Thomas Raith (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
emptynight) wrote2009-10-04 10:53 pm
emptynight) wrote2009-10-04 10:53 pm
Entry tags:
Roadtrip of Denial: Swallow a drop of gravel and blacktop 'Cause the road tastes like wintergreen
Darkness. The night was so ink-black and thick, he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, much less the path in front of him. He stumbled, and the unseen rocks and jagged ice cut into his clothes and his skin. An icy wind blew and seeped into the growing rips in his clothes and his skin, a chill that lodged into his very bones, that seemed to grow until it obliterated the very memory of warmth. He couldn’t stop. Something was driving him onward, one painful step at a time. He shivered from the cold, and that only made him fall again, in the dark, into the ice and glass and rocks. His hands were cold, slick with icy slush and blood, but he still moved, on hands and knees until he could get his feet back under him, and then stumbling steps in the dark. Relentless. Always moving.
And suddenly there was light. Where there had been darkness and uncertainty there was now light. Light that illuminated his path, that showed him the world, a place of beauty and marble statues. He left behind jagged rocks for artful columns and tasteful drapery, a place of sunlight and warmth. The wounds on his hands and knees healed, flesh knit closed and warm water rinsed away traces of blood and ice. The drive to move, to always keep moving forward faded, and he found rest. Rest in this place of marble and ivory where there had been before only lost wandering. Warmth where there had been ice. Fulfillment where there had been hunger.
Hunger. Warmth. Something warm and soft at his feet. Thomas looked down, and instead of warm cloth and blankets, it was a woman, slim and lovely, her face frozen in a moment of utter bliss. Dark hair, smooth olive skin. A rosy flush in her cheeks. Wide dark eyes, empty and staring. The warm world around him seemed to change, or perhaps he did. Where there had been ivory and marble was now bleached bone, the lovely columns taking on a patina of decay, the air so warm and inviting a second ago now curling with the sickly sweet scent of rot.
The fall of another at his feet, a man this time. Sinewy and well-muscled. Dark hair and dusty chin. His eyes staring wide and empty at the ceiling, his face forever twisted into panting desire. Another. Red hair and a haughty face turned wanting and mindless with desire. Dead green eyes. Another and another and another. Blonde hair mingled with black, with strands of gold and shocking pink. Eyes staring, lips parted. Always staring. He tried to step backwards, but found himself surrounded. More and more and more. A neverending parade of them spread out at his feet.
Fear rose in his throat, black and bitter, as he fumbled, stepping over the tangled limbs. His legs caught on one and he fell into waiting arms. This one perhaps the worst. Pale smooth skin. Long silken hair the colour of chocolate. The curve of a throat that fit perfectly into his hand. Wide eyes that had held such strength and understanding now empty and frozen. Trembling lips that had parted for him a thousand times now fighting for a single last breath.
They were his. All his. All wanting and needing and walking to their deaths. The world of bleached bone mocked him in its cold austere beauty and terror. A cold wind whipped through him, carrying a whisper on the wind, telling him this was his, all his. All there would ever be…
*****
Thomas woke with a start, trembling as the tenacious tendrils of cold terror and sleep clung to him. He reached out instinctively for Alice, a familiar warm presence against his mind, but found nothing. The logical part of him sighed in relief, not wanting anyone to see him like this, shaking and terrified of unseen things. It wasn’t until he sat up, throwing the covers aside with every intention of making a cup of strong coffee, that Thomas noticed he wasn’t alone.
A young woman sat on the hotel room issue couch, slim and pale, with short dark hair, and her face buried in the hotel directory. “Lacci?” Thomas asked, rubbing his eyes with a hand.
At his voice, the young woman looked up, a smile on frozen raspberry lips. “Is that her name?” Maeve cooed, the short hair flowing back into cool glacial colours as she stood up. She managed to cross the small hotel room slowly, with unnaturally graceful, undulating steps despite the short distance, and stopped within arm’s reach of Thomas.
“What are you doing here?” he asked sharply, fingers tightening on the hotel bedspread as he forced himself to still, not to flinch away.
Maeve blinked, and her eyes shone with the colours of a winter sky. “You haven’t been sleeping well, my knight,” she said, conversationally, trailing a finger on the bedspread, following the curling design with a tracery of ice. “I only came to see if I could offer my services.”
Thomas’ eyes flickered between Maeve and the creeping ice on his bedspread, but he kept his voice calm despite the tension he couldn’t hide. “I’m not your knight, Lady Maeve,” he said, careful and firm. “I don’t think there’s any service you could render me.”
“Oh really now, Thomas Raith.” The way his name rolled off her tongue made something tingle between his shoulder blades, and Thomas tried hard not to think about it. “There are many services I think you would be interested in.” She smiled again. The gesture would have been warm and inviting if she hadn’t be so cold, her beauty and pull so obviously inhuman. “Dreamless sleep. Power. And end to your struggles. An end to fear. Even, if you wish it, to touch that girl again.” The last was spoken with almost casual indifference even as Maeve shifted again, hair growing long, pale as snow. Her eyes grew dark and knowing. A sweet smile curved on her lips, painful in how familiar it was, as she touched his hand with her fingertips, trailing a cool path up his arm.
Justine’s touch had always been warm. The dissonance made Thomas jerk away, moving to place himself between Maeve and the door. “I don’t think so. But I’m flattered by your consideration. I’ll send you my resume if I change my mind,” Thomas answered, his sarcasm’s effectiveness blunted by quaver of longing that escaped. His hand tightened on the door knob and he opened the door, gesturing to the hallway. “If you don’t mind, I’m expecting company. Dinner.”
Maeve laughed, melting back into herself, icy dreadlocks and frozen berry lips. “I adore resolute men,” she purred, brushing past Thomas with a whisper of snow. “It’s all the more satisfying when they accept.”
The breeze that whispered by smelled of pine and snow-covered mountaintops, and Maeve was gone. With slow, deliberate movements, Thomas closed the hotel room door and sat down on the couch, watching the bedspread, where the elaborate pattern of frost was beginning to melt.
((Tag Alice!))
And suddenly there was light. Where there had been darkness and uncertainty there was now light. Light that illuminated his path, that showed him the world, a place of beauty and marble statues. He left behind jagged rocks for artful columns and tasteful drapery, a place of sunlight and warmth. The wounds on his hands and knees healed, flesh knit closed and warm water rinsed away traces of blood and ice. The drive to move, to always keep moving forward faded, and he found rest. Rest in this place of marble and ivory where there had been before only lost wandering. Warmth where there had been ice. Fulfillment where there had been hunger.
Hunger. Warmth. Something warm and soft at his feet. Thomas looked down, and instead of warm cloth and blankets, it was a woman, slim and lovely, her face frozen in a moment of utter bliss. Dark hair, smooth olive skin. A rosy flush in her cheeks. Wide dark eyes, empty and staring. The warm world around him seemed to change, or perhaps he did. Where there had been ivory and marble was now bleached bone, the lovely columns taking on a patina of decay, the air so warm and inviting a second ago now curling with the sickly sweet scent of rot.
The fall of another at his feet, a man this time. Sinewy and well-muscled. Dark hair and dusty chin. His eyes staring wide and empty at the ceiling, his face forever twisted into panting desire. Another. Red hair and a haughty face turned wanting and mindless with desire. Dead green eyes. Another and another and another. Blonde hair mingled with black, with strands of gold and shocking pink. Eyes staring, lips parted. Always staring. He tried to step backwards, but found himself surrounded. More and more and more. A neverending parade of them spread out at his feet.
Fear rose in his throat, black and bitter, as he fumbled, stepping over the tangled limbs. His legs caught on one and he fell into waiting arms. This one perhaps the worst. Pale smooth skin. Long silken hair the colour of chocolate. The curve of a throat that fit perfectly into his hand. Wide eyes that had held such strength and understanding now empty and frozen. Trembling lips that had parted for him a thousand times now fighting for a single last breath.
They were his. All his. All wanting and needing and walking to their deaths. The world of bleached bone mocked him in its cold austere beauty and terror. A cold wind whipped through him, carrying a whisper on the wind, telling him this was his, all his. All there would ever be…
*****
Thomas woke with a start, trembling as the tenacious tendrils of cold terror and sleep clung to him. He reached out instinctively for Alice, a familiar warm presence against his mind, but found nothing. The logical part of him sighed in relief, not wanting anyone to see him like this, shaking and terrified of unseen things. It wasn’t until he sat up, throwing the covers aside with every intention of making a cup of strong coffee, that Thomas noticed he wasn’t alone.
A young woman sat on the hotel room issue couch, slim and pale, with short dark hair, and her face buried in the hotel directory. “Lacci?” Thomas asked, rubbing his eyes with a hand.
At his voice, the young woman looked up, a smile on frozen raspberry lips. “Is that her name?” Maeve cooed, the short hair flowing back into cool glacial colours as she stood up. She managed to cross the small hotel room slowly, with unnaturally graceful, undulating steps despite the short distance, and stopped within arm’s reach of Thomas.
“What are you doing here?” he asked sharply, fingers tightening on the hotel bedspread as he forced himself to still, not to flinch away.
Maeve blinked, and her eyes shone with the colours of a winter sky. “You haven’t been sleeping well, my knight,” she said, conversationally, trailing a finger on the bedspread, following the curling design with a tracery of ice. “I only came to see if I could offer my services.”
Thomas’ eyes flickered between Maeve and the creeping ice on his bedspread, but he kept his voice calm despite the tension he couldn’t hide. “I’m not your knight, Lady Maeve,” he said, careful and firm. “I don’t think there’s any service you could render me.”
“Oh really now, Thomas Raith.” The way his name rolled off her tongue made something tingle between his shoulder blades, and Thomas tried hard not to think about it. “There are many services I think you would be interested in.” She smiled again. The gesture would have been warm and inviting if she hadn’t be so cold, her beauty and pull so obviously inhuman. “Dreamless sleep. Power. And end to your struggles. An end to fear. Even, if you wish it, to touch that girl again.” The last was spoken with almost casual indifference even as Maeve shifted again, hair growing long, pale as snow. Her eyes grew dark and knowing. A sweet smile curved on her lips, painful in how familiar it was, as she touched his hand with her fingertips, trailing a cool path up his arm.
Justine’s touch had always been warm. The dissonance made Thomas jerk away, moving to place himself between Maeve and the door. “I don’t think so. But I’m flattered by your consideration. I’ll send you my resume if I change my mind,” Thomas answered, his sarcasm’s effectiveness blunted by quaver of longing that escaped. His hand tightened on the door knob and he opened the door, gesturing to the hallway. “If you don’t mind, I’m expecting company. Dinner.”
Maeve laughed, melting back into herself, icy dreadlocks and frozen berry lips. “I adore resolute men,” she purred, brushing past Thomas with a whisper of snow. “It’s all the more satisfying when they accept.”
The breeze that whispered by smelled of pine and snow-covered mountaintops, and Maeve was gone. With slow, deliberate movements, Thomas closed the hotel room door and sat down on the couch, watching the bedspread, where the elaborate pattern of frost was beginning to melt.
((Tag Alice!))
no subject
She was actually kind of surprised he hadn't grabbed whatever and head for the pool, especially now that she was agreeing to go and be Miss Everything's Fine for awhile, but there he was, right on the couch, talking like he intended to go on some sort of spirit journey to root out the badness or something. She didn't know for sure - she didn't even really know a little - but she could guess what that might involve, even if she wasn't completely clear on where Etruscan came into it.
Either way, no way was she leaving Thomas alone for this. Or for anything really, not while he still sounded so freaked, and not until she figured out what it was she was missing. Maybe he would actually do it first which would not only be a surprise, but kind of a great one. She curled up next to him on the couch, chin on his shoulder.
"Voices in your head I know from the long long ago, Thomas. Work your magic. I'm not going anywhere."
no subject
Thomas pushed aside the momentary guilt and let the darkness rise, a familiar but still foreign presence in his mind, the velvet darkness, the gaping hunger. Tired of the pretty mad girl's company and seeking refuge in your own head?
'We need to make a deal.' Thomas' own voice was firm inside his mind, determined, without fear. 'I need to know why I've been losing control.'
You already know the answer to that, but if you're going to ask me, I want a price to be paid. The little doe for the truth.
'She isn't mine to give you. I wouldn't even if I wanted to. Five minutes of the truth, and you can have an attempt at seducing her. On your word.' The confidence wasn't just his. In this space, he could feel Alice more clearly, could feel that iron in her spine, the determination and love that made her quite so irritatingly Alice.
You have always had my word.
Power pooled on Thomas' skin. Nothing changed on the surface, but there was a pull in the air, a whisper of heat and silence. When Thomas turned to Alice, his eyes were pale white, and his every move was liquid grace. He looked at her with a predatory smile even as the power in his veins sang, calling to the bubbling emotions inside Alice, whispering for heat and want. His voice was silk and velvet, warm and inviting, as the hand that had clutched Alice's now touched lightly, making tiny circles against her knuckles.
"Hello, Alice."
no subject
Except now she was staring at snow-white eyes, and it was still Thomas, it was, but all she could think of was the slow circle of his fingers on her hand, like it was drawing every memory she had of feeling the life drained out of her in that random hotel room near the house, how good it was being burnt hollow with that much wanting, how she'd thought she might never have another vision and that was just perfect. If Alice tried to speak now she'd be lucky to get vowels, she thought.
Slowly, though. That was the trick. Just do everything slowly and it would be fine, cause whatever Thomas had decided to do it had either gone totally wrong or this was part of the plan which, all things considered, she would've liked to hear first.
So she tried to pull her hand away, slow as she could. The first two times, she thought she'd done it, then felt his fingers again and realized she hadn't moved at all. But eventually she did it. Got her hand back on her own leg, though it almost hurt.
"Hello yourself," she said, bravado being totally pointless given how open book she was but hey, there was a lot going on inside one tiny Alice, and that could be a good thing. "So. You gonna tell me what's going wrong or are you just gonna sit there all depigmented? Cause seriously, as a look, very avant-garde."
She couldn't really do anything about the sound of her voice, which was all breathless and weird, but it was a start.
no subject
The hand that wasn't on Alice's reached up and caught her chin, thumb caressing her lip with a teasing touch that left want in its wake. "It's a fair exchange, isn't it?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper against her ear, lips brushing lightly against the soft curve. "You get information. I get you. And you'll have all the silence your heart desires." The Hunger sat lightly on Thomas' fingertips, gently, unobtrusively stroking the rising heat to punctuate his words.
Thomas chuckled lightly as he pressed a quick, teasing kiss to the spot just behind Alice's ear, all but purring, "I'd say you're coming out better on this deal."
no subject
There had to be something she could hold on to and just get this done, cause headache or no headache her blocked vision was hammering against impenetrable walls, desperate to see where choices would lead her. She was starting to freak. This was the kind of thing psychics were supposed to be for and she was useless-
Ok well the smile that widened almost clockwork with her rising panic was creepy enough that she could pull away, instinct gave her that much. And after that it was looking at his eyes, not long and not carefully, just looking. It might be inside him, a part of him, but it wasn't Thomas. Thomas wouldn't want this even if she did.
She had an entire shoe closet to attest to that.
"You didn't make any deals with me," she said, backed up as far as she could and breathing hard, keeping an escape route open with one eye though ok, that was probably already on his radar. "So information first. You tell me what's been making him go all feedy and out of control and then we'll see how well you and me dance, yeah?"
no subject
It wasn't as if a switch had been turned off. All the heady desire and whispered promises were still there, curling around him like a second skin, but it was as if he was actively holding it back. "He's not out of control, sweet Alice," came the answer with a hint of disdain underneath the honeyed sweetness. "As much as he'd like to believe it, every time he's 'lost control,' as he likes to put it, it has been his conscious choice to embrace his nature. I have kept my word. He's the one who looks for escape, who embraces excuses like some cheap chit."
I have kept my word. Nothing but truth that you already knew. Without another word, the Hunger sank back down into the depths of his soul, a little wider, a little hungrier than before. Thomas blinked, and it was as if something drained out of him, leaving him exactly as he had been before, grey-eyed and possessing only the light pull that drew the eye for a second glance, a fleeting spark of imagination.
no subject
She blinked a few times. Conversation, Alice. Right. Something to focus on that wasn't tearing off clothing. She picked up a throw cushion and chucked it at him.
"You could have warned me to get my demon pants on Thomas, Jesus," she said, sounding nothing even like angry but it broke the absolute opposite of ice. "Are you ok? Do you remember that, or is it like- do you black out?"
Cause really, once she'd heard there was no loss of control, the pieces start fitting together a lot more easily. She might not be getting super psychic confirmation for the jumble of info in her head, but it was getting there, piece by piece.
no subject
Even with the distraction that was Alice's tugging current of want, Thomas shook his head. "I remember. It's not like I forget what happens when it--" He stopped, fumbling for words. "I'm still me, I remember things that happen." Except when I repress them. "It's more like I stop caring about anything except what I want, and am completely focused on getting that."
The knowledge that he had actively, consciously or subconsciously, embraced it on his own sent a shiver down Thomas' spine. It was all too much for one night; he felt as if his head would crack open if another surprise decided to present itself. The look he shot Alice was almost needy, the desire for contact, for something simpler, that wasn't all dredging up memories and facing uncomfortable truths.
no subject