Dignity - by Harukami
/Breathe, breathe, breathe./
He lay on his back and stared up at the dark, trying to remember how humans breathed.
/What am I?/
~You Are.~
He could not draw enough breath to deny it.
Perhaps Sydney straddled the line between angel and demon. Celestially pale, thin and beautiful, blond hair like silk cobwebs around a thin, sharp-featured face. Infernal darkness swirling in eyes staring up at that ceiling, metal arms that ended in knives, not fingers, laid out beside him loose like sleep.
/Tell me what I am,/ he demanded of his goddess.
~The Lost Tarot.~
He shivered, nearly breathing, but could not draw enough energy for anger. /And is that all I am, my Lady? Your device for divination? What else am I?/
He could almost hear her laughter, almost smell her perfume and woodsmoke. ~You Are.~
With the effort of moving worlds, he closed his eyes. /Is that an answer, Mullenkamp?/
She was silent.
And there was the anger, his hands clenching to dig trenches in the blankets that were piled up as a bed.
He inhaled finally and nearly choked on the musty smell of rotting books. A library, of course, he remembered. He'd bedded down in a library. But he hadn't been breathing then, hadn't been able to taste the rot, the wetness in the walls soaking through the books. He listened, could hear the rustle of worms moving through pages.
Like maggots, he thought clinically, and stopped breathing.
But the silence wouldn't return and he lay on his back listening to worms devour words.
The vision of moments before rushed in to swim in front of his eyes, blankening out the dead library with Dark.
//The King of Swords, the enemy. Himself, the Magician. The Emperor, the Querant. The Emperor overturns the Hierophant, overturns the Devil, overturns... and there is the Tower. The Magician crossed by the Ten of Swords. The Magician, the Emperor, the King of Swords, the Tower. Blood. Pain. Blood.//
/I am not ready!/ he cried at her, silent. /My Lady, I have so much to do yet!/
~You Are Ready. You have Always been Ready.~
Blood, he could taste it, could feel himself on fire. He realized he was crying, metal hands covering his face, body curled, foetal.
/Look what you do to me!/ he flung at her. /You rob me of dignity!/
Her reply was soft, nearly a voice of the human she'd been before she became divine. ~You Are the One who claims that it is Wrong to Cry over what I Show You.~
He'd started to breathe again, his voice stuttering in a child's sobs. His figners drew blood from his cheeks, burning where his tears touched the mock-skinning. /My dignity is all -- why must I not die with--/
~Open your Eyes.~
Startled, they shot open, and he blinked away tears.
Hardin was there, in the doorway, shocked. Sydney wrestled with himself to get his poise back, lips twisting in a sardonic smile but it was no good, it was too late, Hardin had seen.
~Let it Go, my Dove.~ Her scent lapped at him like flames, gentle. ~Let yourself Go.~
And he did, falling apart. Hating, whining like a struck cur. "Hardin, my friend, my dear Hardin," he babbled through his tears and he might as well, really, because it had been too late and he was a child again, flung against his wall by his father's fist, begging for family. "Hold me," arms flung out.
He hated Hardin in that moment, hated the shocked pity in his eyes, hated the strength and warmth of Hardin's arms.
Sydney punished Hardin by clinging tight, claws buried in Hardin's shoulders, crying.
Large hands carefully combed through fine blond angel's hair, petted down a thin bare back.
Sydney sobbed, helpless under kindness.
~See? And not So bad.~
/Oh my Lady, my Lady, why do you hate me so?/
Shakily, Sydney pulled back. Hardin brushed his knuckles down Sydney's cheek. "Sydney?"
Careful now, Sydney put his hands on Hardin's face, drew in a breath and tasted rotting books. "Sleep," Sydney said, and Hardin sighed, slipping down with closed eyes.
"Forget," he murmured against Hardin. "Forget how you saw me tonight."
He stayed a moment longer in Hardin's unconcious arms, but could not cry again.
~My Child...~
/Why do you do this to me?/
/Breathe, breathe, breathe./
He lay on his back and stared up at the dark, trying to remember how humans breathed.
/What am I?/
~You Are.~
He could not draw enough breath to deny it.
Perhaps Sydney straddled the line between angel and demon. Celestially pale, thin and beautiful, blond hair like silk cobwebs around a thin, sharp-featured face. Infernal darkness swirling in eyes staring up at that ceiling, metal arms that ended in knives, not fingers, laid out beside him loose like sleep.
/Tell me what I am,/ he demanded of his goddess.
~The Lost Tarot.~
He shivered, nearly breathing, but could not draw enough energy for anger. /And is that all I am, my Lady? Your device for divination? What else am I?/
He could almost hear her laughter, almost smell her perfume and woodsmoke. ~You Are.~
With the effort of moving worlds, he closed his eyes. /Is that an answer, Mullenkamp?/
She was silent.
And there was the anger, his hands clenching to dig trenches in the blankets that were piled up as a bed.
He inhaled finally and nearly choked on the musty smell of rotting books. A library, of course, he remembered. He'd bedded down in a library. But he hadn't been breathing then, hadn't been able to taste the rot, the wetness in the walls soaking through the books. He listened, could hear the rustle of worms moving through pages.
Like maggots, he thought clinically, and stopped breathing.
But the silence wouldn't return and he lay on his back listening to worms devour words.
The vision of moments before rushed in to swim in front of his eyes, blankening out the dead library with Dark.
//The King of Swords, the enemy. Himself, the Magician. The Emperor, the Querant. The Emperor overturns the Hierophant, overturns the Devil, overturns... and there is the Tower. The Magician crossed by the Ten of Swords. The Magician, the Emperor, the King of Swords, the Tower. Blood. Pain. Blood.//
/I am not ready!/ he cried at her, silent. /My Lady, I have so much to do yet!/
~You Are Ready. You have Always been Ready.~
Blood, he could taste it, could feel himself on fire. He realized he was crying, metal hands covering his face, body curled, foetal.
/Look what you do to me!/ he flung at her. /You rob me of dignity!/
Her reply was soft, nearly a voice of the human she'd been before she became divine. ~You Are the One who claims that it is Wrong to Cry over what I Show You.~
He'd started to breathe again, his voice stuttering in a child's sobs. His figners drew blood from his cheeks, burning where his tears touched the mock-skinning. /My dignity is all -- why must I not die with--/
~Open your Eyes.~
Startled, they shot open, and he blinked away tears.
Hardin was there, in the doorway, shocked. Sydney wrestled with himself to get his poise back, lips twisting in a sardonic smile but it was no good, it was too late, Hardin had seen.
~Let it Go, my Dove.~ Her scent lapped at him like flames, gentle. ~Let yourself Go.~
And he did, falling apart. Hating, whining like a struck cur. "Hardin, my friend, my dear Hardin," he babbled through his tears and he might as well, really, because it had been too late and he was a child again, flung against his wall by his father's fist, begging for family. "Hold me," arms flung out.
He hated Hardin in that moment, hated the shocked pity in his eyes, hated the strength and warmth of Hardin's arms.
Sydney punished Hardin by clinging tight, claws buried in Hardin's shoulders, crying.
Large hands carefully combed through fine blond angel's hair, petted down a thin bare back.
Sydney sobbed, helpless under kindness.
~See? And not So bad.~
/Oh my Lady, my Lady, why do you hate me so?/
Shakily, Sydney pulled back. Hardin brushed his knuckles down Sydney's cheek. "Sydney?"
Careful now, Sydney put his hands on Hardin's face, drew in a breath and tasted rotting books. "Sleep," Sydney said, and Hardin sighed, slipping down with closed eyes.
"Forget," he murmured against Hardin. "Forget how you saw me tonight."
He stayed a moment longer in Hardin's unconcious arms, but could not cry again.
~My Child...~
/Why do you do this to me?/