I will only complicate you. Trust in me and fall as well.

[lilith-qliphah.livejournal.com]

Tuesday, September 1st
Day 93
Evening

I do not bother to draw my form back together after I leave the Grindhouse, instead I remain as desert air drifting over the carnival, simply enjoying not being contained in human form for awhile. I did not look for Zann immediately after I left but I know perhaps only a day has past between then and now and the time has come. I search the lot and she is nowhere to be found, so I widen my search to include the town and then…Oohh, there you are.

...I easily spot her, walking quickly down the road with hands stuffed in her pockets and a determined look on her face that makes me spark with excitement, hoping she’s going where I think she is. I watch as she turns down the main street showing no signs of slowing as she passes by shop after shop then after the stables turns right. Oh you sneaky brave little thing, you are going to see him without me, aren’t you.

She reaches the tower and pauses at the entrance, looking it over carefully then taking a deep breath she steps up to the door pausing again. Ooohh this is going to be such wonderful fun. Without out even a slight ripple in the air, I draw my form together behind her as she raises a small fist and knocks on the door.

“Zann, why are you knocking on a water tower?” I ask, cautiously and then gasp taking a quick step back as she jumps in surprise, spinning around to face me.

[open to Zann and Iblis]

Continued here.

Comments

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

Weeknights have gotten really quiet lately, and this Tuesday's no different. So I feed Anti and Kythera, and leave them a handful of walnuts and a coupling that I found in Cain's junkyard, and grab my jacket and head out, north and west and north again, always north. Maybe something wants us here or maybe we're meant to be here and the whole thing about wanting and meaning is, it's done by something with a--a mind. Kind of. An awareness, a singing song, a thing that can see a pattern and want something different, want it to change or come to its end or something.

Feel like I'm waltzing with someone and I'm only hearing a third of the notes, and I can't see their face; feel like I'm trying to fix the gears on a new machine blindfolded, and what I can touch I can handle but I don't know if something's going to come down and crush me. Someone fucking tell me something, okay?

I keep thinking of the first time Hux showed me how an engine worked. I mean... I'm not planning on asking him for any favours or anything--I know what he is even if Lily doesn't, if she doesn't--I just want to... get an idea. Something.

(I brought a present. Kinda. It was so hard finding something that worked besides "Sympathy for the Devil". I was thinking a requiem or something but honestly, all of those are about thank you God have mercy God and it just didn't seem to fit.)

So I'm out at the Tower by moonlight, almost-full moonlight, and it's so damn quiet. I think I saw things or people moving around here when I was further away but they're not here now. Look at the door and I mean, I don't wonder if I really want to do this, I do, but I wonder for a second if it's worth it. Man, Syl is gonna kill me. But I think it could be worth it, really really do, and I knock on the door.

"Zann, why are you knocking on a water tower?" and I swear I fucking levitate right then and there and my heart's going triple-time in my chest, banging like a drum that somebody's trying to burst, and I turn around to see Lily and "what the fuck?! What the fuck are you doing here?" I hiss, one hand pressed to my heart.

[lilith-qliphah.livejournal.com]

"what the fuck?! What the fuck are you doing here?" Zann hisses, clutching her chest as if to steady her galloping heart.

My eyes widen with surprise at her reaction, "Zann I told you I was supposed to see Kent this week. I couldn't find you so I was going to his house by myself when I saw you walking. The way you looked.." I pause, brows drawing together, "Worried me," I say slowly. "I wasn't even going to bother you, but when you didn't stop anywhere in town and then came here...Zann why are you here?" I say quietly, shivering and rubbing my arms as I look around.

"Are you okay?" I ask gently, looking around us again appearing a little more worried.

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

"Yeah. Yeah, just got a hit of adrenaline, don't mind me." Jesus she threw me for a loop. Grin a little and manage a smile. "Here same's you, I guess. Came to see Kent. Just... yeah." I shrug and force myself to breathe deep and slow.

"So you've been... what, following me since town?"

[lilith-qliphah.livejournal.com]

"Sure, Zann," I nod half smiling, "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." She seems to be calming down a little, taking deep breaths and slowing her heart.

My head snaps around to look at her, "You're here to see Kent? At a water tower?" I ask slowly, arching a brow, "Ohh right the devil lives here," I say smiling and shaking my head, "Well I guess he's not here then. Now If you were looking for Kent, I know he has a place in town, which is where I was going.." I say gesturing back towards town.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

The tower is dark and light, nightfall and moonlight, and I move as air between the moonbeams and the shadows.

I hear someone approaching, the thrum of her heart an engine in the quiet night.

Zann.

I would smile if I were wearing a body. And I can sense something else, the dry heat of the desert with the familiarity of my own pulse. Lilith has come, too. Well, this should be interesting.

I look down from the window and see them, small at the foot of the tower, and I take myself as a light breeze some few hundred feet from where they stand. And there I turn wind into flesh, as I become Kent once more.

I walk across the grass, letting my feet make noise as I go.

"Be not ashamed, women—your privilege encloses the rest, and is the exit of the rest;
You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul."

I speak clearly across the little space now between us, and the moonlight falls on my face as I move. We are all of us chiaroscuro tonight.

"Zann and Lily. Hello."

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

"Ohh right the devil lives here," she says, shaking her head, and yeah, okay, some of it's from the heartspike stab of adrenaline left over, but I swear I am this close to snapping at her over that. "Well I guess he's not here then. Now If you were looking for Kent, I know he has a place in town, which is where I was going.."

I'm torn between saying one of two things--either Nah, you go on back, I'll meet you at his place in a bit, or else You followed me all the way out here in the dark, when you weren't coming here? And on the edge of that, unspoken, is the thought and I didn't hear you or see you even once? Even as edgy as I am?

And then I hear footsteps rising slowly closer and I look towards them and I see him. And I stop wondering. Didn't even know I'd been wondering until then, but I'd forgotten how meant he was. And maybe Lilith knows and maybe Lily doesn't, but that's... not the point, right now.

"Be not ashamed, women—your privilege encloses the rest, and is the exit of the rest;
You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul."

"Hey," I say softly, and then a little clearer, "Hello, Kent." And I'm smiling, and wondering again wicked, why wicked? Run over the shape of the poem in my head, and that's a little harder in the moonlight because it's such a bright poem, it really is, life and light and the all of it, but I manage, and it's enough to steady the last of the racing in my heart.

"The male is not less the soul, nor more—he too is in his place;
He too is all qualities—he is action and power;
The flush of the known universe is in him;
Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well..."

And I let it stop then, because Whitman, oh there is so much more to say but the rest of it... I think it turns away from him. From Kent.

I realize I'm shoving my hands into my pockets, and I can feel something small and hard in my jacket digging into my side, and I stop. "I brought you something," I add awkwardly. Damn, I thought Anushka was hard to make presents for...

[lilith-qliphah.livejournal.com]

Zann doesn't have time to reply to my questions before I feel Iblis approach, but its not until he speaks that I appear to take notice. My spine stiffens and I let confusion fill my eyes as I turn slowly towards him. "What in the world is he playing at now?" I murmur, only loud enough for Zann to hear, though I'm sure Iblis did too. Then her body relaxes and she's smiling and quoting another line from the poem he recited. Ohh she really does like him doesn't she. I wonder how hard the witch will be laughing when she hears of this.

With an inward sigh I step forward and place a single kiss on his cheek, lips drawing into a smile against his skin for a only moment before I move away, "Hello, Kent, what are you doing out here?" I ask quietly, stepping back beside Zann. "I brought you something," she says to him and I keep my face a mask of confusion as I look from one to the other even though I want to laugh and say, Yess, I've brought you something too.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

Zann's heart stop-starts like a shuttle on a loom, but then the beat of the poem steadies her into a smoother pulse.

"The male is not less the soul, nor more—he too is in his place;
He too is all qualities—he is action and power;
The flush of the known universe is in him;
Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well..."

"That sounds like me," I say, smiling. "Although I would not particularly describe myself as male. But you know that, do you not, Zann?"

"I brought you something," she continues, and I tilt my head and observe her.

"A gift? What is the occasion?" The corner of my mouth turns up, and then Lilith comes up to me and kisses my cheek, light as a whisper.

"Hello, Kent, what are you doing out here?"

Ah, still playing the innocent. Is Zann, then, the teacher? That is rather delightful, Lilith letting Zann lead.

"Hello, Lily. I live here now... More or less." I smile in the moonlight. "Would you like to come inside?"

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

"That sounds like me. Although I would not particularly describe myself as male. But you know that, do you not, Zann?" and I'm dipping my head in acknowledgement and then just looking again. And that's its own wonder, really really is; a little ball of jelly and water picking out shape and colour and focus in its smooth shining glide. And he built them, two of them just for Kent (and set them in the fine delicate lattice of bone and muscle and blood and skin, built a whole man, my orrery's a joke against that, a child banging on a cymbal), and two for that pale strange townie, and two more for Danika--

I realize I'm touching my own face, the ridge of bone right below my eye, and I bring my hand down.

"A gift? What is the occasion?"

"I thought I should, you know? Since I was visiting. It seemed polite." I don't exactly know how this works, all of it, but I think... well. I'm coming to see the devil, I should be polite. Reach into my jacket and pull out a little metal box, maybe the size of three or four cigarette cases stacked on each other. Sharp edges and an oiled hinged lid and steel gone black with tannin and age and clockwork waiting inside like a trapdoor spider. "It'll play (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hgw_RD_1_5I) when you open it," I say, holding it out to him; carefully, because the edges aren't just decoration-sharp, they have burs and the thin sharp twists you get on the unpolished edges of broken things. Not the whole song, I couldn't fit the whole song in, but maybe a minute or two. "But only once. Then it'll break." The music winds out and the spring inside winds up and the jaws will snap shut inside and the fine gears will break. It was hard to make--not technically, it was even sadder that it was so easy to set up--but I didn't think he should--he would--

I didn't think something that kept working would be okay.

"Hello, Kent, what are you doing out here?"

"Hello, Lily. I live here now... More or less." Oh, is he calling her Lily too, now, and not Lilith? Remember how rude I thought it was when whatshisname called Kent Iblis to his face, and okay, fine, Lily for now. "Would you like to come inside?"

"Yes, please," I say quietly, glancing over at Lily.

[lilith-qliphah.livejournal.com]

Zann pulls out a small metal box holding it out to Kent saying it will play part of a song and then it will break. What a clever girl to have made him such an appropriate gift. And I can tell Iblis is intrigued with her other gift as well, such a waste it only being used on the machines at the carnival.

"Hello, Lily. I live here now... More or less. Would you like to come inside?"

"Yes, please," Zann answers first glancing over at me. Pulling my lower lip between my teeth, I nod slightly, "Sure, I guess so," I say slowly looking back at Iblis again, "You live here? But I thought you said.." I trail off, biting my lip again as I shake my head in confusion. "Sure, lets go inside," I sigh, giving Zann a confused look before taking her hand.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

Zann hands me a box.

"It'll play when you open it. But only once. Then it'll break."

I hold it in my hand. I can hear it sing without opening it. It is as perfect an execution of an idea that I can expect from a human, and so I smile at her.

"Thank you, Zann. Let us look at it upstairs."

"You live here? But I thought you said.."

"I say many things, Lily, and you should know not to believe them all," I smile, and I open the door and lead them upstairs.

For Zann, the upper chamber has walls stripped bare, brickwork exposed. There is a low wooden table, piled with books open on top of other books. There is a sheaf of yellowing paper - the original blueprints to the tower. I pick one (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/18748/18748-h/images/fig1.png) out at random and hand it to Zann.

"Part of the whole," I explain. "Keep it."

The table is lit by a lamp made of brass and parts (http://steampunkworkshop.com/images/d-lyras-lamp.jpg). In the corner of the room a sculpture twisted out of steel (http://www.onlinemuseumstore.com/images/dreamin.jpg) looms, and as we enter begins to click; it is a kinetic sculpture which moves two steel balls around three tracks. I saw it long ago, and I took it for myself. My qareen has brought it out of where the qareen keeps things.

"Sit, please," I say, pointing to a battered sofa by the table. I place the box on the table and open it. The Chopin plays soft and sober, and in the funereal tones I also hear the gears clogging, the spring winding down, and the cogs jam and splinter. The music stops.

"What a lovely thing," I say. "Now, Zann, why are you seeking me out?"

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

"Thank you, Zann. Let us look at it upstairs." And I think he means it, at least a little, and I smile at that. Best thing you can do, make people happy with what you give them.

"You live here? But I thought you said.."
"I say many things, Lily, and you should know not to believe them all."

She's shaking her head, looking confused, and I catch her hand and squeeze it before bouncing ahead, hurrying up the stairs. Tower's bare and warm and built, bricks showing age and couch showing use and table piled with books open, old thoughts and patterns inked on the pages and waiting--and oh, it's beautiful. It's comfortable. Thin dark steel's humming and circling comfortably in the corner, and the light's warm as the brass holding it.

Sit down on the couch and take the paper he holds out to me and, oh, are you true? Wonder at who drafted this, and if they knew what it'd come to when they set pen to paper, back in the ago.

Look up to watch as my music box breathes and dies, and oh, it does what it's meant to do beautifully but I've still got a small knot down in the back of my throat. I've broken things before, but... well. Guess I'd do it again, to help someone, if I had to. Just feels odd to build something to break.

"What a lovely thing," he says and I look up and he still looks perfectly himself, the man I suggested try hitting the Carnaval for roustie work, who offered me a cigarette in the Tavern. "Now, Zann, why are you seeking me out?"

"I wanted to see you again," I say, and that's really the center of it all. I'll be glad if Lily asks him to help with Tez and Genny, and I think I might even, but... that's not it. "You're beautiful, you're meant--I mean, you make yourself up out of wanting to! I can't even think about that without hearing music, I can work machines but not out of nothing, not the way you work people. Kent and that townie girl and Danika..."

...oh God, I'm sorry, I know what he is, and I sound like one of those marks panting after a Grindhouse girl, whining promises and begging her to put down roots. But he's beautiful, he really is, can't I just talk to him?

"And--I don't know, wanted to ask. Why're you wicked? I believed you, when you said it, but why?"

[lilith-qliphah.livejournal.com]

"I say many things, Lily, and you should know not to believe them all," Kent smiles as he opens the door to let us in. I let anger just barely start to simmer in my eyes as Zann squeezes my hand and we go inside.

When we reach the top of the stairs I look around, gazing at the room he has created just for Zann, of course it suits her perfectly. We both sit on the couch he points to and I let go of her hand, folding my arms across my chest. I quietly listen to their exchange looking from one to the other as they speak, he is not the only one interested in knowing why she came, I know her Genny and Tez is one reason but I don't think its the only one.

The gift she made him is simply wonderful and fitting, something beautiful made to break. "Oh, Zann, its beautiful," I breath. Its not the the thing itself but what it says that makes it wonderful. And for the second time I wonder what else she would be willing to break if he asked her to. "And--I don't know, wanted to ask. Why're you wicked? I believed you, when you said it, but why?"

"But he's not.." I pause, looking around and then sighing, "Never mind, I think I'd like to hear the answer to that one myself," I say looking straight at him.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"I wanted to see you again,You're beautiful, you're meant--I mean, you make yourself up out of wanting to! I can't even think about that without hearing music, I can work machines but not out of nothing, not the way you work people. Kent and that townie girl and Danika..."

Ah, lovely Zann. You could be such a beautiful instrument, if only I can turn the tune of you from creation to destruction. It would not be so very hard, really; it is just unmaking, and that has its own method, too.

"And--I don't know, wanted to ask. Why're you wicked? I believed you, when you said it, but why?"

I ignore Lilith's false protests about my supposed lack of wickedness. I move some of the books out of the way and perch on the table, sitting opposite Zann.

"You are right," I say. "I am meant. I was here before man, and I am many things and none. Flesh is an instrument, or a song. I can wield it, I can sing it. I can be many things. And I am wicked..." I pause. It is an interesting question, and not one many have bothered to ask, so it is worth a reasonable answer. "I am wicked because I gave up love, and I took up instead as my mantle destruction - not that which is natural and comes about at the end of all things, but is - " I pause and smile - "like the deliberate breaking of a cog in a machine, the creaking sound of its ragged maw. So Man would call me wicked, and so has my Adversary."

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

"You are right. I am meant. I was here before man, and I am many things and none. Flesh is an instrument, or a song. I can wield it, I can sing it. I can be many things." And I want to ask who meant you? but I think I know. Oh God, and I'm not thinking that just to swear by it, I'm really not, I'm sitting here talking to the Devil--

I think of tightrope walks, spins and catches, the ground of the tent so far below. It's okay, as long as you keep moving clean and sure it's okay, and even if it isn't I want to listen.

"I am wicked because I gave up love, and I took up instead as my mantle destruction - not that which is natural and comes about at the end of all things, but is - like the deliberate breaking of a cog in a machine, the creaking sound of its ragged maw." I glance at the music box again, just quickly. "So Man would call me wicked, and so has my Adversary."

I'm trying to imagine the end of things, that end of things, with all the pieces of the world torn down and apart and strewn through empty space, and the closest I can come is the idea of a million million grains of sand in a dark sky and none of them touching each other and no light to see them by, but even then I see patterns in them, that's what people do with nonsense shapes when you hand them to us.

Although I don't suppose there'd be anyone to see them. Something really meaningless, then, no light, no pattern, no music of the spheres? I shiver and realize I'm leaning forward.

"If you have... what you want, the breaking end, will you go to destruction too? Will there be anything left?" Glance at Lily to see how she's taking this.

[lilith-qliphah.livejournal.com]

I listen as he answers Zann's question and Ohhh how I do want to smile at his explanation, put into the perfect terms that she would understand. Because of man, we both gave up something precious to become what we are, different but the same and wicked really barely describes it.

Zann doesn't blink at what he says, merely shivers and leans forward more interested than she was before, asking another question. Now isn't this just precious, what a unique little human she is.

My hands clench, arms tightening around me and my eyes narrow in suspicion as I look at Kent, "Wicked is one thing but Zann told me you're the devil, is that true Kent? If it is, we're going to need to have a long talk because I brought her here so we could ask for your help," I say, voice low with just a touch of anger even though I'm anything but that.

Ohh I can't wait to hear his answer to that. Again as if something as simple as "the devil" describes all that he is.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"If you have... what you want, the breaking end, will you go to destruction too? Will there be anything left?" Zann leans forward, and there is genuine curiosity in her voice that carries her further than her fear. And then Lilith speaks words of false indignation:

"Wicked is one thing but Zann told me you're the devil, is that true Kent? If it is, we're going to need to have a long talk because I brought her here so we could ask for your help."

I look at Zann with a serious expression.

"My own end is not appointed by me." That gives me a certain bitterness; I have done so much myself for myself. I have defied destiny. "But the only thing that awaits me is dissolution, yes. There is something satisfying in that." I smile at her now, a dark sort of glint. "You cannot imagine the depths of my despair. In the end, it can only be answered with obliteration."

I have been very honest with many people in this town. Lies work better when one is given to truths, also.

I look at Lilith.

"Am I the Devil? It is not a name I would give myself. I am ," I say, and I let the word carry a great weight. For a moment the air smells of the سموم‎ , the hot choking storm of the desert, and the lamp flickers. Then the air is cool again. "I am al-Shairan; I am He Who Despairs. I do not have horns, although I could if I wished. The number 666 means nothing to me. I dwell on earth, as you can see. The question then," I say, and I look at Zann, "is what do you think the Devil is? And am I that?"

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

"My own end is not appointed by me. But the only thing that awaits me is dissolution, yes. There is something satisfying in that," and he's smiling and I swear it nearly fucking breaks my heart. "You cannot imagine the depths of my despair. In the end, it can only be answered with obliteration."

See, yes, I've heard people talk like that. Not that pretty, really really not, even without the whole weight of being that Kent has behind him, but I've heard them. Usually they cry it out and wake up sick and tired, and things get better.

Usually they're not the Devil.

"'m sorry," I say quietly, and anyone else I'd get up and hug right there, even the townie girl or Danika, but it doesn't seem to fit Kent. Reach out and catch one of his hands and squeeze it instead, 'cause I believe him, believe I can't imagine what it's like, but the hell he must be in--

Oh. Right.

Pull my hand back as Lily speaks. "Wicked is one thing but Zann told me you're the devil, is that true Kent? If it is, we're going to need to have a long talk because I brought her here so we could ask for your help." Shoot Lily a quick and thoughtful look. Now it's her bringing me here, not to mention us asking for help? Oh honey, I'm too polite to contradict right now, but don't think I haven't noticed you're all over the place with your stories.

"Am I the Devil? It is not a name I would give myself. I am إبليس," and the air smells like hot earth gone dry as metal and something great and terrible breathing. "I am al-Shairan; I am He Who Despairs. I do not have horns, although I could if I wished. The number 666 means nothing to me. I dwell on earth, as you can see. The question then," and he looks from Lily to me, and his eyes are like stars, "is what do you think the Devil is? And am I that?"

"I don't know." The Devil--or, like the Doc said, Hell walks this town as a man. That's a little different, maybe. "I never thought of the Devil as someone that despaired." Strangest feeling, like seeing a feed chain pulling you in to crush you and hearing it crying all at once. "You made yourself into a malengine, purest one that could be, and tore out love, and want things destroyed... I guess that's Hell, real Hell, not just what people talk about when they swear." Go quiet for a moment.

"Does it bother you, that Tez loves you? And do you hate me? For being, I mean?"

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

She takes my hand. An odd enough response to talk of hell; but I know well enough how to elicit sympathy. There have been songs about that.

"You made yourself into a malengine, purest one that could be, and tore out love, and want things destroyed... I guess that's Hell, real Hell, not just what people talk about when they swear."

"As if I could be satisfied with mere fire," I say, smiling. "If Hell is a place, I am also it."

"Does it bother you, that Tez loves you? And do you hate me? For being, I mean?"

I think on her first question. Does it bother me? I seek out men and gods' desire, need, fear, devotion... But love. I have a strange fondness for possessing it when I will not give it.

"No," I say, at last. "Because his love cannot end well for him, or for us." Tezcatlipoca will either betray me, or he will die because of me. Possibly both. And so onward with despair. "And yes, I hate you for being, as you put it." My smile glimmers. "But that does not mean I cannot like you, too. And I do, insofar as I can like Man. You are an interesting person. You remind me of a friend."

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

He doesn't say anything for a minute, and I wonder why. I imagine he might be deciding what to tell me, which is not the same thing as lying although they can weave through each other sometimes. I'm not... I don't think I could tell if he lied, every word's so perfectly struck into the air.

"No. Because his love cannot end well for him, or for us." And I can feel my heart squeeze inside me, because even with what he's turning into... Tez. And deeper and clearer than that, Genny.

"And yes, I hate you for being, as you put it," and he's smiling and it's like... I don't make up names for my machines or anything, but this is like the slow wear of metal and loosening of joints having a face. Not being human, but having a face so real you forget that for a moment, and I smile back a little. Not 'cause I'm happy or anything, really not, but--yeah, I kind of knew that. "But that does not mean I cannot like you, too. And I do, insofar as I can like Man. You are an interesting person. You remind me of a friend."

I shrug and I'd pull my knees up to myself and rest my heels on the edge of the couch but I don't want to get it dirty. Odd thing to think about but it's there. "I like you too," I say quietly. "The bits I can--understand, hear, whatever." Being around him is a little like talking to Anushka except with her I keep having that feeling that she's moving away from anything I can see, following a psychokine track that takes her out into the pattern of things. With Kent it's--I know there's something in him that's out of sight, but I can't tell, he's just stamped into the world strong and bright as nothing else. "And you're interesting, you..." I shake my head and run one hand over the stubble of my hair.

"May-be," I say softly, "the things I perceive—the animals, plants, men, hills, shining and flowing waters,
The skies of day and night—colors, densities, forms—May-be these are, (as doubtless they are,) only apparitions, and the real something has yet to be known..." Look up at him. "So why am I interesting? I guess it's not just coming to see you. The patterns, then?"

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

She smiles at me. It is very rare for a human to smile at me in that way when they have any indication of who I am. Sometimes they do smile, with desire and greed and ambition; but rarely with friendship. It is an interesting thing to hear myself described as liked. That makes two mortals in this town who know what I am and like me. Zann and Anushka. They would be very pretty together, I think; Anushka has so much power, but with Zann she could direct that power, unleash it onto the mindful unravelling of time and place, rather than simply blasting it into white oblivion. Everything unwinding, yes, springs uncoiling into space.

"the things I perceive—the animals, plants, men, hills, shining and flowing waters,
The skies of day and night—colors, densities, forms—May-be these are, (as doubtless they are,) only apparitions, and the real something has yet to be known..."

"A dream within a dream?" I say, smiling. "Everything is real. I think that is one of the many things that humans cannot understand. This, and what is beyond; and reality becomes brighter the further from here one goes." I think of the brilliant certainty of Elsewhere, and Kent's mouth tastes of ashes, and the same old anger boils in me like steam from a mountain.

"So why am I interesting? I guess it's not just coming to see you. The patterns, then?"

"Perhaps," I say. "Everything is eventual. I think that you have something in you capable of seeing that." I lean forward and I touch the curve of her head with my palm, just grazing the stubble, and I feel the dim crackle of Anushka there; fading now, of course, and Zann is probably not even aware of it.

"You are like my friend, a little - though not as great. But very few humans are, so do not take that as an insult," I say, and leaning forward I press my lips to hers; not with passion, but in order to give her the kiss that Anushka gave me. I give her that moment, dry lips against Svetlana's dry lips, and then I sit back, hands folded in my lap.

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

"Everything is real. I think that is one of the many things that humans cannot understand. This, and what is beyond; and reality becomes brighter the further from here one goes."

"A dream over something, a mask for... I think I know someone who sees it, a little," I say quietly. I'm thinking of Anushka again, and the great sweep of time and intent and music and hearing and light she unfolded out of a single hanging crystal. What she saw there, what she let me see, it's the shape of a single spoke on a wheel on some great interleaved machinery that itself is an echo of the shape of something spinning through and spinning out the world, bright and eternal.

"Everything is eventual. I think that you have something in you capable of seeing that," and yes, I think he sees this better than I can, but... everything? No. Maybe each thing on its own, but everything reaches out, takes in new things--

Unless he breaks it all, I guess... And I can't imagine seeing so much and wanting to destroy it, how can you look on it all and not love some part of it, the motion and the grace? Glance up as his hand dusts across my hair. "You are like my friend, a little - though not as great. But very few humans are, so do not take that as an insult," and he leans forward and kisses me--not the way I'd kiss anyone, calm and dry, and--

(white)
(the coming of the white)

different planes across my face taste in my mouth eyes and sight don't matter I can hear something different clocking past, time and days and different heartbeats and I breathe out and let it all go, hold together instead of holding on, fall into a memory like rushing white water, fractal motion.

light and blindness and joy and the dry feel of his lips against mine not mine not mine Anushka? Lady Anushka Voronin? And him--her taking her in, that great white heartbeat and cry, and the wonder of

This isn't what she showed me, that tiny shaped sliver of what people built and made beautiful, this is the whole of what she sees with, the wonder of eye and mind and breath of life, and she can do more than see and show, I can feel her stretching out and reaching, a great and shining shout of joy ringing out through the world and its strings--

I can feel my fingers on my mouth, and my eyes are open but I can't--I can see, but I'm not watching it. "Anushka," I say quietly, and her name's my own warm breath against my fingers, and then I'm smiling, want to laugh and share in her joy and see her stretch and reach and feel the patterns and strings run through her hands, and I'm laughing and crying again, and I put one hand out and feel Kent's shoulder, cloth and flesh and warmth and the faint tremor of a heart and all of it minted into the world on will alone, so close and near the beating skin of the world. "Oh, she showed me a little, only a little, she could do so much, what she must see..."

[lilith-qliphah.livejournal.com]

I lean back into the couch with arms folded across my chest, appearing confused as I listen and watch him coil slowly around her. Zann didn't stand a chance against him and his beauty, few do if he has decided he wants them and even I fell for it once upon a time.

He kisses her and a flicker of a smile crosses my face when I hear Anushka's name mentioned, Ohhh how I did like that girl and I think I will visit her again soon. Brief as it was, she took a special interest in my pendant, in my djinn, and I look forward to watching them play.

Though Zann is distracted by him for now, I would hate for Lily's presence to interrupt this wonderful little game and there is no longer a need to ask for help with Genny and Tez. The task has been accomplished just the same, she is here and he has found another way to make her his.

While she's lost in the visions of his kiss, I quietly get up from the couch and flash him a smile, murmuring an excuse about going to find the ladies room as I pass through the door and go down the stairs. Then I allow my form dissolve and blend into the air so I can return and continue to watch what passes between them without her noticing. I have my own business with him but that will wait, this is far far more interesting.

Oohh how I do love watching him work.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

Lilith makes her excuses, and then returns to the room as warm air. She has always enjoyed being a voyeur. I remember once - but that is a thought for another time.

Zann is dazzled; but not by me, not quite - or rather, that dazzle is overshadowed by her response to Anushka. The first word of her lips as she looks back at me, and I smile.

"Oh, she showed me a little, only a little, she could do so much, what she must see..."

"In another age, Anushka would have been a queen, and around her for a thousand miles men would have paid fealty to her. But of course, in yet another age, she would have been burned as a witch," I observe. "She is great. She is the first human I have seen in hundreds of years who has that kind of power. And she is brave, for she let me help her pass beyond what is normal for a human, what is safe, into a wild and ferociously lovely place."

Zann's fingers are on my shoulder, and I smile at her and transform myself into Svetlana, the form that held Anushka like a daughter. It is the work of half a heartbeat, but it is not one movement but many; heart lungs veins eyes flesh hair clothes, a thousand thousand tiny steps one following another in the space of a breath. Now I am lean and female and crimson haired, and my dress is white as bone. I lean forward and take Zann's hands.

"Why else did you come, Zann?"

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

"And she is brave, for she let me help her pass beyond what is normal for a human, what is safe, into a wild and ferociously lovely place."

"She's a wonder," I say softly, "psychokine strings like falling rain, I could tell--" and I'm going to say that much when Kent smiles and melts unfolds changes, someone new ripening out of him, Rubin vase flip rewriting itself under my hands. He's-- She's like Syl would be if Genny had to paint her for a poster, all glossed and smooth and bright with the scars and wrinkles slicked away.

"Why'd you help her?"

"Why else did you come, Zann?"

"I don't know," I say quietly, feeling the woman's fingers around mine. "Lily was saying she could maybe ask you to do something about Tez and Genny. But Lily's..." I think of the odd backward-forward between glossy confidence and coltish shyness, and how she followed me out here and didn't call out once and I didn't see her, and wonder why she needed to know anything from me if her plan was just to ask Kent to fix it the whole time. And I shrug, and look at the woman with a one-sided smile.

"Guess I'm not sure that's a good idea," I say quietly. "Deals with the devil, hey, contracts with Hell? Why'd you come to see her, anyway?"

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"Why'd you help her?"

"Anushka is more like me than most humans can be," I say. "And so I wished her to be greater than the sum of her parts." I smile and turn Zann's hand over, tracing my finger down the fine lines of her palm. "This is the form I wore to kiss her, although it is not Anushka's favourite of mine." I smile. "You can call it Svetlana."

"I don't know," I say quietly, feeling the woman's fingers around mine. "Lily was saying she could maybe ask you to do something about Tez and Genny. But Lily's...Guess I'm not sure that's a good idea. Deals with the devil, hey, contracts with Hell? Why'd you come to see her, anyway?"

I smile as she pauses over Lily's name, and I think, ah, Lilith, she has caught you out. Lilith is a good enough liar in general, but she usually lies to those who want lies. That is the nature of a succubus, after all. She does not view it as an art in quite the way I do. But then, I am more perfect than she, so it is not really her fault. She was made for Man; I was made only for the Adversary.

"Who said anything about contracts?" I say, shrugging one shoulder, white fur rising up against my throat. "We can simply talk as we are now." I smile. I summon my qareen with a thought; it brings in Russian tea in a samovar made from brass. The shape suits Zann better than a tea pot, and, of course, it is more appropriate for Svetlana. All things in their place. If one wishes to lie, lie completely.

"I did not come to see Genny," I say. "Genny found me. I sensed something interesting about her. There is power in her," I say, "a power she does not really understand. Genny could be a great artist," I say. "Now she is quite good, for a human. But she has ambition." I smile serenely. "I have always enjoyed ambition. And, of course, Tezcatlipoca has an interest in her." I feel the wind move as I say his name, and I wonder if he feels it, my mouth around his name. I think that he probably does, and I smile at that little intimacy. "She is his priestess now, so you need not fear I will harm her. I have no wish to hurt an acolyte of his."

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

"Anushka is more like me than most humans can be," and even here and thinking of Anushka I frown a little, and wonder how she's like... Hell, I guess. Wonder if she hurts, and if there's that sorrow in her, and think of how she smiled through the shattered glass and kissed me. "And so I wished her to be greater than the sum of her parts. This is the form I wore to kiss her, although it is not Anushka's favourite of mine. You can call it Svetlana."

"Svetlana," I say politely, and watch her long strong fingers run over my palm, the oil stains and the little scars and the middle and ring fingers clipped just a little short and healed over smooth all this time ago. No time at all to her, I guess. Don't feel ashamed at all, just... watch her watching me, and open up my hand a little under her fingers.

"Who said anything about contracts? We can simply talk as we are now." And I open my mouth and I'm gonna say something, but I'm... I don't know. She's not a mark, she's not a townie, but she reminds me of Anushka a little, pale and rich and draped in gloss and finery. I think she knows what a talker can do, wrap a mark up fine and neat and get them all tied into themselves, patter and flash and pride and promise until no way in hell would they back off, but I can't--I don't say that. Not to her, it seems rude, a kind of bare-to-the-bones thing that I could say to family or carnie or maybe a grifter I didn't know, if we were talking, but...

Not to someone who's never had dust on her hands.

So I nod a little, and glance up as a shadow flickers away from the table, and there's a great fine shaped brass pot or tower of steam and tea on the table, taller than a kettle, and I smile and reach out towards it, run my fingers down the air a distance from the surface, feeling the heat reach out from it.

"I did not come to see Genny," she says, and I listen to her voice, lighter than Kent's and smoother, and an accent thick as snow running over her. I remember an old act, ice queen, woman frozen in a block of ice and the marks could see anything in her glazed-glass shape, anything at all, and they came to see her in the tent in the summer air hot as tea, and the cold of the block of ice rose through the air like a breath. Svetlana's not like that, I can feel the beaten shape of her humming in the air, but she's... something pale and beautiful, like the iron lattices of buildings in winter with the windows all shattered out, cold air blowing inside and out with no difference and the white ice crystals piling up in hexagon stars to soften the steel angles beneath.

"Genny found me. I sensed something interesting about her. There is power in her, a power she does not really understand. Genny could be a great artist," and I nod again. "Now she is quite good, for a human. But she has ambition. I have always enjoyed ambition." I feel my heart pinch and dip inside me, and she's beautiful, but if Genny was here right now I'd be holding her hand so hard...

She's not for enjoying. Not like tea or sugar or those fine light cookies that Edmund bakes. Smile a little, and I'm sorry Svetlana, I'd help you if I could but she's not for enjoying. Not like that. Think of Tez by the river saying I'd have given you back to her, before and the wet warm smell of mud and crushed grass, and the taste of his blood, and the memory of that throbs stronger in my mouth when she speaks again.

"And, of course, Tezcatlipoca has an interest in her. She is his priestess now, so you need not fear I will harm her. I have no wish to hurt an acolyte of his."

"Why not?" I say carefully, and then I shut my mouth again, shocked by the sound of it. But really, honestly, why not? If she hates me for being, if she likes Tez loving her because it'll end badly for them at the end... "I mean... I'm sorry, I guess, if you hate for being, and she makes things, makes things mean things to people..." Look up at her again, and wonder what Syl looked like when she was young. Hair not red like this, and never in furs, never so white.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

It is interesting, seeing how humans react to each form. This shape provokes a different response in Zann than Kent did; she looks at me as if I were a very expensive vase, perhaps, one that she is afraid to handle freely. And then I speak of Genny, and I feel the sharp spike of something like anger rise in her like the taste of iron in a wound. Such a vulnerable point in Zann, is Genny, and vice versa. It is so useful to know who men love.

"Why not?"

It is a bold question, and she looks almost surprised by saying it. But she continues, nonetheless. "I mean... I'm sorry, I guess, if you hate for being, and she makes things, makes things mean things to people..."

"That is a fair question," I say, and I pour Zann a cup of tea, fragrant and strong. "Genny gives Tez power, and I like him being powerful. I could give him power, of course, but..." I shrug. "It is better when he remembers his own strength." I smile. "Her association with him troubles you, does it not? But it keeps her safer than almost anything else." I smile. "And I do not dislike art. I am more like a poem than a man. Art is a way for man to struggle to be something more than a sack of blood and meat and bone, to see beyond his own body. It is rarely successful, of course, but sometimes..." I sip my own cup of tea. "And if I destroy something, it is better that it was first beautiful. The death of mundanity offers a smaller satisfaction."

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

Svetlana pours tea out for me, and I take the cup and warm my hands on it, and listen to her. "That is a fair question. Genny gives Tez power, and I like him being powerful. I could give him power, of course, but... It is better when he remembers his own strength." I can feel my mouth thin, and I take a sip of the tea.

Her association with him troubles you, does it not? But it keeps her safer than almost anything else."

"He wants to eat her alive," I say quietly, and I can't tell if I'm bitter or sad, I really really can't. Don't say the other thing I'm thinking, the other half of that: and Syl will feed her to him. Remember a tarot card I saw once, not from the twins' deck but down in Gibson, Strength as a woman holding a lion's mouth shut and the reader said the lion was hungry so she'd fed him her baby. Had nightmares about that. She'll mean the best for us, Syl always does, but when it comes to Tez... "I'm not sure if he forgets that or if he's lying about it when he comes down, but he does."

"And I do not dislike art. I am more like a poem than a man. Art is a way for man to struggle to be something more than a sack of blood and meat and bone, to see beyond his own body." I want to say something to that, lines of poetry dancing through my head, but everything I can think of mentions God or eternity or creation--something bright and eternal. "It is rarely successful, of course, but sometimes..."

Look up in surprise at that as she sips her tea, and I feel something inside me gathering, and the thought of arguing with her still throws me but... "It's hardly ever not," I say, and does she not know it or not see it or... "I mean, it's hardly ever perfect, we can't--I don't think we can take that, we really can't, but every time we reach out, every time we see someone else..." I look at her, thinking about the moment Anushka showed me, the live and beating perfection of it in a single crystal drop and I can't help but smile, and I see Svetlana better, the beauty in the sculpture and cold. "I mean yes, we're bodies as well, and that means so much, but we're always reaching past it. Always."

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"He wants to eat her alive. I'm not sure if he forgets that or if he's lying about it when he comes down, but he does."

"He is a god," I say simply. "Really, humans have themselves to blame for gods' excesses, if they can be called that, since they created them." I smile. "Quite a feat, to create something greater than yourselves. Like poetry." I taste the tea and hold the smoky warmth in my mouth. Bodily sense is such a peculiar thing. "He wants to do to Genny what I did to Anushka, I think. It is likely not to work as well, because Tez is not me, and Genny is not Anuska, but every day he is with her he opens her here -" I set down my cup and put two finger tips against Zann's forehead- "and here," I continue, putting my other hand above her heart. "She is extraordinarily lucky, to be able to see what he has given her the strength to see." I think of Genny and smile. "I had a thought, once, of leading the transformation myself... But Tezcatlipoca has found her heart instead. Perhaps you can be grateful for that small mercy."

And then we talk of mankind, and Zann argues with me. She really has little sense of self preservation.

"I mean, it's hardly ever perfect, we can't--I don't think we can take that, we really can't, but every time we reach out, every time we see someone else... I mean yes, we're bodies as well, and that means so much, but we're always reaching past it. Always."

I laugh.

"You are hardly the first to have told me so, Zann. Men, angels... They all boast of how humans reach beyond themselves. As if reaching is enough." I smile. "Doubtlessly at this juncture you will tell me that it is enough, and that reaching is the point, and you will leave here with some sort of pride in human endeavour." I sigh lightly. "Although I am loathe to admit it, humans share some kinship with me; we share a spark... But in humans it is so very small. It is like a diamond drowned in mud." That is where the rub of it lies with me; humans are a blasphemy (and normally I enjoy blasphemies) not because they are animal, but because the divine is polluted in them by their animal natures. Better that they were unthinking beasts.

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

"He wants to do to Genny what I did to Anushka, I think," and that doesn't worry me, or it wouldn't have before I started wondering what she did to Anushka. "It is likely not to work as well, because Tez is not me, and Genny is not Anuska, but every day he is with her he opens her here - and here -" and she touches me, hand and heart, and I sit quiet under her hands. Think of Anushka again, bright and shining and moving through the strings of the stars, and when Svetlana speaks again for a second I'm not sure if she's talking about Anushka and another body (Kent or that blond prettyboy I saw Tez with at the Marks party or someone else), or about Tez and Genny. "She is extraordinarily lucky, to be able to see what he has given her the strength to see."

"She is," I say quietly. "I know that."

"I had a thought, once, of leading the transformation myself... But Tezcatlipoca has found her heart instead. Perhaps you can be grateful for that small mercy." ...dammit, I've read about what he does with hearts. And it scares me that maybe it will be better for Genny, even if it goes as badly as I think it might.

I think I need to see Anushka again.

"You are hardly the first to have told me so, Zann. Men, angels... They all boast of how humans reach beyond themselves. As if reaching is enough." And the smile and the laugh are beautiful, perfect, but I can feel something racheting tight across my back, between my shoulders. Never had dust on her hands, dirt under her nails, sweat staining her perfect white clothes and furs... "Doubtlessly at this juncture you will tell me that it is enough, and that reaching is the point, and you will leave here with some sort of pride in human endeavour."

Dammit. Well, I was going to... "Nothing I didn't come with, I promise," I say, smiling a little, the way I did when Kaeli and Eris and Lúgh were cutting down the woman upset outside the 'Boy, and sip my tea. Remember Wanda and tea and whiskey and cigarettes, and how she and Kaeli were there, how they cared. "Don't know if it's the point, but I think it's the best thing we can do, you know? And if we never did, if we were all alone in ourselves--" I remember what Kent said about despair, and look at her.

"D'you think we do it out of love? I mean not all of it, we're scared and alone without other people, without something, and that hurts, and yeah, part of it's that we want the hurting to stop, but... Do you think that the reaching's love?" Remember wondering what fire was when I was very young, and learning that it wasn't a thing to itself like steel or oil or carbon but a process, something that existed in the doing.

"Although I am loathe to admit it, humans share some kinship with me; we share a spark... But in humans it is so very small. It is like a diamond drowned in mud."

"And we make poetry. And gods," I say, and I'm not arguing, I'm really really not, but measuring it out. This, compared to that. Think of diamonds, the fine and hard lattice of coal turned to crystal, shining rainbows. "Did we make you?" I ask, and I find I'm looking skyward, past the ceiling. "Or--" how to put this-- "Him, did we make Him?"

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

I feel the tension in her, all that fine noble sentiment wound up defensively.

"Humankind is so very good at defending itself," I observe. "Almost as good as it is at destroying itself. Really, I barely needed to lift a finger during the Apocalypse." I smile a little at that. Watching humanity tear itself apart - well, it was like Zann's little music box in macrocosm.

"Do you think that the reaching's love?"

Of course it is love. What do you think you were made for? Love like poison; love like the end of days. But I just smile placidly and say nothing to that, for I do not have to reply to every question, and Zann has asked many. Her curiosity is like a flame. I wonder what a tightrope she would walk with that flame behind her.

"And we make poetry. And gods. Did we make you? Or--Him, did we make Him?"

She is looking upward, and I laugh. The very idea of owing my being to her, to them...

"If I believed that Man had made me, I would have destroyed myself ere now," I say. "But then again," I say, and my smile glimmers, "perhaps I am wrong, hm? If you asked Tez, he would say that he was responsible for the creation of the world, but I saw it made and he was not there. So why does he believe that he was? Perhaps we are all of us wrong. Would that be a comfort to you, Zann, believing that I do not, after all, know?" I finish my tea. "But I am not in the business of comfort. And Tezcatlipoca did create the world, after a fashion; but that was long after it came into being, and that I did see." I smile. "And as for my Adversary, Him is an inadequate sort of word."

ٱلۡأَرۡضِ‌ۖ يَعۡلَمُ سِرَّكُمۡ وَجَهۡرَكُمۡ وَيَعۡلَمُ مَا
وَمَا تَأۡتِيهِم مِّنۡ ءَايَةٍ۬ مِّنۡ

I feel that great and terrible grief again. Man, you can never know the depths of my despair; but I will bring you into some shadow of it if I can in the last days, before I, too, fall for the second time. I look at Zann, and despite my passing interest in her, in this moment I would quite happily crush her skull between my palms and grind her into dust.

The moment passes, and I have not moved one muscle that would give away that anger.

"Why do you come to me for truths, Zann, when everyone says I am a liar?" I ask. "It is a sensible thing to have done, for I know a great many things and one of my greatest gifts to men has always been knowledge."

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

"If I believed that Man had made me, I would have destroyed myself ere now," and I wonder if that would be better for her, somehow. Better for us, yes, but I think I can start to see some vague hint of how much she must despise us now, the faint tremble of a casing when something on the engine inside is going to snap and shear through, and oh god how much that must hurt...

"Why do you hate us so much?" Oh God, was it us that made you turn yourself into the tremendous malengine you are, pulled love out of yourself? Please no, please no...

"Perhaps we are all of us wrong. Would that be a comfort to you, Zann, believing that I do not, after all, know?"

"No ma'am," I say quietly.

"But I am not in the business of comfort. And Tezcatlipoca did create the world, after a fashion; but that was long after it came into being, and that I did see," and she smiles smooth and clean as new wire, and even with her sitting there tall and smooth and luxurious I can't help but smile back at the thought of seeing that. What it must have been like, crucible creation and the song beginning, first notes chiming out and the beginning of shaping...

"And as for my Adversary, Him is an inadequate sort of word." She adds something I can't understand, and I think it's that same language that had the air all hot and dusty before but I can't tell, and I look down into my teacup again, feeling small and ignorant.

"Why do you come to me for truths, Zann, when everyone says I am a liar? It is a sensible thing to have done, for I know a great many things and one of my greatest gifts to men has always been knowledge."

I look up and smile at her a little, half-ashamed one-sided quirk of my mouth and shrug. "I wanted to talk to you. I think I came for that more than I came for truth, really. Besides... most of what I ever heard about what I thought you were, it wasn't lies exactly. Misdirection and dazzle and half-truths, being cleverer then the people you were guiding into something. Don't need to lie outright if you're smart enough, you know?" Think and don't say that the Devil would have made one hell of a midway talker, and finish my tea and set the cup down.

"And people say you're wicked, and dangerous, and I believe that, but... I don't know what's going on." I'm running my fingers across the blueprint, old paper and ink and how it passed through someone's mind and ran out through their fingers and then came to this. "I see a little of the shape of it, and I hear bits and pieces around the edge, but it's like... looking at the shadow of something and trying to understand how it runs, it doesn't work properly at all. And I guess you're part of it, and I guess you see better than most, and I just wanted to... I don't know. See you. As well as I can."

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"Why do you hate us so much?"

I have heard that question before, but rarely is it tinged with honest sympathy. Zann is an unusual creature. I wonder how much to tell her; so much of what I feel cannot really be expressed, not to a mortal.

"Imagine," I say at last, and Svetlana's fine voice softens into powdered snow, "that you are in love, and then your beloved throws you over for another man or woman, and then tells you that you must love this interloper. That is some tiny fraction of what it is," I say.

"I wanted to talk to you. I think I came for that more than I came for truth, really. Besides... most of what I ever heard about what I thought you were, it wasn't lies exactly. Misdirection and dazzle and half-truths, being cleverer then the people you were guiding into something. Don't need to lie outright if you're smart enough, you know?"

I smile a little at that.

"Indeed," I say. "I often tell the truth; it is more interesting than dishonesty, and people still usually do what I would like even without a lie to help them." I prefer it, in fact, when men hurt themselves through truth rather than falsehoods; their burden of guilt is the greater.

"I see a little of the shape of it, and I hear bits and pieces around the edge, but it's like... looking at the shadow of something and trying to understand how it runs, it doesn't work properly at all. And I guess you're part of it, and I guess you see better than most, and I just wanted to... I don't know. See you. As well as I can."

I smile wider at that.

"You would like the blueprint, would you not? It is frustrating not to know what is going on, I would imagine. I could help you," I continue. "The cogs in your head, they run smoothly enough, even quite prettily, but they could be faster, more efficient." I touch the blueprint she is holding. "I can see your mind as you see this paper," I explain. "I know well enough how it could be done." I look at her, at the way she has shrunk in on herself a little, and I touch her fingertips. "Would it make you more comfortable, if I were Kent again?"

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

"Imagine that you are in love, and then your beloved throws you over for another man or woman," and her voice so soft it hardly seems to fit with her at all, "and then tells you that you must love this interloper. That is some tiny fraction of what it is."

Swallow at the thought of that, thinking of Genny and Tez and okay that's different but it still hurts, and we've hardly even been together a month and she hasn't even left me. "I'm sorry," I say, and I reach out towards her and then remember the stains on my hands, and pour her more tea instead. Leave the cup there for if she wants it. "I'm so sorry, that--that was cruel."

"I often tell the truth; it is more interesting than dishonesty, and people still usually do what I would like even without a lie to help them." Nod at that, and I don't know if she does it because it's easier or because it's... prettier, somehow, neat and shining, but it fits the patterns I've picked up faint shapes of, elegant and precise and canny and delighting. Her smile widens. "You would like the blueprint, would you not?"

I can feel myself grinning. "Yeah--yes," I admit. "I don't think I can see the machine, exactly, but I'd like the blueprint."

"It is frustrating not to know what is going on, I would imagine. I could help you. The cogs in your head, they run smoothly enough, even quite prettily, but they could be faster, more efficient. I can see your mind as you see this paper. I know well enough how it could be done."

...oh. My god.

I look down at the blueprint, and her long fine fingers glide over the paper and touch mine, fingertip to fingertip, and I look down. My mind. My mind, running faster cleaner clearer, and the patterns, and maybe the seeing... "Would it make you more comfortable, if I were Kent again?"

Oh, damn. I hate to put her out, I really really do, and I can feel my cheeks growing hot, but since she's noticed... "Yes," I say quietly, my mind still spinning with the idea of... hell, of changing my mind. "If you wouldn't mind." Swallow again and look up at her.

"Could you? What--what would it do to me?"

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"If you wouldn't mind."

"I never offer anything I will not give," I say, and it is Kent's voice I speak in, for I am already him again, faded jeans and gravel-throated. I reach into my pocket and pull out a packet of cigarettes, and I offer her one as I did the first time we met.

I take one for myself and light it with a match, settling the cigarette between my teeth, each movement perfect for Kent as the tea pouring was for Svetlana.

"Could you? What--what would it do to me?"

And, oh, I have her. She may not submit today, of course, but the thought will be there in her mind now, a sibilant whisper of betterfastersmoother. I exhale smoke.

"It can be difficult to predict," I say. "I can look at your mind, and I can know that if I showed you certain things, you could think more quickly, notice patterns better, but as I am sure you know, when you change the inner workings of machines, they feel different in some intangible way. You would still be yourself; I would not add anything to your mind that is not already there. But how you felt afterwards I cannot say." I smile. "You could speak to Anushka about it, although what happened to Anushka was not a tightening of cogs but an opening of a gate."

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

Oh, Kent's a little easier to deal with; sure he knows it, and I know it too, and take the cigarette from him with a smile as I relax. Use a lighter, rather than a match, for myself; flint and steel and sparks and fire, and I look at the cigarette for a minute before I inhale. He made it, I guess, and I'm reminded of the old joke about how if you want to make an apple pie from scratch you've gotta create the universe.

"It can be difficult to predict. I can look at your mind, and I can know that if I showed you certain things, you could think more quickly, notice patterns better, but as I am sure you know, when you change the inner workings of machines, they feel different in some intangible way." Nod, because I know what he means, even if it's tangible. I mean, not something to actually touch, but--dammit. Alright, I guess it is intangible, the same way the sound of words is. "You would still be yourself; I would not add anything to your mind that is not already there. But how you felt afterwards I cannot say."

"Calibration," I say to myself, and he smiles, and I smile back, and draw thoughtfully on the cigarette. Leave it in my mouth and lean forward, running one hand over my hair and feeling the warmth of my scalp through the stubble. There's another word, too, one I've seen but never really had cause to use. Overclocking. "Why would you do that?" Which is another way of saying What would you want for that, really.

"You could speak to Anushka about it, although what happened to Anushka was not a tightening of cogs but an opening of a gate."

"Guess I should do that, yeah," I say. Glance over at the music box I made, and then back up at him. "Did you know," I say quietly, "that I can fix things? Not with my hands or a wrench or anything like that. Just... fix them."

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"Why would you do that?"

I smile easily.

"For fun," I suggest. "And because you would owe me a favour." I stretch out my legs. "And your loyalty, perhaps, in thanks." I smile again. "I am always open to the negotiation of details."

"Did you know that I can fix things? Not with my hands or a wrench or anything like that. Just... fix them."

I nod.

"Yes. I would like to see it done, though. But not this," I say, lifting the music box into my lap. "That would rather defeat its poetry, I think. It would be just another music box." I stroke my fingers along its lid, feeling the broken song within it. I think for a moment, and then I stand and turn to the kinetic sculpture in the corner whose quiet clackclack has been in the background all this time. I touch it, and at once it stops, bolts loosening, levers falling. "Would you show me?" I ask.

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

"Yes. I would like to see it done, though. But not this," and he's running his fingers over the lid of the music box, and I'm glad again that he likes it. I nod. It'd break again if he played it again--can't change that, it's how I built it--but it wasn't meant to play more than once. That was the point.

He gets up and turns to the sculpture, running on smoothly, and touches it and for a second I'd swear my heart freezes in my chest. Stopped, it just stopped cold, and I knew he could do that and hell I even knew he'd probably like to do that, but...

"Would you show me?"

Oh, this I can do, and I get up and go stand beside him and the machine, take the cigarette out of my mouth and crouch down and rock back on my heels and look through the steps and spiral and lattice, where it's all trembling with waiting motion. Downside is I'd swear it was practically new-made, but it's all movement, it was meant for that, wordless song vibrating out for pure joy.

"All is a procession;
The universe is a procession, with measured and beautiful motion." Shoot a quick grin up at Kent and then look back to the sculpture, and Oh, honey, I know--born to run, right? And I've got the shape of things, know how it should run to feel right, and I bounce up on the balls of my feet. Realize I'm humming an old song, something fast and sweeping and fine. And there's the quiet impact of bolts and guides slipping back into place, like arching my back to get my spine back in line after a long day and feeling the vertebrae jolt snug against each other.

clackclack

And my back is killing me, and my shoulders and my hips, the joints sore and twisting, and my hands are shaking just a little. Not as bad as fixing the midway lights after Tez and Gaueko had their fight, it's really really not, but I take the steps back to the couch and sit down on the arm of it, looking up at him.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

I watch Zann step across the room. I hear her heart hum, and how it sings in tune with the machine as she looks at it, the fibres of her body attuning to its form. It is, in a way, how I turn my hand to things, though I unravel rather than mend.

The machine clicks, and she is humming a joyful song. I wonder how many broken machines I could give her, for how long I could keep her occupied and thinking of nothing but this, the glide of steel and iron and copper.

She sits back down, shaky-limbed.

"Well," I say softly. "Isn't that something." I smile at her. "There is a poetry in what you do, Zann." A poetry that is antithetical to mine, perhaps; but I can appreciate it nonetheless. And who knows what Zann might turn her hand to mending? Those who split the atom did not do it because they were wicked; they did it because there is a joy in discovery built into the human heart... But it almost led to mankind's end. And Zann, I think, has little sense of self-preservation when her attention is captured. Yes, she will play her part in what is to come.

"Imagine if you could do that," I say, "for hours on end before you grew weary. Oh, there is a poetry in fatigue, of course. Of knowing your body has worked. You would not wish to be an automaton yourself. But you could be quicker, more efficient, and imagine how it would feel, hundreds upon hundreds of bolts sliding together at once, that low deep satisfaction of knowing a job is done replicated a thousand times over, altogether." I lower my face so that it is closer to hers, and I cup her stubbled head with my calloused hand. "It is all already here, Zann, like a match waiting to be struck."

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"Well. Isn't that something." And I smile, 'cause I'm sure he's seen something like it before, but doesn't mean I don't know that I'm good at what I do. "Imagine if you could do that for hours on end before you grew weary," and I can feel my eyes lighting up at the thought of the dance, the strings repaired and struck and thrumming out as far as the stars, singing creation. ...hundreds upon hundreds of bolts sliding together at once, that low deep satisfaction of knowing a job is done replicated a thousand times over, altogether." Leans down to me and I look up at him and his hand's fitting smooth across the curve of my skull. "It is all already here, Zann, like a match waiting to be struck."

Listen to the clackclack of the spheres running their timeless arcs, and I'd lean into his hand a little except I remember how he touched it and it stopped. Seen what he can do, but oh, what he can do...

"Would you ask me for a favour that'd hurt the family?"

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

Oh, yes. I smile, and I stroke the fine bristle of her hair as if she were a cat.

"We can negotiate boundaries," I say. "You can tell me..." I think. "Three things you would not do. You should be quite precise in your language," I smile. "And if I agree, it will be done. Your word will be your contract, and mine." My hand moves down and strokes the back of her neck. "But if you decide you would rather not, you can leave now, and I will bear you no ill will for it."

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

"We can negotiate boundaries," he says, smiling. "You can tell me..." pause and beat, "three things you would not do." Oh, there's a pattern there too, the triune beat... Fairy tale more than machinery, but still humming. "You should be quite precise in your language. And if I agree, it will be done. Your word will be your contract, and mine. But if you decide you would rather not, you can leave now, and I will bear you no ill will for it."

Shake my head a little, feeling his hand running over the back of my neck; it's a nice feeling, half sleepy and half electrically-awake, fine hairs standing on end. "Don't want to do that," I say about leaving. "Three things... Don't want to hurt the Carnaval or its people..." Trail off and shake my head, straightening up a bit. "I need to think about those things," I say. "It's... I want to be careful about this, you know?"

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

I nod. It would be pleasing if Zann just rushed headlong into this agreement, for that way she would be bound to make mistakes. But even with a carefully thought out series of exemptions, I am certain I can make good use of a favour from her. Especially with the power she has the potential to hold.

"Think on it," I say, "and call for me when you have decided. If you say my name with intent, I will hear you." I smile. "Our friend Lily has been gone for quite a while, has she not?" I observe. "Perhaps I scared her away." I can feel Lilith in the room with us, the dry heat of her, and my smile deepens.

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

"Think on it, and call for me when you have decided. If you say my name with intent, I will hear you." I nod, finishing the cigarette. Not to hurt the Carnaval and family... Jesus, what else is there?

"Our friend Lily has been gone for quite a while, has she not?" and I look up and around and Jesus, when did that happen? Think back and... yeah, been a while. "Perhaps I scared her away."

"Oh gee, maybe," I say, grinning. "All the times she's run into you, and she cuts and runs when you start just talking about being the devil." Shrug a little and draw my knees up, balancing on the arm of the couch. Still not polite to ask about Lilith instead of Lily, or how well she's fitting into the new name, but... "Have you known her long?"

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"Oh gee, maybe. All the times she's run into you, and she cuts and runs when you start just talking about being the devil. Have you known her long?"

Ah, Lilith, Zann knows you are not what you seem. But I will not tell her who you are; that can be your secret to tell.

"For quite some time," I say drily. "She is an... unusual woman, but I am fond of her," I add. "I am sure that next time you see her, you will both have much to talk about." I take the blueprint and roll it up, old paper crinkling, and I hand it to her. "I will see you soon."

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

"For quite some time," he says, and the way he says it... yes, okay, I will stop needling around the edges of things, or at least needling him. "She is an... unusual woman, but I am fond of her. I am sure that next time you see her, you will both have much to talk about."

"Probably," I say, taking the roll of blueprint and feeling the soft weight of it, ink and thick paper and the hint of meaning where the pen scratched in shapes, there and there and there.

"I will see you soon." Nod at that, and smile, and get to my feet.

"Thanks for having me over," and it sounds too formal by half, and I laugh a bit. "I'll catch you later, I guess. Take care, okay?" Really do, please. Pause as a thought hits me.

"Why did you come out to the Tavern that night, if you hate us and you could have stayed at home and drunk whiskey here?"

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

I smile at Zann. The girl does have quite the gift for perceptive questions, for feeling under the edges of things.

"Perhaps," I say, "because sometimes it is better to feel irritated or angry with humans than to feel anger about other things." I pause. "And it was just after our friend Lily came to Excolo. It had been some time since I had seen her last, and it put me in the humour for distraction." I take her hand. "I will take care of myself, yes. I always do. You do the same; it would be a shame to let your pretty brain go to waste." I let go of her hand and walk down with her to the door. Outside the night air is crisp, and the stars are like stone.

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"Perhaps, because sometimes it is better to feel irritated or angry with humans than to feel anger about other things." And if that isn't a pattern people follow often enough, I don't know what is. "I will take care of myself, yes. I always do. You do the same; it would be a shame to let your pretty brain go to waste." Grin up at him and run on hand through what there is of my hair.

"Will do." Pull the collar of my jacket up with one hand, cradling the blueprint with the other, and looking at how gently the moonlight picks out maybe a quarter of what the sun could if it were out. "Hey," I say suddenly, "thanks for the cigarette and the blueprint, you know?" Duck in and give him a quick one-armed hug, and then stuff my free hand in my pocket and start out across the grass, not-quite skipping in the night, and head back to the Carnival.