Log in

No account? Create an account
21 February 2008 @ 08:51 pm
Tada! Gamma Set K.xV.  


                The Visitor often felt uncomfortable on Uran S’Varek, the most prominent reasons being one - normal planets did not look like olives with black holes at their hearts and two - she missed having real horizons.


                While Hok’Ton Karakael enjoyed portraying himself as a villain, The Visitor never really saw the appeal; she enjoyed being a savior to her flock.


                He stares out at the void, explaining bitterly that “I should be dead as well” remembering, just for a moment, the feeling of fire on his skin as he soared into death and history.


                “Memories” She explained as she unpacked “Are worthless and unnecessary, but they’re nice to look at every once in a while.” He hastily put the box back on her meditation table decided to ask politely before touching it again.


                It always surprises her that he has children - adopted true, but still children - then she sees him laughing as he chases after them, flicker-flitting from square to square in a ragtag chase around the city, and she watches silently, understanding.


                He stands in the midst of the whirling riot of colors and calls back to her, tempting her to come further, barely remembering the time when he was just as nervous as she about entering the Overcosm alone.


                One of the children has them, stubby white wings that earn him contempt from the other children and a cautious name of ‘Sen’ from the ‘Ton, yet the boy laughs joyously when The Visitor proudly unfurls her own rainbows and leaps aloft.


                He notices her shivering, trying to keep her ‘godly’ dignity up even though she is cold and frightened of the empty stretch of the tacehon universe; he smiles and throws his shimmercloak around her shoulders as he explains “This universe only looks barren, while in reality it is simply the flipside of the overcosm-“ doing it all so quickly that she can’t complain.


                They watch sunrise on earth, he gasping at the pristine, vibrant colors, she complaining of the pollutants created when she hurled the asteroid into the planet; he offers a few suggestions on how to decimate a population more efficiently, which she does NOT appreciate.


                He hated the sweetened concoctions that her universe provided, but he far preferred those to the red wine that always reminded him of home, and of the companions that he had left buried there.


                Uran S’Varek has no sun, and certainly no night, but there are times when the children are all asleep at once and he has no pressing work; then he will stop for a moment- just long enough to be human with someone else - and he will never admit it, but it is these moments that he cherishes above all others.


                She finds herself hard pressed to explain to her superiors why, almost immediately (give or take a few thousand years) after being fired she finds herself in another universe assisting a human in running a galaxy; she takes comfort in that she is no longer beholden to them to give straight answers.


                The view is spectacular - never before has she a world where cities themselves fade with perspective into flowers - and she is forced to admit that nothing in her universe is quite so grandiose ; but then again this was built by humans.


                Her fingers bang on the keys in a parody of true music, knowing that this is one of the few things she’ll never be good at; she doesn’t care, and he remarks that that’s what music is all about, secretly thinking that Ragtime is perfect for her.


                It seems everything in his universe is smooth as silk; the floors contour to bodies, squares of pavement act as telaporters, tiny computers hang on every word (nearly begging for the chance to serve), yet it is this universe that still has so much to conquer, and the people still seem to hold the ability to do so, a quality to be admired even if it took far too long for them to get there.


                He handed her a shimmeregg the first time she agreed to stay for a long length of time; it was the most disturbing experience she’d ever had, letting another being grow around her, ON her, knitting itself to her and her alone; she hated every minute of the ceremony but she loved the freedom it gave her and eventually grew to enjoy having a cloak as a constant, adoring pet.


                Neither of them were very good at keeping promises; he an Inquestor, she a Small God - it wasn’t all that surprising, and neither would admit that they minded.


                She is used to dreaming along with her galaxy, but she wakes screaming after one night in his universe - never before had the galaxy dreamed her.


                He curses the Small God and all her abilities (especially the ability to see in the dark) as his candle blows out again, then, remembering that this is Her world, holds out a hand and watches as light blooms across the darkness.


                She was superior to him in every way; she was faster, stronger, brighter, more powerful; yet sometimes, speaking softly, he would betray his own talent, and she was forced to admit that he must have learned something from all the years he spent in the Inquest – to which he would reply that it was only after he was kicked out that he learned anything at all.


                He was used to hearing the stars sing - barely there, just a hint at the back of his subconscious, but still there - and when he first dematted into her universe he was startled by the silence and remembered how lonely he used to be, and how lonely she must be now.


                He offered to give her a tour of Uran S’Varek; she politely requested to see all of it and was confused at his scoff - until he pulled her above the atmosphere to show her just how large the planet was, explaining how it took him five generations just to catalogue the lost civilizations.


                He holds the tarot card carefully between two exquisitely manicured hands, watching it with revulsion as it speaks its description “FIRE, the element associated with pain, suffering, sacrifice and evil, often associated with “The Masked Stranger” and “The Burned Man” as both are representations of Hok’To-“ before he slams the card to the table and stalks off, leaving their card game unfinished.


                She thought he was a fool, some little human that had greatness thrust upon him; then she saw him battling a rouge thinkhive, yelling stream after stream of commands, taking whatever the computer threw at him, doing it all for a people who (she new for a fact) considered him a monster to scare children with.


                There were certain words that were loaded, words that he used only with a leer in his voice (words like ‘compassion’ and ‘sacrifice’); She found one of them the hard way when she innocently asked why he never wore masks to cover his scars; he responded angrily with “I, unlike some, no longer have anything to hide”…it took her years (and some time with his treasured tarot deck) to find out what enraged him so, and then she wished she had never asked.


                She showed him the rings of Saturn; he noted the similarities between the icy rings and his companion (the same cool distance balanced evenly with stark beauty and calm majesty); it was only later that he learned to see the subtle differences.


                Starfall is what the Inquestors had called it and the ‘Ton kept to the tradition; even the Visitor had to admit that there had never been a more marvelous wake; she spoke with the star as its energies were drained and was pleased to find in was accepting and joyous at its own passing, excited at the prospect of returning to its creator-and the black hole at the center of it.


                There were many things she’d forgotten in her eons of being a Small God and she never would admit to any of them; he took devilish pleasure in finding and reintroducing her to each and every one, happy to be teaching another what he had relearned a thousand years before.


                She moves with a liquid grace that he always tries to impersonate; she dances from moment to moment, while he stumbles and bumps his way through the waltz, attempting to force his aging body to perform to her godlike standards.


                He has no body modesty, despite having more reason than most to be ‘ashamed’ of his form; it’s a quality that she respects in him and she holds their friendship in high regard because of this - he is different from ‘normal’ humans, more liberated and (though she hates to admit it) closer to the ‘Real One’ than her own pet humans.


                “Is Nothing sacred?” he complains as she shuffles the tarot cards and deals another hand, carefully avoiding the mass of chips on her end of the table.


                He holds the child close, feeling as the small body switches metabolisms and begins to age; he loves all his children, but hates to see even one leave to grow up.


                His world, her world – they were completely different in almost every way, except for the important ones – in both humans had paid dearly for their mistakes, and in both were they learning to deal with the consequences.


                It took her far too long to break his polite attitude (the man could be courteous even as he turned tail and fled, just as easily as he could be giving dire insults from a mask of kindness), but once she had inserted herself into his world she was almost appalled at how easily she became part of his loose family.


                She glows wanly, skin slick to the touch, and he can do nothing – not beg her companions for answers (as they would ask far too many questions), not help her himself - so instead he sits next to her telling stories, hoping that Vara will find a cure.


                They share much in common, and an easy way to tell was in their laughter; both had a ‘polite’ laugh (used for social gatherings and graces) and a surprised ‘the universe is crazy but wonderful’ laugh; the first used far too often and the second not enough.


                She based her rule on false illusions (that she really cared, that her laws were just, that she had the right to be there, and that she actually gave a damn about their pesky little prayers) but upon meeting her Karakael saw through every one of them; he explained later that he was a master of fallacy, all learned through years of living in the worst hypocrisy in human history.


                Neither of them had any illusions about ‘life after death’ or ‘eternity’; they wouldn’t live to see the end of their creations and after death there was nothing; yet they couldn’t help but wonder if somewhere there really was a ‘forever’ set aside for people like them.


                Sometimes it was simply too much, having to deal with an entire galaxy or being a single worlds messiah, and when they were completely overwhelmed they would disappear into the others universe for a while, and take comfort in the normalcy of the other's home.


                He was constantly muttering under his breath, subvoking commands to the millions of thinkhives under his control; she just assumes that he hears voices, which is technically true as well.


                She walked into the café half a day late, blaming time dialation and his bloody overcosm; what made her the most irritable was the fact that she wouldn’t have waited like he had, and she certainly wouldn’t have immediately jumped up to pull out a chair for a late companion.


                They didn’t agree on much, their styles and experiences were too different, but they could talk for days on end because of those differences; after all, it’s much more interesting to argue about new ideas than to simply agree to the standard doctrine.


                The quest for the child’s favored toy took them across the surface of the entire planet, and its moon; but the time they found the doll Karakael was cursing every single one of his former worlds, and the Visitor was literally blooming from the fast-dying flowers.


                They didn’t have much to hope for, each with their set duties, perfect, unchanging, each doctrine differing only in the details, duty stretching forever into the eternity; it was understandable that each looked to the other with a fevered affection, and loved breaking those very same rules in favor of the other.


               “And so ends an era” She sighed bitterly as earth sank below the moons horizon; ignoring the pang of regret from leaving the planet she considered ‘hers’ - especially at leaving it in the talons of some barely-fledged little godlet.


                She tags along as he, in his full Inqestoral regalia, goes to meet a Sun and request certain trade agreements; she has to stifle a giggle when she realizes that all he wants is his children’s grav-coasters to be repaired.


                It surprised him to learn that she didn’t mind mass transit; one would think it to be the epitome of everything she stood against - big government, dense habitation, destruction of the ecology - but every argument she refuted with list after list of data; he found out the real reason when he accidently stumbled barefooted onto one of Earths shattered highways and FELT the road running beneath his feet – thrumming with hopes and dreams, and possibilities.


                She stared deep into the void, wondering idly what it would be like – falling eternally into that ultimate darkness - he responds that its rather boring and one begins to miss color after the first century.


                She would catch an odd look in his eyes, distant and cold, but he never saw a similar look on her face; his look came from four centuries of forced repression and ignored emotions, hers came from ten millennia of open freedom.


                His breathing was short, shallow, to the extent that it hurt just to look at him; The Visitor swore, released her healing powers, and decided to break the last rule – don’t become involved in another gods affairs.