wrote. Letters to Valmont and Alice, long and rambling, talking about what I saw and some of what I felt. And I sent - things, to Iblis. I started writing to him, one night in some nameless place when I missed him so much it hurt, and when I touched the paper after I could feel that pain throbbing out of it. I burned it and buried the ashes, but a while later I put that same longing into a carefully-pressed flower, a reminder of another time, and sent that.

I never got a reply, but I sent other things, from time to time. My anger like a spring-coil in a page torn from a book. Fear, as a kind of dry joke, in a handful of dust. I never sent any letters, just - moments. Pieces of myself. I don't know if he got them.

And now I'm back here and he's still caught in me like a fish-hook. And I want to see Valmont and Alice, and Glass as well (I stole a book for her once and sent it, delicate drawings of herbs). Other people, maybe. His child. I'm twenty now, in this body at least, and I look more like a man.

And I think I know why we've come back. I have my own plans now.

[OPEN]
[identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
Wednesday, the 24th of September

I'd planned to see Management sooner, but there was Lucien. I still feel strange every time I think about him. That he isn't coming back like I did.

Tez lost lots of people he was close to, over the years. Micah probably lost some, if I could reach that far into his memories. The composite thing I am hasn't.

I did get very drunk at the wake. Lucien would have wanted it, I think, in memory of all the times we got drunk together. I ended up being very sick in an alley, and sat there for a long time looking at my foot in the dark. It's healed some. I think I should take more care of it, now. He'd like that. Would have liked it. I slept in the alley, too, and today my head and stomach hurt. But I promised Genny, and so I've walked to the Carnival - but not until I'd washed my foot with salt water and bandaged it carefully.

[Open to Management]
[identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
Friday, 19 September

The horror's ended. I felt it: a slow drain of something downwards into the land of something. A saturation. It went through me - it went through everything - and I think it was something I used to know. I felt it settle into soil and stone and thought: Oh. Please. That. I want that.

I curled up around the wanting for a while. Part of me was still in the horror. It was the oldest nightmare, of course. I think I can still smell rotting flesh, like it's caught in my nose. I try to snort it out, but it won't go.

But it's not in the hallway any more when I go out, or on the stairs, or anywhere in the building. People shut their doors when I go past: do they know it was my dream that occupied the house? The body stinks of sweat. When I'm out of town I stop and swim in the river as if it can wash more than the smell away. After that I think of going back, but I don't. I feel like I've been so afraid, during the horror, that I don't have any fear left.

I follow the pull and the memory together to what was home, once.

[Open to Genny]
[identity profile] managementchild.livejournal.com
Wednesday, 20th August; afternoon

One week - one week and one thousand thousand thousand days since I
since I
I, I, I
opened one great
eye
and am
when before there was only we (in the darkwomb belly of Creation, we).

I AM
ἐγώ εἰμι
(and there was a great cry in this my new Egypt.)

I have been to my Father's house, and touched his cock and cunt to receive my blessing, for she will not deny me that, even if I am unlike any other child of his seed that was or ever will be. For only I am this. And I bathed in the blood of her baptism between her legs, and made myself a body and face that honours my Father, for what child does not want a heritage? I will wear this, for a while, and when I need it not I will put it in a box like an old suit, for I am of my Mothers too and we can have a hundred faces.

In this body, come out of Egypt, I go into the town. It is my first place and my last place and I will love it until it is gone to dust. Will that be between my teeth? Perhaps. Perhaps.

I choose a building of a pleasing shape to enter. It is a tavern. I ask to see the different colours of the drink and I choose one that is pale gold and amber. I do not drink it, but I hold the glass close to my face so I can smell it. I smell the scent of decaying crops and sunlight. It is a fine drink.

[OPEN]

[identity profile] syl-thorn.livejournal.com
[Just past midnight, Thursday, August 14, day 445]
[The woods]


(Continued from here)

I still really ain't sure where we are. We been walkin' ferrat least a couple hours now, but th'clouds've covered th'moon, an'I can't judge what time't might be. Long 'nough fer th'wound'n m'should t'clot over an' m'arm t'go stiff's old leather. Ain't much else I c'n say beyond'at.

Glass'n me ain't spoken much, partly cuz we's both burnt out, partly 'cuz we wanna stay's quiet's possible. I ain't seen neither'a th'bitches since I left'em trapped'n screamin', but I ain't gonna count us 's anywhere near safe 'til we's outta th'woods 'n safe in our beds.

Pause's we cross into a clearin'. "Any idea how much further we got t'go?" I says inna whisper.


[OPEN to those from the previous scene, and others should they choose]
[identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
Sunday, July 25th
Tez's old squat


This room is too warm, even with the wind coming in the broken window, and damp, and it smells like the back of the stables at the Whitechapel where the stray cats urinate. I still like it better than the one Valmont arranged for me.

I didn't like it there. People came and went in the building, and the woman who owned it - the landlady - was always asking me if I was alright. I think she was trying to be nice to start with, but not for long. And there was no one there to make it worth staying, no Valmont or Alice. So I remembered the way here and climbed up the stairs, and it was familiar and not familiar and once or twice people came out to look at me, but they didn't bother me.

There were some burned-down candles by the door, and they put the hairs up on the back of my neck. Offerings, yes. I wonder what they knew, or thought they knew, the people who left them there, once who-I-was was gone. Someone had tried to break the door open, too, but it hadn't worked. Of course not. It makes me satisfied, still.

It opened for me, of course.

Rain has come in, since I was here, but Genny's painting over the dead hearth is fine. When I came in I touched it with light fingers, half fascinated and half disgusted. Is this what I am? It echoed back into me, and the room seeped into me the way I spread out into the stable loft at Valmont's. (I left some of myself there, just a little. I hope it makes Fyodor uncomfortable if he's gone back there now.)

I'm glad I took the blanket from the bed in the room Valmont paid for, because the ones I left are damp as well. I've been sleeping on it, and now I've wrapped myself up in it even with the warm, because the pressure's reassuring. It makes me think of Val holding me. I wish someone would.

[Open to Lucien]
[identity profile] kira-galliard.livejournal.com
{Early Evening- Tuesday, 29th June ~ Day 394}
{Crossroads DanceHall}


Tonight I'm gonna have myself a real good time
I feel alive
And the world turning inside out, yeah
And floating around in ecstasy, so
Don't stop me now
Don't stop me
'Cuz I'm having a good time, having a good time


It is finally time to open the doors.
The lights are on- thanks to a couple folks from the fair who came out to help me with 'em. And the musics' done warming up now- sounds of instruments tuning and and the player's psyching each other up have given over to songs playing and feet stomping along.
A few brave souls have opened the dancing and there are mostly smiles all around.

So far so good.

A lot of the younger set know me by now from hiring them for the clean-up, and I put up some signs around town, so hopefully we'll have a good turn out.
And now that the greater part of the haying is done, people are in a good mood. People like to dance and come out and see each other when they're happy. Even in a strange town like this that holds true.

Smooth my skirt as I circle the floor towards the drink stand. I'll probably take a few turns of my own tonight, but mostly my job is to meet people who don't know me yet and get them to like me enough to come back. If the night continues like this, I do think it'll turn out fine.

The band starts another song, and I find my smile is genuine.

(The DanceHall is open to all! Come on in and have fun!)
[identity profile] shards-of-alice.livejournal.com
[Sunday, June 20th (Day 385)]
[Just past midnight, the woods outside of Excolo]

I feel my lips move but the words don't want to come out, the sounds grabbed up and gobbled by the nighttime shadows.  It's darker now and I don't know why.  When my voice comes out, when I make it come out - "Micah?" - it's so small I can barely hear it, so small and alone.

Alone.

And that's when I know why it's dark, that's when I know why it feels like nothing but me and woods and darkness, stretching on into forever.  Because I can't see him, because I can't see his colors anymore, even though he was so bright before in the dark.  Because Micah's gone.

"Micah?" )


[Open to Gaueko and Micah]
[Cut for flashbacks and general disturbing things]
[Caution for both]
[identity profile] shards-of-alice.livejournal.com
[Sunday, June 20th (Day 385)]
[Just past midnight, the woods outside of Excolo]

I feel my lips move but the words don't want to come out, the sounds grabbed up and gobbled by the nighttime shadows.  It's darker now and I don't know why.  When my voice comes out, when I make it come out - "Micah?" - it's so small I can barely hear it, so small and alone.

Alone.

And that's when I know why it's dark, that's when I know why it feels like nothing but me and woods and darkness, stretching on into forever.  Because I can't see him, because I can't see his colors anymore, even though he was so bright before in the dark.  Because Micah's gone.

"Micah?" )


[Open to Gaueko and Micah]
[Cut for flashbacks and general disturbing things]
[Caution for both]
[identity profile] shards-of-alice.livejournal.com
[Saturday, June 19th (day 384)]
[Late into the night, the Whitechapel and beyond]

I'm awake.  I shouldn't be, I know, it's pretty late now and the world's asleep.  But the stars, the stars are singing, and I'm humming when I should be sleeping.  There are pictures in my head, too, to keep me awake.  I would try to shake them away, I would try to pay attention to going to sleep, to doing like I should, but I don't.  

It's a game, closing my eyes and making up all sorts of things.  Like dreaming, but not as scary because I'm in charge of what happens.  My new favorites are the ones with ships.  I've never been on a ship or seen a castle or anything like that, but there are pictures on the fronts of the books that I'm learning to read.  And oh the adventures that live inside.

My stories are never exactly like the books, though.  I don't really know what a princess is, or why she's gotta be saved all the time, and sometimes people just seem to wanna fight each other over silly things, but there are parts I like.  I take those parts and mix them up and that's where my stories come from.

Tonight, though, I can't seem to find anything I like.  I think and I think and everything just says no, that's very boring, we've heard that one before.  A world of no and I'm finally sitting up with a sigh.  Maybe that's the problem, yes.  Maybe that's what the stars are singing about, why I feel so fidgety and itchy in my skin.

Maybe the time for stories is over.

I find my shoes, because Valmont'll get sore if I'm out barefoot, and my robe, because it might be cold out, but I don't put anything on until I've tiptoed down the stairs, just as quiet as can be we are, and I'm out back.  It is chilly, so it's nice I remembered the robe.  I slip into the stables, and it's all hay smell and whatever nice things horses dream about, floating in the air.  I'm just as quiet as before, up to the room above.

It's dark, everywhere's dark, but I can see okay if I pay attention, and when I can't see so well, I feel around until I know where I am.  I don't need to see, anyway, to know Micah's there.  I can just feel him there, sleeping.  It's a nice peaceful sort of feel.  And then I crouch down beside him, hand on his shoulder.  "Micah," I whisper, starting to grin a little.  "Wanna go on an adventure?"

[Open to Tez, and later Gaueko]
[Closed and continued here.
[identity profile] shards-of-alice.livejournal.com
[Saturday, June 19th (day 384)]
[Late into the night, the Whitechapel and beyond]

I'm awake.  I shouldn't be, I know, it's pretty late now and the world's asleep.  But the stars, the stars are singing, and I'm humming when I should be sleeping.  There are pictures in my head, too, to keep me awake.  I would try to shake them away, I would try to pay attention to going to sleep, to doing like I should, but I don't.  

It's a game, closing my eyes and making up all sorts of things.  Like dreaming, but not as scary because I'm in charge of what happens.  My new favorites are the ones with ships.  I've never been on a ship or seen a castle or anything like that, but there are pictures on the fronts of the books that I'm learning to read.  And oh the adventures that live inside.

My stories are never exactly like the books, though.  I don't really know what a princess is, or why she's gotta be saved all the time, and sometimes people just seem to wanna fight each other over silly things, but there are parts I like.  I take those parts and mix them up and that's where my stories come from.

Tonight, though, I can't seem to find anything I like.  I think and I think and everything just says no, that's very boring, we've heard that one before.  A world of no and I'm finally sitting up with a sigh.  Maybe that's the problem, yes.  Maybe that's what the stars are singing about, why I feel so fidgety and itchy in my skin.

Maybe the time for stories is over.

I find my shoes, because Valmont'll get sore if I'm out barefoot, and my robe, because it might be cold out, but I don't put anything on until I've tiptoed down the stairs, just as quiet as can be we are, and I'm out back.  It is chilly, so it's nice I remembered the robe.  I slip into the stables, and it's all hay smell and whatever nice things horses dream about, floating in the air.  I'm just as quiet as before, up to the room above.

It's dark, everywhere's dark, but I can see okay if I pay attention, and when I can't see so well, I feel around until I know where I am.  I don't need to see, anyway, to know Micah's there.  I can just feel him there, sleeping.  It's a nice peaceful sort of feel.  And then I crouch down beside him, hand on his shoulder.  "Micah," I whisper, starting to grin a little.  "Wanna go on an adventure?"

[Open to Tez, and later Gaueko]
[Closed and continued here.
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com

Wednesday, late morning, June 9
The garden of The Dormouse


I should not be awake.  I should still be in bed sleeping, like Rose is.  Romana is here, I could go back to bed.  I may give into that urge.  After all, I spent half the night sitting on this very bench, singing to the snow and stars.

Rose went to bed easily last night, and I should have followed... but I could only stare out the window at the snow, glinting in my yard from the soft glow of the lamp.  Before I could think better of it, I was outside.  Wrapped in my comforter, I sat for hours under my willow, staring up at the crystal clear sky.  I also turned on the faerie lights, glad to see they still worked.  There I sat, the stars and the lights glimmering above me, the world's noise muted by a blanket of snow.  And then I sang... quietly at first.  Letting my voice merge with the quiet tones, Gabriel's Message, White Christmas, I'll be home for Christmas, lovely and low songs.  As the music swelled, so did my voice.  I sang Silent Night; first in English, then switching to the Gaelic my Grandmother taught me.  My soul swelling with joy, I continued to O Holy Night, my voice spiralling to the stars and next to God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. 

O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy,
O tidings of comfort and joy!

O, star of wonder, star of night,
Star with royal beauty bright
,----

With that, my voice locked in my throat.  Star, my star, my fallen...
The stars shone that night too, as the snow lay on the grown, pure and crisp and even.  The faerie lights glimmered in the trees, and my heart swelled, and then stopped. 

With a suddenly heavy heart and my voice fled, I went back inside and curled up in my bed; alone and suddenly cold.  I fell asleep curled in that bloodstained ruin of a comforter.

And woke too early to sunshine, birds singing and warm air.  Rose woke up, and seemed just as confused as I.  She fed, I ate, we spent some time together, then she went down for her first nap.  Again, I ventured outside.  The roses seem none the worse for wear, the blooms opening to red and pink and white and peach.  No more black, save one small bush near the back of the property.  I will probably never have the black ones again save that one shoot.  The grass is damp, and the air feels humid.  It feels like it should, like early June.  With a sigh, I drop back on to the bench under my tree, and draw my knees up to my chest.  The melancholy I went to bed with hasn't left yet, and it slips past my lips as only it can sometimes.

Long ago, in someone else's lifetime
Someone with my name, who looked a lot like me
Came to know A man and made a promise
He only had to say,  and that's where she would be.
Lately although the feelings run just as deep
The vows that she made has grown so difficult to keep
And yet I wish it wasn't so
Will he miss me if I go?


I doubt that very highly. 

So why do I feel like I am failing him for feeling this way?

(Open to Iblis and Tez, hell; anyone else at this point)

[identity profile] hermia-sophia.livejournal.com
June 7th, morning
Main Street


It's snowing?

I can hardly believe my eyes when I look out the window in the morning. Big fluffy flakes drifting slowly down, covering everything with white. All I can do is stare at it. And laugh, because it is just so unexpected and wonderful.

I find another blanket to cover Valmont, and I manage to find my winter coat buried deep in the back of the closet - and Alice's and Valmont's too, so that they won't have to go digging - and go back to give Valmont one last kiss before I leave him warm in bed and head out into the snow.

It feels as if I'm leaving a gift for Valmont and Alice to unwrap when they wake up - the wonderful bewildering surprise of snow. It makes me laugh every time I look at it, and I hope it does the same for them.

I'm still thinking about that as I walk down Main Street - the feeling that this is a gift for people to discover. All over town, people are waking up with laughter. A few of the children are even building little snowmen before they hurry off to school. Someone is even hanging up Christmas lights on a storefront, as if it were winter again. I wonder what kind of gifts I could get for Valmont and Alice…

[open]
[identity profile] hermia-sophia.livejournal.com
June 7th, morning
Main Street


It's snowing?

I can hardly believe my eyes when I look out the window in the morning. Big fluffy flakes drifting slowly down, covering everything with white. All I can do is stare at it. And laugh, because it is just so unexpected and wonderful.

I find another blanket to cover Valmont, and I manage to find my winter coat buried deep in the back of the closet - and Alice's and Valmont's too, so that they won't have to go digging - and go back to give Valmont one last kiss before I leave him warm in bed and head out into the snow.

It feels as if I'm leaving a gift for Valmont and Alice to unwrap when they wake up - the wonderful bewildering surprise of snow. It makes me laugh every time I look at it, and I hope it does the same for them.

I'm still thinking about that as I walk down Main Street - the feeling that this is a gift for people to discover. All over town, people are waking up with laughter. A few of the children are even building little snowmen before they hurry off to school. Someone is even hanging up Christmas lights on a storefront, as if it were winter again. I wonder what kind of gifts I could get for Valmont and Alice…

[open]
[identity profile] jaeresteade.livejournal.com
Monday, May 31
Day 365(!), early afternoon
Out and about on Silk Road


I rolled over this morning to find the bed beside me still warm and Ri pulling her clothes back on and gathering her things. Managed to wake up enough to ask her if she wanted me to walk her home, but she said she’d manage. I would have been glad to do it, too, but I do like my sleep. And she did kiss me before she slipped out.

The raw, inked skin over my heart pulled as I settled back in bed, and everything underneath it pulled as well. I’m doing my best to love the girl, and I guess it's not going too badly if she wants to see me two nights in three. Not doing too badly at anything these days, with my hand healed and both jobs going well. The only thing I’m having a hard time getting out of my head is what the hell I’m going to do about Verdi.

I can’t help walking past the Tavern most days, and so many of them I’ve come close to putting my head in the door. Can’t think she wouldn’t be happy to see me, at least at first, but then what? How the hell do you start talking about blood and lies with someone like her when you’ve got, well, whatever’s between us? Just can’t see how to manage it, or how it could ever come out well in the end.

Most of a month this has been festering in my head. Just can’t put it away. Guess I could maybe run some errands, get something to eat, and then maybe, maybe see if I can’t talk to her. And if it’s the last thing I do, well, at least I don’t have to work tonight.

OPEN

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