Post by Seraphim on Aug 31, 2006 21:39:11 GMT 12
Seraphim stood on the edge of the derelict building, his greatcoat flapping behind him in the wind. His dark hair was tied back in a messy, dirty ponytail and the middle three fingers of his right hand were tapped together. The city he stared out over was a city built of the remains of buildings, the hollow shells of apartments and offices, shops and homes. Somehow, that desolate expanse of destruction only heightened the feeling of somewhat awkward ecstasy that coursed through him. Whether it was the smell of ashes, the feel of the wind or the sudden freedom after being trapped in the Vampire cells for what seemed like a lifetime, or maybe it was something he hadn’t thought of yet – but with the city spread out below him, he felt acutely alive.
You couldn’t tell when you looked at him. Since the Vampire ordeal, his eyes had lost the glimmer of angry fire and were dull and lifeless, his expression was constantly the mask of fury it had only recently taken to assuming often, and his left hand was clenched into a fist. But that was because he had curled his fingers protectively over a small silver ring. He’d recently visited his old house again in a rare flash of homesickness and had found it by mistake, tripping over a fallen roof beam where his room had been. After staring at the ashes for a while, he’d seen the glint of silver – and here it was, a silver ring his sister had made for him a very long time ago. She’d taken the measurements wrong and it was so large it was almost too big to fit onto his thumb, but he’d worn it so often you couldn’t tell.
The wind picked up, a staggering blast that pulled at Seraphim’s coat. He took a step back from the edge of the roof, tucking the silver ring into his pocket. Black dots swirled in front of his vision and he knew he’d turned too fast, having to catch himself before he dropped to his knees. The feeling of elation escaped him for a moment while he regained his balance.
Dancer had been doing well among the Cigarettes, he thought – not that he was a judge of such things, but most of them treated her a little like a rabid dog and a little like a fragile glass object they were afraid of breaking. Seraphim smiled fleetingly at the thought, deciding that maybe she’d hate the treatment. She had such a sarcastic streak, sometimes.
Seraphim took the stairs down from the roof two at a time, pausing to swing across the gap on the second floor landing. His boots hit the floor hard, sending ash and dust billowing into the air. He staggered, clutching a fire-stained support beam to steady himself. He cursed – no mater how much time he spent scrambling around outside the ghetto, he seemed to still find himself clumsy as though he’d only been in New Pork a few weeks. Extreme dislike of the Vampires robbed him of the verging-on-fond feelings he’d had for Dancer’s predicament just a moment ago.
Ducking under the crumbled, low doorway, Seraph peered out at the city now it was at ground level. It was getting dark and the sunset was casting purple tones over the streets, deep blues and reds fighting for supremacy on the shattered glass that still lay scattered on some roads. If he’d had the artist’s eye, he might have stayed to watch the sun die, but after what had happened last time, he didn’t want to be caught in the Grid after dark. If he got back to the Ghetto, he could watch from the relative safety of home ground.
Or, he could meet Reason on the way, which was infinitely less pleasant. Seraphim paused in the process of climbing a fallen building to get across the road, watching Reason. She had been out alone a lot lately – something was bugging her, too, and honestly, Seraphim didn’t want to hear about it. But she turned his way and it was to late to go home a different way, so he gritted his teeth and strode across to her. To his surprise, she seemed content to sit in silence. He sat down beside her, watching the very last light fall out of the sky, leaving a blue haze on the city of New Pork. It looked like a photograph on which someone had used a blue filter.
Reason spoke suddenly, and Seraphim almost toppled off his perch (an old, faded red oil barrel propped up against the metal beam that Reason was sitting on,) with surprise as her voice, (an imitation of his own now, he was told, although it sounded subtly different, which he was told was normal,) cut through the still azure air.
“Seraphim, I have a question for you. Maybe Axel's talent of reading people has rubbed off on you - Do I look like I’m in love?” She asked, turning to set her intense green stare at him. Her hat shadowed her face, framed by brilliant red hair that the sunlight set on fire. Seraphim blinked. Reason and Hail? Reason and Axel? None of it made sense. Reason was far too sensible to fall in love.
“How the fuck should I know?” Seraphim responded, looking up at her as she rose, brushing off her scarlet skirts.
Reason didn’t answer for a while, and Seraphim fiddled with the silver ring in his pocket. At length, she spoke again – in Dancer’s voice this time, with something of Mina’s mixed in it – or was that his imagination?
“Well,” She said slowly, “have you looked in a mirror after you've been near Anne, lately? If you haven't, I suppose you could be forgiven for not knowing, but . . .”
Seraphim’s black gaze met her green stare and they looked blankly at each other for a while. Then Reason tipped her hat and sauntered away, leaving Seraphim to stare after her, in the process of slipping his ring back onto his thumb.
He rocked back and forth on the barrel, coming close to flattening his face on the concrete several times, as night fell solidly around him. By the time he got back to Castle Smoke, the ring had worked up a shine from the handling it had received as he toyed absently with it, staring out into the darkening city with half a smile on his face.
You couldn’t tell when you looked at him. Since the Vampire ordeal, his eyes had lost the glimmer of angry fire and were dull and lifeless, his expression was constantly the mask of fury it had only recently taken to assuming often, and his left hand was clenched into a fist. But that was because he had curled his fingers protectively over a small silver ring. He’d recently visited his old house again in a rare flash of homesickness and had found it by mistake, tripping over a fallen roof beam where his room had been. After staring at the ashes for a while, he’d seen the glint of silver – and here it was, a silver ring his sister had made for him a very long time ago. She’d taken the measurements wrong and it was so large it was almost too big to fit onto his thumb, but he’d worn it so often you couldn’t tell.
The wind picked up, a staggering blast that pulled at Seraphim’s coat. He took a step back from the edge of the roof, tucking the silver ring into his pocket. Black dots swirled in front of his vision and he knew he’d turned too fast, having to catch himself before he dropped to his knees. The feeling of elation escaped him for a moment while he regained his balance.
Dancer had been doing well among the Cigarettes, he thought – not that he was a judge of such things, but most of them treated her a little like a rabid dog and a little like a fragile glass object they were afraid of breaking. Seraphim smiled fleetingly at the thought, deciding that maybe she’d hate the treatment. She had such a sarcastic streak, sometimes.
Seraphim took the stairs down from the roof two at a time, pausing to swing across the gap on the second floor landing. His boots hit the floor hard, sending ash and dust billowing into the air. He staggered, clutching a fire-stained support beam to steady himself. He cursed – no mater how much time he spent scrambling around outside the ghetto, he seemed to still find himself clumsy as though he’d only been in New Pork a few weeks. Extreme dislike of the Vampires robbed him of the verging-on-fond feelings he’d had for Dancer’s predicament just a moment ago.
Ducking under the crumbled, low doorway, Seraph peered out at the city now it was at ground level. It was getting dark and the sunset was casting purple tones over the streets, deep blues and reds fighting for supremacy on the shattered glass that still lay scattered on some roads. If he’d had the artist’s eye, he might have stayed to watch the sun die, but after what had happened last time, he didn’t want to be caught in the Grid after dark. If he got back to the Ghetto, he could watch from the relative safety of home ground.
Or, he could meet Reason on the way, which was infinitely less pleasant. Seraphim paused in the process of climbing a fallen building to get across the road, watching Reason. She had been out alone a lot lately – something was bugging her, too, and honestly, Seraphim didn’t want to hear about it. But she turned his way and it was to late to go home a different way, so he gritted his teeth and strode across to her. To his surprise, she seemed content to sit in silence. He sat down beside her, watching the very last light fall out of the sky, leaving a blue haze on the city of New Pork. It looked like a photograph on which someone had used a blue filter.
Reason spoke suddenly, and Seraphim almost toppled off his perch (an old, faded red oil barrel propped up against the metal beam that Reason was sitting on,) with surprise as her voice, (an imitation of his own now, he was told, although it sounded subtly different, which he was told was normal,) cut through the still azure air.
“Seraphim, I have a question for you. Maybe Axel's talent of reading people has rubbed off on you - Do I look like I’m in love?” She asked, turning to set her intense green stare at him. Her hat shadowed her face, framed by brilliant red hair that the sunlight set on fire. Seraphim blinked. Reason and Hail? Reason and Axel? None of it made sense. Reason was far too sensible to fall in love.
“How the fuck should I know?” Seraphim responded, looking up at her as she rose, brushing off her scarlet skirts.
Reason didn’t answer for a while, and Seraphim fiddled with the silver ring in his pocket. At length, she spoke again – in Dancer’s voice this time, with something of Mina’s mixed in it – or was that his imagination?
“Well,” She said slowly, “have you looked in a mirror after you've been near Anne, lately? If you haven't, I suppose you could be forgiven for not knowing, but . . .”
Seraphim’s black gaze met her green stare and they looked blankly at each other for a while. Then Reason tipped her hat and sauntered away, leaving Seraphim to stare after her, in the process of slipping his ring back onto his thumb.
He rocked back and forth on the barrel, coming close to flattening his face on the concrete several times, as night fell solidly around him. By the time he got back to Castle Smoke, the ring had worked up a shine from the handling it had received as he toyed absently with it, staring out into the darkening city with half a smile on his face.
