"Who can distinguish darkness from the soul"
Sorin finished the first stanza with a smile, leaning against the entrance to the library and looking at his child. Claire was, some might say, one of the few good things he had done in his life. He didn't do it for any noble cause and he doubted many people believed he did. It remained to be seen whether Claire, herself, thought it was an act of mercy or selfishness.
He used her, of course, she was one of his best sources of information. She had been traveling among the various cities and meeting the Anantya living in each. Some were allies and some were old enemies but she had word on all of them from these places.
His little forgotten child, Sorin chuckled looking at her, sometimes he forgot she existed also, so he could understand how it was easy to do. Claire was silent as a mouse and had about that much personality but she was dutiful and loyal and he had never had cause to regret his making her one of his kind.
"And how are you tonight, My Oubliette? What news have you brought back?"
((OOC: Claire's background done with permission))
Catching Up~Sorin please
Claire sat in the library with a book of poetry by W.B Yeats, her slippers just in front of the chair and her feet tucked up comfortably underneath her hidden by the long white dress she wore.
She whispered quietly to herself, perhaps to understand the words better or perhaps just to hear herself speak in the empty room.
"My Soul. I summon to the winding ancient stair;
Set all your mind upon the steep ascent,
Upon the broken, crumbling battlement,
Upon the breathless starlit air,
"Upon the star that marks the hidden pole;
Fix every wandering thought upon
That quarter where all thought is done:..."
OOC: The poem is A Dialogue of Self and Soul - W.B.Yeats
Sorin
18 years ago
Claire
18 years ago
Claire looked up and gave her creator a small smile. He wanted news, business first, as always. It was rare that he visited her without some need for her and that was agreeable to her as she enjoyed being left to her own devices more than most.
"Jacob in London sends you word that he received your last gift with great enjoyment. You procure the finest things he says."
She gestured an invitation with the flourish of her hand to come and sit beside her.
"He thinks of you highly and would enjoy a visit. I believe his words were"
Claire looked towards the ceiling as if trying to recall. "There is a lack of lively intelligent conversation here these days.' He blames the English youth."
Claire remembered his words exactly, of course, she always remembered...everything, in all her years as something more than human, no matter the memory, she could dredge it up in order to dwell on it. There were some things in a life as long as hers that a person would rather forget but now was not the time to dwell on that.
She had not answered his first question, but then Claire really didn't think he was concerned about her well being so much as he was the information she had for him.
Smiling softly, she said
"My Self. The consecrated blade upon my knees
Is Sato's ancient blade, still as it was,
Still razor-keen, still like a looking-glass
Unspotted by the centuries;
That flowering, silken, old embroidery, torn
From some court-lady's dress and round
The wooden scabbard bound and wound,
Can, tattered, still protect, faded adorn."
OOC: Sorin's motivations with permission
"Jacob in London sends you word that he received your last gift with great enjoyment. You procure the finest things he says."
She gestured an invitation with the flourish of her hand to come and sit beside her.
"He thinks of you highly and would enjoy a visit. I believe his words were"
Claire looked towards the ceiling as if trying to recall. "There is a lack of lively intelligent conversation here these days.' He blames the English youth."
Claire remembered his words exactly, of course, she always remembered...everything, in all her years as something more than human, no matter the memory, she could dredge it up in order to dwell on it. There were some things in a life as long as hers that a person would rather forget but now was not the time to dwell on that.
She had not answered his first question, but then Claire really didn't think he was concerned about her well being so much as he was the information she had for him.
Smiling softly, she said
"My Self. The consecrated blade upon my knees
Is Sato's ancient blade, still as it was,
Still razor-keen, still like a looking-glass
Unspotted by the centuries;
That flowering, silken, old embroidery, torn
From some court-lady's dress and round
The wooden scabbard bound and wound,
Can, tattered, still protect, faded adorn."
OOC: Sorin's motivations with permission
Sorin
18 years ago
Sorin moved over to the offered seat, crossing his legs and leaning back comfortably as he waited for Claire to continue her news.
He was glad Jacob had enjoyed his last gift. It was so hard to find something suiting the man's exacting taste. He had happened upon this one as he walked around town. That southern accent, she matched her voice, so innocent and naive, though why the man preferred that base uneducated sounding drawl was unfathomable to him. Sorin had investigated closer, there was a group of them, seniors in high school on one last trip together before college, probably on a trip to see D.C. and they couldn't resist going just that little extra bit further to see the infamous Nachton and its night life.
Sorin doubted the South would miss just one young blonde who was likely to become some middle class soccer mom with 2 kids, 2 cars, a husband she had grown bored of and a body slowly going to waste. At any rate, if they did miss her, he doubted they would be looking in England for her. He was sure Jacob would take -excellent- care of her...until he grew bored with her. Perhaps that would take a while, one could never tell.
"Excellent."
It was good to know he still had Jacob's favor then, he was one of London's triad and while he still reported to Sorin, he was a powerful man in his own right and it was good to keep his fellow elders of the night happy and loyal.
He sighed Claire's continued quotation of the poem, so it was going to be like this was it?
" My Soul. Why should the imagination of a man
Long past his prime remember things that are
Emblematical of love and war?
Think of ancestral night that can,
If but imagination scorn the earth
And intellect its wandering
To this and that and t'other thing,
Deliver from the crime of death and birth."
He leaned his head to the side to look at her
"And do you believe we are long past our prime, dearest Claire? But it doesn't matter does it... you'll remember it all never the less. I suppose I should be thankful that you, my daughter, shall remember in exacting detail my every word after I'm gone."
Sorin smiled humorlessly.
"Though I do not plan on being gone any time soon, in point of fact, I intend to out live everyone if at all possible."
He was glad Jacob had enjoyed his last gift. It was so hard to find something suiting the man's exacting taste. He had happened upon this one as he walked around town. That southern accent, she matched her voice, so innocent and naive, though why the man preferred that base uneducated sounding drawl was unfathomable to him. Sorin had investigated closer, there was a group of them, seniors in high school on one last trip together before college, probably on a trip to see D.C. and they couldn't resist going just that little extra bit further to see the infamous Nachton and its night life.
Sorin doubted the South would miss just one young blonde who was likely to become some middle class soccer mom with 2 kids, 2 cars, a husband she had grown bored of and a body slowly going to waste. At any rate, if they did miss her, he doubted they would be looking in England for her. He was sure Jacob would take -excellent- care of her...until he grew bored with her. Perhaps that would take a while, one could never tell.
"Excellent."
It was good to know he still had Jacob's favor then, he was one of London's triad and while he still reported to Sorin, he was a powerful man in his own right and it was good to keep his fellow elders of the night happy and loyal.
He sighed Claire's continued quotation of the poem, so it was going to be like this was it?
" My Soul. Why should the imagination of a man
Long past his prime remember things that are
Emblematical of love and war?
Think of ancestral night that can,
If but imagination scorn the earth
And intellect its wandering
To this and that and t'other thing,
Deliver from the crime of death and birth."
He leaned his head to the side to look at her
"And do you believe we are long past our prime, dearest Claire? But it doesn't matter does it... you'll remember it all never the less. I suppose I should be thankful that you, my daughter, shall remember in exacting detail my every word after I'm gone."
Sorin smiled humorlessly.
"Though I do not plan on being gone any time soon, in point of fact, I intend to out live everyone if at all possible."
Claire
18 years ago
"My Self. Montashigi, third of his family, fashioned it
Five hundred years ago, about it lie
Flowers from I know not what embroidery
Heart's purple-and all these I set
For emblems of the day against the tower
Emblematical of the night,
And claim as by a soldier's right
A charter to commit the crime once more."
Claire gazed calmly at Sorin watching him as she always did when he was around, whether he was taking note of her or not. Her Sire fascinated her like no other and though she would not say he was a good man, she still found him a paradox, worthy of notice and study. He was as dynamic as she was still, as bold as she appeared timid.
He had something on his mind, there was something plaguing him, she could tell. Watching him for years now had led her to understand his seemingly random statements sometimes held a deeper truth.
"And what crime have you been chartered to commit these days that weighs upon you?"
Claire held up a hand to silence him before he answered, knowing that whatever he said would not be that which she sought but a diversion, a statement of innocence perhaps or some false and shallow so wild as to not be believed at all.
Placing the marker in her book, she set it aside and then stood gracefully, smoothing her dress with a hand. She came to kneel beside him and placed a hand gently on his brow, brushing away one stray dark blonde curl.
Smiling up at him, she said.
"Yes, I will remember."
Five hundred years ago, about it lie
Flowers from I know not what embroidery
Heart's purple-and all these I set
For emblems of the day against the tower
Emblematical of the night,
And claim as by a soldier's right
A charter to commit the crime once more."
Claire gazed calmly at Sorin watching him as she always did when he was around, whether he was taking note of her or not. Her Sire fascinated her like no other and though she would not say he was a good man, she still found him a paradox, worthy of notice and study. He was as dynamic as she was still, as bold as she appeared timid.
He had something on his mind, there was something plaguing him, she could tell. Watching him for years now had led her to understand his seemingly random statements sometimes held a deeper truth.
"And what crime have you been chartered to commit these days that weighs upon you?"
Claire held up a hand to silence him before he answered, knowing that whatever he said would not be that which she sought but a diversion, a statement of innocence perhaps or some false and shallow so wild as to not be believed at all.
Placing the marker in her book, she set it aside and then stood gracefully, smoothing her dress with a hand. She came to kneel beside him and placed a hand gently on his brow, brushing away one stray dark blonde curl.
Smiling up at him, she said.
"Yes, I will remember."
Sorin
18 years ago
" My Soul. Such fullness in that quarter overflows
And falls into the basin of the mind
That man is stricken deaf and dumb and blind,
For intellect no longer knows Is from the Ought, or Knower from the Known"�
That is to say, ascends to Heaven;
Only the dead can be forgiven;
But when I think of that my tongue's a stone."
Only the dead can be forgiven, and yet he lived forever. Sorin wondered if his tainted soul would stay stained and blackened for eternity.
Claire seemed to know him for who he was, those deep pools of brown watched him with purpose and understanding and yet from his child he never sensed judgment, perhaps that was why he did not weary of her presence. It was not the adoration of Thaddeus, Claire seemed to harbor no belief that he was a good man but He could tolerate her endless scrutiny because there seemed to be no scorn behind it.
Or plotting, his child held no ambitions greater than existing as far as he could tell and for that he was almost grateful. He had never held an interest in her has a bed mate but she made a decent companion and though she had not the slightest cunning bone in her body to be the one at his side, partner and equal as he had discussed with Ellis, Claire would always be there, behind him, silent and safe.
It was not that she was unattractive, he thought, as he watched her place her hand, light as a bird on his brow, she was simply so without fire and spark that no amount of beauty seemed to stir anything in him. Sorin wondered idly, as he sometimes did in Claire's presence, if he could manage to push her to react or if by taking her to bed he would find a spark in her that she had yet to show. Like every time previous to this, he set the thought aside as a waste of effort and the possible ruination of their very equitable arrangement.
"It is simply trying to be an elder some days. I do believe that there are those that do not fully appreciate the difficulties and choices that one must make in a position such as mine."
And falls into the basin of the mind
That man is stricken deaf and dumb and blind,
For intellect no longer knows Is from the Ought, or Knower from the Known"�
That is to say, ascends to Heaven;
Only the dead can be forgiven;
But when I think of that my tongue's a stone."
Only the dead can be forgiven, and yet he lived forever. Sorin wondered if his tainted soul would stay stained and blackened for eternity.
Claire seemed to know him for who he was, those deep pools of brown watched him with purpose and understanding and yet from his child he never sensed judgment, perhaps that was why he did not weary of her presence. It was not the adoration of Thaddeus, Claire seemed to harbor no belief that he was a good man but He could tolerate her endless scrutiny because there seemed to be no scorn behind it.
Or plotting, his child held no ambitions greater than existing as far as he could tell and for that he was almost grateful. He had never held an interest in her has a bed mate but she made a decent companion and though she had not the slightest cunning bone in her body to be the one at his side, partner and equal as he had discussed with Ellis, Claire would always be there, behind him, silent and safe.
It was not that she was unattractive, he thought, as he watched her place her hand, light as a bird on his brow, she was simply so without fire and spark that no amount of beauty seemed to stir anything in him. Sorin wondered idly, as he sometimes did in Claire's presence, if he could manage to push her to react or if by taking her to bed he would find a spark in her that she had yet to show. Like every time previous to this, he set the thought aside as a waste of effort and the possible ruination of their very equitable arrangement.
"It is simply trying to be an elder some days. I do believe that there are those that do not fully appreciate the difficulties and choices that one must make in a position such as mine."
Claire
18 years ago
Claire moved to stand behind him, kneading his shoulders with slender, strong hands.
"My Self. A living man is blind and drinks his drop.
What matter if the ditches are impure?
What matter if I live it all once more?
Endure that toil of growing up;
The ignominy of boyhood; the distress
Of boyhood changing into man;
The unfinished man and his pain
Brought face to face with his own clumsiness;"
Here before her was a man who has drank from impure things and had endured the toil of growing up far too quickly. Claire wondered if Sorin, or as one should more properly call him, Nero, had ever been allowed to be a child. Sometimes she wondered in her long and silent nights if that was what he truly longed for, a return to innocence.
The truth was that there was no innocence and what chances there were in life were made not handed out like presents on Christmas morning. He would have to make his amends and start again if that is what he sought and though she and the world would never forget his deeds perhaps in time they could be forgiven, even those as dreadful as his.
She did not judge him, however, not fully, for Claire knew that she was not innocent either. Her soul was not nearly so stained as her Sire's but it was far from spotless, so she reckoned.
"Leaders are ever misunderstood. Many men dream of the power of it without comprehending its pain but you, my father, have known that pain for a very long time haven't you?"
Claire leaned over him as she continued her work and said.
"I should not have left you for so long. Have you been lonely?"
-OOC: Interaction and Interpretation with permission.
"My Self. A living man is blind and drinks his drop.
What matter if the ditches are impure?
What matter if I live it all once more?
Endure that toil of growing up;
The ignominy of boyhood; the distress
Of boyhood changing into man;
The unfinished man and his pain
Brought face to face with his own clumsiness;"
Here before her was a man who has drank from impure things and had endured the toil of growing up far too quickly. Claire wondered if Sorin, or as one should more properly call him, Nero, had ever been allowed to be a child. Sometimes she wondered in her long and silent nights if that was what he truly longed for, a return to innocence.
The truth was that there was no innocence and what chances there were in life were made not handed out like presents on Christmas morning. He would have to make his amends and start again if that is what he sought and though she and the world would never forget his deeds perhaps in time they could be forgiven, even those as dreadful as his.
She did not judge him, however, not fully, for Claire knew that she was not innocent either. Her soul was not nearly so stained as her Sire's but it was far from spotless, so she reckoned.
"Leaders are ever misunderstood. Many men dream of the power of it without comprehending its pain but you, my father, have known that pain for a very long time haven't you?"
Claire leaned over him as she continued her work and said.
"I should not have left you for so long. Have you been lonely?"
-OOC: Interaction and Interpretation with permission.
Sorin
18 years ago
"The finished man among his enemies?
How in the name of Heaven can he escape
That defiling and disfigured shape
The mirror of malicious eyes
Casts upon his eyes until at last
He thinks that shape must be his shape?
And what's the good of an escape
If honour find him in the wintry blast?"
Sorin sighed softly as tension left his shoulders beneath her skillful fingers. His talented child who played the flute with those graceful hands. He had been gratified to learn she had some musical ability within her and he loved to listen to her play. The flute was perfect for her, many times whisper quiet, sometimes haunting and when it accompanied other instruments it never over powered them or made the louder sound, like Claire, it seemed to have no ambition to lead. Alone it was so fragile and lonely sounding, eerily beautiful, ghostlike.
He thought over her words and remembered the last person to not understand his choices. If Thaddeus had only listened to his advice, but there was no turning back now, the Wolf was loose and his bright young apprentice could not be saved.
If only Thaddeus had never cast malicious eyes upon him...but then he had not. Sorin reminded himself that the judgmental glares and disdainful glances were the product of his dreams.
Thaddeus standing between his creator and Alfarinn watching him, kneeling there in front of the trio, with cool disinterest just as the other two did. Then Thaddeus turned away from him, taking the Evenhet's hand in his own and placing an arm around Emma's waist as they walked away from him without a backward glance. There was no wrath or hate, these things he could abide and refute but not this disregard which so pointedly showed him exactly what it was that he had somehow lost. Sorin blamed the Evenhet, of course, this was all Alfarinn's doing, had he not become involved Thaddeus would still be his, loyal until the end.
"Yes" He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of the ocean on the raven strands that fell forward over his shoulder. " It is a burden I have long carried. I have never not been alone, my Oubliette."
((OOC: Thaddeus, Alfarinn and Emma's actions simply a dream of Sorin's and not necessarily holding any truth to them.))
How in the name of Heaven can he escape
That defiling and disfigured shape
The mirror of malicious eyes
Casts upon his eyes until at last
He thinks that shape must be his shape?
And what's the good of an escape
If honour find him in the wintry blast?"
Sorin sighed softly as tension left his shoulders beneath her skillful fingers. His talented child who played the flute with those graceful hands. He had been gratified to learn she had some musical ability within her and he loved to listen to her play. The flute was perfect for her, many times whisper quiet, sometimes haunting and when it accompanied other instruments it never over powered them or made the louder sound, like Claire, it seemed to have no ambition to lead. Alone it was so fragile and lonely sounding, eerily beautiful, ghostlike.
He thought over her words and remembered the last person to not understand his choices. If Thaddeus had only listened to his advice, but there was no turning back now, the Wolf was loose and his bright young apprentice could not be saved.
If only Thaddeus had never cast malicious eyes upon him...but then he had not. Sorin reminded himself that the judgmental glares and disdainful glances were the product of his dreams.
Thaddeus standing between his creator and Alfarinn watching him, kneeling there in front of the trio, with cool disinterest just as the other two did. Then Thaddeus turned away from him, taking the Evenhet's hand in his own and placing an arm around Emma's waist as they walked away from him without a backward glance. There was no wrath or hate, these things he could abide and refute but not this disregard which so pointedly showed him exactly what it was that he had somehow lost. Sorin blamed the Evenhet, of course, this was all Alfarinn's doing, had he not become involved Thaddeus would still be his, loyal until the end.
"Yes" He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of the ocean on the raven strands that fell forward over his shoulder. " It is a burden I have long carried. I have never not been alone, my Oubliette."
((OOC: Thaddeus, Alfarinn and Emma's actions simply a dream of Sorin's and not necessarily holding any truth to them.))
Claire
18 years ago
"I am content to live it all again
And yet again, if it be life to pitch
Into the frog-spawn of a blind man's ditch,
A blind man battering blind men;
Or into that most fecund ditch of all,
The folly that man does
Or must suffer, if he woos
A proud woman not kindred of his soul."
Claire watched him close his eyes and smiled down at him. This was perhaps not loving but it was comfortable and the closest thing she had to home.
"You will simply begin anew as you have always done. You have an unconquerable spirit and I'm sure you'll rise above what ever it is that is troubling you."
To his loneliness she could offer no answer. Sorin had never looked with interest upon her in any way other than how should could aid him in business. Claire wasn't very certain that she disagreed with that arrangement. Early on she might have considered herself enamored with him but then she came to know him and that brought a change of opinion. It had yet to turn her against him but she was not sure she could abide his affection having seen it be false to so many others.
And yet again, if it be life to pitch
Into the frog-spawn of a blind man's ditch,
A blind man battering blind men;
Or into that most fecund ditch of all,
The folly that man does
Or must suffer, if he woos
A proud woman not kindred of his soul."
Claire watched him close his eyes and smiled down at him. This was perhaps not loving but it was comfortable and the closest thing she had to home.
"You will simply begin anew as you have always done. You have an unconquerable spirit and I'm sure you'll rise above what ever it is that is troubling you."
To his loneliness she could offer no answer. Sorin had never looked with interest upon her in any way other than how should could aid him in business. Claire wasn't very certain that she disagreed with that arrangement. Early on she might have considered herself enamored with him but then she came to know him and that brought a change of opinion. It had yet to turn her against him but she was not sure she could abide his affection having seen it be false to so many others.
Sorin
18 years ago
Sorin opened his eyes and looked up at Claire. She was right, of course, and he had been saying the same thing to himself earlier as well. Admittedly he was wallowing in his own self pity, feeling grief and remorse for a necessary action...which, the Wolf would have done anyway. Why should Thaddeus's death bother his conscience? He did not kill the boy. In fact he had tried to save him from folly. It was the breaking faith with Anantya and running about flaunting his ties with that Evenhet that were responsible. Right here in the Manor of all places!
"Quite right, My Dear, quite right."
Sorin stood and moved to go, turning back to Claire, he said.
"We must get together and play sometime soon. I have missed your accompaniment."
With that said, he turned and walked down the hall. The last stanza of the poem coming to his mind.
I am content to follow to its source
Every event in action or in thought;
Measure the lot; forgive myself the lot!
When such as I cast out remorse
So great a sweetness flows into the breast
We must laugh and we must sing,
We are blest by everything,
Everything we look upon is blest.
He forgave himself everything and for that everything was blessed. It was a new night and it was his for the taking.
((OOC: Sorin out ))
"Quite right, My Dear, quite right."
Sorin stood and moved to go, turning back to Claire, he said.
"We must get together and play sometime soon. I have missed your accompaniment."
With that said, he turned and walked down the hall. The last stanza of the poem coming to his mind.
I am content to follow to its source
Every event in action or in thought;
Measure the lot; forgive myself the lot!
When such as I cast out remorse
So great a sweetness flows into the breast
We must laugh and we must sing,
We are blest by everything,
Everything we look upon is blest.
He forgave himself everything and for that everything was blessed. It was a new night and it was his for the taking.
((OOC: Sorin out ))