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estdeus_innobis2013-07-14 10:59 pm
tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com) wrote in estdeus_innobis2013-07-14 10:59 pm
The years flow by like water, and one day men come home again.
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]
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]
no subject
Him being almost shy like this makes me feel - strange. Protective, and...and. I want to take him to bed and have a great deal of sex with him.
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"I think I remember that." I feel like something else slots into place, and I sit up straighter. I remember... I remember a part of me that smiled slyly at him and pulled him down in a field. When was that? "I remember..." I shake my head. "I don't know. Except that I know you better than anyone else does. That you... let me inside you. Not just in a sex way. In here," and I touch his temple. "I don't know how. I know you love me. I know I... want to be with you." I sip my milkshake. "Do you remember a lot? About me."
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"I wish I remembered more," I say. It's honest. I don't want to remind him of who he is - not just because it would ruin this, but because it would make him sad, and he deserves this, a time without his great despair. "You used to be sadder. I'm glad you're not now." I lean over the table and kiss his mouth lightly. I don't care who sees. "You helped me remember, when I forgot everything."
I take his milkshake and have a sip, make a bit of a face, and then I laugh, because we're ridiculous. This is ridiculous. There was never a day as perfect as this, since the beginning of worlds. "The things you've done to me... You beat me bloody with a chain, once. I remember that."
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"And you'll help me," I say confidently. "And we'll be together." I can't see why we wouldn't be. So everything will be alright.
He doesn't like my milkshake, and I laugh at him.
"The things you've done to me... You beat me bloody with a chain, once. I remember that."
I laugh, a little shocked, though I feel my body stir.
"I don't remember that. I remember that you liked my blood." I tip my head back and stroke my throat. "You can bite me here later. I remember your teeth." I remember it hurting, now. It makes me get hard.
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What he says about biting him makes me growl softly without meaning to. "I want to." I look at the length of his throat. I remember this body of his better than the others, I think, except maybe Danika, who I saw after I died. I laugh: "You had a riding crop once. I remember." His blood. All of me's yearning towards him, not just my penis.
no subject