Well it's only been oh…a year. But who's really keeping track? I'm gonna try my darnedest to be more diligent about adding to this. Silly life distracting me from my writing…
la chauve-souris
The air is thick, cold, damp and miserable. Nothing like this would ever occur in Facinaturu, particularly not in the gardens of the Château Aiguille, which is the most a lot mystics ever see of "outside". Time was that I was never commanded to stray far from the gardens, but those times are long past and now I am forced to mingle with the masses and carry out the orders of my lord in regions far beyond the splendor of the castle. I can't believe Rei wishes for such a life.
"It reeks of humans," I say, unable to help sucking the sour air in through my nostrils.
"Delightful isn't it?" Rastaban says, looking around happily and smiling that disgusting, smirky grin of his. Sometimes I swear I could kill him for it.
"It's the smell of things slowly dying," he says, turning about to face one of the guards who have come with us to this region. "Do you enjoy it as well?"
"Don't be daft!" I yell. I am already fed up with Rastaban's poetics and our mission has only just begun. "He can't answer you and you know it." He is asking the opinion of the silent one, who I determined was indeed an actual and not elective mute, when I bit him hard and drained him close to dry and he did not cry once, though his face contorted with pain. His silence displeased my lord and I wished to make him pay for it. Zozma claims Rei lay with the boy once and try as she might, she could not get so much as a low moan out of him, let alone the screams of ecstasy I've often heard her get out of others, Zozma included. Her promiscuity disgusts me, nearly as much as Zozma's does. I disgust myself when I allow anyone else to touch me. I wish to be only for my lord.
I see the silent one cock his head to the side and shrug his shoulders in response to Rastaban's question. I want to hit him across his deceivingly pretty little face, a face that conceals the imperfections within his body. How dare he encourage Rastaban?
"There you see Ciato," comes Rastaban's inevitable comment. "He can respond, so long as only ask "yes or no"questions. Unfortunately in this case he doesn't know and can't elaborate for us."
"Will you shut up?" I want to finish this mission and be on our way. I can't possibly get out of the company of Rastaban soon enough.
"Possibly." Rastaban laughs, looking around again. "So this is Koorong…funny."
I don't want to ask him, but find myself doing so anyway. "What's funny?"
"This used to be such a bright and beautiful place. The road leading into the central city was almost legendary for it's splendor, all immaculate cobblestone with marble statues framing the gates. Don't you remember the last time we were here? It must be over a century ago…"
"I don't." And that is the truth. I don't find human society or anything crafted therein to be worth encoding to my centuries worth of memories.
"Well I do," he says and I know he means it. Rastaban likes remembering stupid details about worthless things like the gates of human cities and what roads are made out of. His appreciation of human aesthetics is sickening. The only mystic I've ever known to be more interested in humans than he is was that Nusakan, who was now supposedly somewhere in this region.
"It's so dark and dingy now," Rastaban continues. I'm sure he knows that I have no interest in his observations but he doesn't care.
"Of course it's dark," I say. "It's night. Nothing is light at night, there's no sun."
"Ah but the moon and stars can shine brightly in their own way. I know they used to be brilliant here." He smiles again, looking up at the sky as if he can recall how it once looked.
I stalk past him. If I don't get a move on we'll be standing here for hours while Rastaban points out every miniscule detail that has changed since the last time he visited the region. The guards fall in line behind me and I am relieved to see that at least my lackeys understand that we are here to complete a mission, even if my partner thinks we're here to write laments for the downfall of human society.
"Lord Ciato," one of them begins, "shall we separate from you while we travel through the market place? It is just ahead."
The stench of humans has grown stronger and, without seeing it, I know that he is right. "Shouldn't the humans be asleep right now?"
Rastaban laughs. "Are you really that disconnected from humanity that you don't know they are just as fond of night as we are? There's drinking to be done, love affairs to be had." He has caught up to us.
Ignoring him I say, "Yes," responding the guard's question. "We don't wish to be too conspicuous. We'll travel separately and regroup beyond. According to our records there is a tavern right before the entrance to the city underground. We'll rendez-vous in front of there."
"Honestly Ciato. That place is bound to be crawling with humans. Safer to head straight for the underground and find each other once we arrive."
There's no real reason for caution. After all, I could easily over power any number of them without the assistance of my obnoxious, though formidable, companion or that of the silent guard, who in spite of his inability to phonate is not to be taken lightly on the battlefield. But we mystics don't like to cause a scene. It has nothing to do with an affection for humans, at least not in my case as I would happily do away with the whole filthy lot of them. But my lord seems to find some value in their ever-dying bodies, and I do not question his motives. But try as we might, we don't exactly blend in with humans. Even in our ragged disguises we still possess some other-worldly charm in the eyes of mortals. The feeling is definitely not mutual.
Rastaban spares us additional commentary, and I think I must have gone deaf. Only the sound of human voices, chattering and bickering in the streets ahead assures me that I have not. We walk towards the commotion and separate. I stroll through the streets as inconspicuously as possible, dodging ambling drunks and giddy groups of obnoxiously loud human females. Some of their glances linger favorably over me and I move quickly past to avoid conversation. People are singing in the streets, weaving their way along the sidewalks, leaning on lampposts or friends to avoid toppling over. If mystics could get physically ill in the way humans do, if we ate food that was capable of being thrown up, I am certain that at this moment I would. It takes all of my willpower to keep me from phasing out and teleporting to where I imagine the end of this chaos to be.
I practically run there, spot the stairs leading towards the city underground, and am instantly at the bottom of them. The guards trail a few steps behind and, as expected, Rastaban meanders his way down to us several long minutes later.
"We're now looking for a manhole," I saw, refusing to let Rastaban share any of his observations about human nightlife before continuing this assignment. "It's one of those flat, round, metal things on the ground leading into the modern underground artificial water channels."
"I know what a manhole is," Rastaban insists. "And they aren't water channels. They're sewage removal systems."
If I wasn't aware that it was exactly the response he wanted, I would have deigned to glare at him and grace him with some angry retort. But I know he delights in making me angry, so I ignore him and continue speaking, unfazed. "Near the entrance to the sewers should be a rundown building, once in use by humans but now in an uninhabited part of the city. This is where those low class cat mystics claim to have seen a mystic lord."
"Poor creatures. Over absorbed the energy of beasts and they've evolved into beasts themselves. Or did our clan simply learn the balance of surviving on a combination of human blood and monster energy and all others failed to do so?"
I wonder why he cares. It doesn't matter. We are the superior race of mystics. The only others that even slightly compare are the water mystics. At least they are capable of coherent thought and conversation. Most other mystics are like beasts, though they acknowledge us as having descended from similar bloodlines and respect Orlouge's court. But they never increase in power or number. They do not possess the ability to make new mystics by draining human blood, or if they ever did, they have long since forgotten it.
We find our destination with little trouble, save for the fact that, given the filthy condition of the building's exterior, it is a feat to distinguish the door from the wall. The silent one does so, and pushes the door open, leading our procession inside. It is dark and musty within, but it doesn't take me long to spot Nusakan, busying himself with…painting the walls?
"Nusakan," I begin. I want to be cold, to demand an explanation for his behavior, to remind him of the punishment that may await him for fleeing Facinaturu, but all I can say is, "what are you doing?"
"Can't you see? White washing the walls. It was quite the task tearing down all the cob webs in this place." He continues painting and I continue staring. "How did you find me?" he asks finally. "Not that I didn't expect you to."
"Some low class mystics reported to Orlouge that they had seen a mystic lord in this area. Naturally we were sent to investigate, and assumed it was you. Since you're the only lord that's left the region for any reason other than an assignment in the last…well ever," Rastaban says.
"How clever of you," Nusakan says, the corners of his lips curling into a smile. "And are you here to drag me forcibly back to Facinaturu? Because I assure you, I will not come willingly."
I hesitate to answer as it dawns on me that our mission is unclear. Orlouge sent us to find Nusaken and determine what it was he was doing out amongst humanity--not to bring him back to the Château. Unless he was plotting something against Orlouge and he certainly wasn't stupid enough to do that as opposing our lord is tantamount to suicide, and the death of a mystic literal obliteration.
Just as I am about to insist he reveal his intentions, since he has clearly taken up residence in this dingy place, Rastaban casually asks, "So, what are you up to here Nusaken? Planning on luring pretty young humans back here and starting your own harem? Lots of nice looking ones wandering the streets, easy targets too when they're plastered and carrying on so."
"Of course not," Nusakan replies. His eyes wander noticeably to silent one, who seems to shift uncomfortably as Nusakan studies him. His look is not amorous as one might expect, since even I, who desire only my lord, am not immune to the silent guard's pleasing looks. The deserter's look is…curious? Curiosity is not an emotion mystics feel.
I cannot stand his nonchalance. "Then what are you doing here? Aside from cleaning up this wretched, abandoned building on the periphery of a sewer? Why would you, a respected mystic lord, subject yourself to living within the stench of humans?"
"I have this young creature to thank actually," Nusaken says, almost cheerfully. "You see when our silent friend here came to the Château Aiguille, oh it must be twenty or so years ago now, I found myself wondering whether or not he was ever capable of speech. I wondered if some ailment had rendered him incapable of speech in childhood or adolescence."
"I don't understand," I say, voice betraying my annoyance. I am angrier perhaps, because Nusakan was one of the only lords I have not found to be intolerably unfaithful to Lord Orlouge. I have swayed and hated myself for it every time, but not he, not to my knowledge.
"I should think it's rather obvious," Rastaban says, wandering past Nusakan and sitting on a rudimentary bench by an already whitewashed wall. He puts his feet up on what I think is a very low table. "So tell me Doctor Nusakan, do you plan to cure these diseased humans who come crying to you for help, or merely acquire knowledge about the diseases afflicting them?"
"Perhaps, some day I will venture to help prevent premature human death, yes. But if that day ever comes, it won't be for centuries. For now, my interest in them is entirely for research." He smiles at the silent one again. "I only wish I could have seen your human self and known if he was as mute as his mystic counterpart."
Disgusting. Not only does he want to live amongst humans, but he wants to be in frequent close quarters with sick humans, diseased, suffering bodies, sniffling, coughing, aching, vomiting, probably the closer to death the better. And the worse the smell of them. What purpose could that possibly serve for his lord?
"But why Nusakan?" I find myself asking aloud. "Do you wish to find a means of causing these diseases, to create an epidemic amongst humans, wipe the world clean of them so our Lord Orlouge can reign supreme?"
"Not at all," he replies. "I wish merely to know. We mystics have long forgotten any knowledge of illness we had had in our human lifetimes. It does not affect us. I don't expect you to understand. You especially Ciato will never understand what I see sickness. Acquiring knowledge has always been my personal greatness." Irritatingly, he smirks again. "Besides, Orlouge would be miserable if I wiped out humanity. No more pretty boys and girls for him to add to his collection."
Rastaban laughs and I clench my fist, willing myself not to conjure my sword and run him through. Not that merely stabbing him would do any lasting damage, but it would feel good. I bark commands at the guards to leave and inform Lord Orlouge that our mission is complete and Nusakan is no threat to us.
"You are hereby banished from Facinaturu, Nusakan," I say with authority.
"That's excellent news, seeing as I had no intention of returning."
"I would suggest you stay out of our lord's site for as long as your existence continues," I say.
"And I suggest you tell Orlouge that I will be here studying human diseases and if he really does not wish to see me, he should stay away from this place," Nusakan retorts, voice suddenly sharp.
My lord would never venture to the likes of this place. Not unless the rest of the world had fallen and here was the sole place where any living creature, monster or human, from which he could draw energy survived. But I do not say this. I will not grace the deserter with this knowledge.
