Glamourlust, Little Rituals (remembering)
Mar. 2nd, 2003 06:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jamjarDavy made his way out quietly, not particularly wanting to be noticed, and then took the elevator up two floors. If he'd left earlier, after midnight, he would have walked or taken a cab, but he'd ben distracted by Stone and Bonnie's latest drinking game, created in honour of his birthday and the very expensive case of champagne that had been Aerael's gift. Now it was twenty past one, and really, the quickest way was flight, so he knocked on Mrs Monroe's door, a half-blind, half-deaf human with a soft spot for him and Io and asked if he could use her balcony to take off.
The cold night air helped clear his mind and he flew between the buildings, glad for the clear night. Clouds in the city reflected the streetlights and he showed up much more clearly against them than against the deep blue-black of a clear night. Mark had a flier's balcony, with no railing and wide enough for an easy landing.
The curtains were tied back, on either side of the open glass door, letting him see in. Mark had switched off the lights and lit a few candles. Their night vision was good enough that even the candles were unnecessary, but the flickering light was soothing. There was a woman sitting on a chair against the wall, looking a little worse for the wear, with empty eyes and smile that said wherever her mind was, was a happy place. For once, Davy didn't comment on Mark's latest victim, though he couldn't noticing the wedding ring on her neatly folded hands.
The dining room table had two candles in glass holders that Davy knew had been a present from Aerael and Mark was just finishing lighting them when Davy came in.
"You're early. I thought you'd be at the party until two at least," Mark said.
Davy shrugged. "I flew. I needed to clear my head anyway."
"Well, since you're here, you can get out the things. They're in the chest."
Davy could hear cars in the distance, and the sound of a fire engine coming closer before fading away. In the room, the woman's breathing was the loudest sound, regular and heavy while Davy opened the chest and started putting the objects on the table.
Mother's sword was taken out from it's sheathe and he placed them both carefully, next to a few items of jewellery that she'd liked. Most possessions were shared out after death on a practical, rather than sentimental, basics by traditional drakthae. Mark had been given her sword because he was the most like her in body type, and therefore the best candidate for her weight of sword. Not that Davy could remember what she looked like, but his father had said some things, Mark had said a few more and there were some old photographs, Victorian albumen photograph, that had actually come to them after their father's death. Davy was just a little broader than Mark, more like their father's build, whereas Mark had taken his slenderness from his mother.
Not much for remembering their mother, but even that was unnecessary. The ritual was the main thing, and everything else, just tokens.
He'd missed this before, both deliberately and by accident. The first time had been on purpose, wanting to see what Mark would do. Mark had done nothing. He hadn't even mentioned it. Mark never reminded Davy before, never talked about it after, never commented on Davy's presence or absence. As far as Davy knew, he'd done the ritual by himself when Davy hadn't been there.
Some humans lit candles to remember their loved ones, to offer a prayer for their safekeeping after death. Some mortals paid for celebrations or ceremonies after their death to ensure their remembrance. The Drakthae had this, which seemed powerful in a way usually reserved for magic and religion, though it wasn't either.
"Shall I, while you?" Davy offered, gesturing at the table and nodding at the woman.
Mark nodded, took a glass and a knife from the sideboard and headed over to the woman. Davy deliberately kept his back to them while he got the shallow stone bowl with the wide brim out from the cupboard where it was kept and placed in on the table next to his mother's things. He could hear Mark cutting the woman behind him, holding the glass to catch the blood and hoped that he'd cut her wrist, not her throat, and neatly enough for the woman to live after.
Mark finished and he risked a look, feeling definite relief when he saw her neck unmarked and that Mark had ordered her to press one hand over her bleeding risk, although a voice inside him pointed out that it was probably only so she wouldn't bleed on his carpet.
Once a year, on the anniversary of their mother's death, as near as they could make it. Time was different between Faerie and Gaia, but Mark had worked out Davy's birthday when they first arrived, and then they'd do the remembrance very early the next morning. Or the other way around. It wouldn't have surprised Davy at all to know that Mark had figured out his mother's death first and calculated a few hours back for Davy's birthday.
If you weren't going to feed, a knife was the best way of getting some blood out the body quickly. Mark poured the woman's blood into the stone bowl, licked the knife he'd used on her clean, then made a small, shallow cut on wrist. He dripped the blood on the rim of the bowl, circling around, and then handed the knife over to Davy for him to do the same.
The situation was so familiar that Davy had a strange moment of timelessness. He could remember doing this so many times in the past and knew that he would repeat these actions in the future, and for a second they all blurred into one. He could remember before his father died, when the three of them had performed the remembrance together. He could remember his father's hand, so much larger than his, holding it still while he made a cut just small enough for the blood to fall in the circle. And then, after his father died but before he was old enough to hold the knife himself, Mark doing the same. His hand had been skilled, professional and the cut almost painless, and then Mark would hold his hand so their blood would mix in the circle.
Some religions held that wine became holy blood when the drank it, bread into sacred flesh, the body of someone else brought forth by belief. In contrast, this ritual seemed so much more plausible, so natural and obvious to Davy's mind. Half of his blood was his mothers, half of Mark's as well, and the circle of blood they made on the brim of the bowl was his mother still-in-the-world. If her parents were living, they could contribute her blood in them, as her children were doing now. And, in the center of the bowl was the offering so that their mother's blood could be fed even after she'd left this world. he wondered if Io would understand and guessed that she wouldn't. She might get the symbolism, but the point was, that it wasn't symbolism. Alizarin's blood was freed and filtered from the ones that carried it.
"Davy? Do you want me to do it?" Mark's voice, predictable irritated, interrupted Davy's reverie. Davy shook his head to clear it.
"Sorry, I was just... thinking. I was just thinking. It's okay, I'll do it." Davy made the cut, grateful that Mark kept his knives so sharp, and let his blood join the circle of Mark's, of his mother's. When his father was living, he'd taken the knife to his own flesh, partly offering his blood to his mate and partly freeing the blood she'd given him since their first mating.
"For Alizarin, because she is here in us," Davy said. he ran his fingers round the rim of the bowl, making his mothers blood spill down to the sides to invade the offerings. There were no set words of ritual, no prayers to utter, but certain imagery in the ritual gave any words spoken their flavour.
"She was infinitely superior to everyone outside of her family, she made of her own blood and will," Mark added. Davy smiled in spite of himself; it was a very Mark statement, a very Drakthos statement. Owing nothing to gods or others, everything created by their own strengths and abilities.
"She was fierce enough to make her own family run," Davy said, remembering something Mark had once. He had no memories of her, so he had to rely on secondhand knowledge.
"Because she survived my childhood, and helped me survive it too, even though she sometimes said it wasn't her wisest action." Mark was grinning, remembering a past incident.
Davy opened his mouth and closed when he realised he had nothing to say. He bent his head and concentrated on the photo, and on the slender women with widespread wings and a serious expression that he sometimes saw in the mirror.
You didn't have to be a genius to figure out that carrying something that sucked the magic out of you was unhealthy. That without any magic to aid the bodies healings, it could make even the strongest vulnerable. Pregnancy was difficult enough anyway, without the added stress of carrying something like him. Not even having the extra protection of a magic-induced miscarriage as the last resort of protecting a fertile mother. Holding something under your heart that sucked the magic out of you, leaving your body so vulnerable that even after it finally left, you couldn't recover.
When Davy didn't say anything, Mark went on. He mentioned things in their mother's life then, in his life now. After a while, Davy was able to join in. He talked about Io, about his own refusal to know when he was beaten, even when it was just plain stupid to keep arguing.
"Wha? Where am I?"
Davy started. He'd forgotten about the woman, only know coming out of whatever glamour Mark had done to her. Mark looked over at her, annoyed, and gestured. Her face went blank again and Mark looked at the bowl. Alizarin's blood had probably fed as much as it could on the offering and both of them had run out of things to say. The ritual was over and all that was left was to tidy up.
Mark picked up the bowl and tilted it towards his mouth. Davy could see Mark swallow as he gulped it down and realised for the first time how tired he was. He rubbed his temples and wondered about calling Io.
"Want to lick the bowl?" Mark said, holding it out. "I need to deal with mother's lunch."
"Please don't kill her," Davy said, knowing it was useless but unable to say nothing.
Mark smirked and handed Davy the bowl. He hadn't left much. This was another thing Io might not get, but drakthae were practical creatures and there was no point letting good blood go to waste. It tasted strange, both alien and familiar, but mostly it tasted good. He finished and put the bowl down before licking his fingers and wrist clean. The cut had closed, but not before running into his shirt sleeve and he wondered if it was worth saving it, or if he should just throw it away.
"Put the memento chest back in the study when you've finished," Mark said. He had the woman tossed over one shoulder and was on his way out the room. "Davy..." Mark hesitated in a way quite unlike him. "On the balance, and if she had complete foreknowledge of the events, I believe mother would still have chosen to carry you."
Davy blinked, genuinely shocked. It was so unlike Mark to say something like that. "But I..."
"Do you really think she couldn't have got rid of you if she wanted? There are enough herbs for that, even if a healer couldn't trigger a miscarriage. I know, I offered her some myself." And that was like Mark, to let slip something like that so casually, on his way out the door. "Oh, and don't forget to polish the sword before you put it away. I don't want it getting rusty,"
end
The cold night air helped clear his mind and he flew between the buildings, glad for the clear night. Clouds in the city reflected the streetlights and he showed up much more clearly against them than against the deep blue-black of a clear night. Mark had a flier's balcony, with no railing and wide enough for an easy landing.
The curtains were tied back, on either side of the open glass door, letting him see in. Mark had switched off the lights and lit a few candles. Their night vision was good enough that even the candles were unnecessary, but the flickering light was soothing. There was a woman sitting on a chair against the wall, looking a little worse for the wear, with empty eyes and smile that said wherever her mind was, was a happy place. For once, Davy didn't comment on Mark's latest victim, though he couldn't noticing the wedding ring on her neatly folded hands.
The dining room table had two candles in glass holders that Davy knew had been a present from Aerael and Mark was just finishing lighting them when Davy came in.
"You're early. I thought you'd be at the party until two at least," Mark said.
Davy shrugged. "I flew. I needed to clear my head anyway."
"Well, since you're here, you can get out the things. They're in the chest."
Davy could hear cars in the distance, and the sound of a fire engine coming closer before fading away. In the room, the woman's breathing was the loudest sound, regular and heavy while Davy opened the chest and started putting the objects on the table.
Mother's sword was taken out from it's sheathe and he placed them both carefully, next to a few items of jewellery that she'd liked. Most possessions were shared out after death on a practical, rather than sentimental, basics by traditional drakthae. Mark had been given her sword because he was the most like her in body type, and therefore the best candidate for her weight of sword. Not that Davy could remember what she looked like, but his father had said some things, Mark had said a few more and there were some old photographs, Victorian albumen photograph, that had actually come to them after their father's death. Davy was just a little broader than Mark, more like their father's build, whereas Mark had taken his slenderness from his mother.
Not much for remembering their mother, but even that was unnecessary. The ritual was the main thing, and everything else, just tokens.
He'd missed this before, both deliberately and by accident. The first time had been on purpose, wanting to see what Mark would do. Mark had done nothing. He hadn't even mentioned it. Mark never reminded Davy before, never talked about it after, never commented on Davy's presence or absence. As far as Davy knew, he'd done the ritual by himself when Davy hadn't been there.
Some humans lit candles to remember their loved ones, to offer a prayer for their safekeeping after death. Some mortals paid for celebrations or ceremonies after their death to ensure their remembrance. The Drakthae had this, which seemed powerful in a way usually reserved for magic and religion, though it wasn't either.
"Shall I, while you?" Davy offered, gesturing at the table and nodding at the woman.
Mark nodded, took a glass and a knife from the sideboard and headed over to the woman. Davy deliberately kept his back to them while he got the shallow stone bowl with the wide brim out from the cupboard where it was kept and placed in on the table next to his mother's things. He could hear Mark cutting the woman behind him, holding the glass to catch the blood and hoped that he'd cut her wrist, not her throat, and neatly enough for the woman to live after.
Mark finished and he risked a look, feeling definite relief when he saw her neck unmarked and that Mark had ordered her to press one hand over her bleeding risk, although a voice inside him pointed out that it was probably only so she wouldn't bleed on his carpet.
Once a year, on the anniversary of their mother's death, as near as they could make it. Time was different between Faerie and Gaia, but Mark had worked out Davy's birthday when they first arrived, and then they'd do the remembrance very early the next morning. Or the other way around. It wouldn't have surprised Davy at all to know that Mark had figured out his mother's death first and calculated a few hours back for Davy's birthday.
If you weren't going to feed, a knife was the best way of getting some blood out the body quickly. Mark poured the woman's blood into the stone bowl, licked the knife he'd used on her clean, then made a small, shallow cut on wrist. He dripped the blood on the rim of the bowl, circling around, and then handed the knife over to Davy for him to do the same.
The situation was so familiar that Davy had a strange moment of timelessness. He could remember doing this so many times in the past and knew that he would repeat these actions in the future, and for a second they all blurred into one. He could remember before his father died, when the three of them had performed the remembrance together. He could remember his father's hand, so much larger than his, holding it still while he made a cut just small enough for the blood to fall in the circle. And then, after his father died but before he was old enough to hold the knife himself, Mark doing the same. His hand had been skilled, professional and the cut almost painless, and then Mark would hold his hand so their blood would mix in the circle.
Some religions held that wine became holy blood when the drank it, bread into sacred flesh, the body of someone else brought forth by belief. In contrast, this ritual seemed so much more plausible, so natural and obvious to Davy's mind. Half of his blood was his mothers, half of Mark's as well, and the circle of blood they made on the brim of the bowl was his mother still-in-the-world. If her parents were living, they could contribute her blood in them, as her children were doing now. And, in the center of the bowl was the offering so that their mother's blood could be fed even after she'd left this world. he wondered if Io would understand and guessed that she wouldn't. She might get the symbolism, but the point was, that it wasn't symbolism. Alizarin's blood was freed and filtered from the ones that carried it.
"Davy? Do you want me to do it?" Mark's voice, predictable irritated, interrupted Davy's reverie. Davy shook his head to clear it.
"Sorry, I was just... thinking. I was just thinking. It's okay, I'll do it." Davy made the cut, grateful that Mark kept his knives so sharp, and let his blood join the circle of Mark's, of his mother's. When his father was living, he'd taken the knife to his own flesh, partly offering his blood to his mate and partly freeing the blood she'd given him since their first mating.
"For Alizarin, because she is here in us," Davy said. he ran his fingers round the rim of the bowl, making his mothers blood spill down to the sides to invade the offerings. There were no set words of ritual, no prayers to utter, but certain imagery in the ritual gave any words spoken their flavour.
"She was infinitely superior to everyone outside of her family, she made of her own blood and will," Mark added. Davy smiled in spite of himself; it was a very Mark statement, a very Drakthos statement. Owing nothing to gods or others, everything created by their own strengths and abilities.
"She was fierce enough to make her own family run," Davy said, remembering something Mark had once. He had no memories of her, so he had to rely on secondhand knowledge.
"Because she survived my childhood, and helped me survive it too, even though she sometimes said it wasn't her wisest action." Mark was grinning, remembering a past incident.
Davy opened his mouth and closed when he realised he had nothing to say. He bent his head and concentrated on the photo, and on the slender women with widespread wings and a serious expression that he sometimes saw in the mirror.
You didn't have to be a genius to figure out that carrying something that sucked the magic out of you was unhealthy. That without any magic to aid the bodies healings, it could make even the strongest vulnerable. Pregnancy was difficult enough anyway, without the added stress of carrying something like him. Not even having the extra protection of a magic-induced miscarriage as the last resort of protecting a fertile mother. Holding something under your heart that sucked the magic out of you, leaving your body so vulnerable that even after it finally left, you couldn't recover.
When Davy didn't say anything, Mark went on. He mentioned things in their mother's life then, in his life now. After a while, Davy was able to join in. He talked about Io, about his own refusal to know when he was beaten, even when it was just plain stupid to keep arguing.
"Wha? Where am I?"
Davy started. He'd forgotten about the woman, only know coming out of whatever glamour Mark had done to her. Mark looked over at her, annoyed, and gestured. Her face went blank again and Mark looked at the bowl. Alizarin's blood had probably fed as much as it could on the offering and both of them had run out of things to say. The ritual was over and all that was left was to tidy up.
Mark picked up the bowl and tilted it towards his mouth. Davy could see Mark swallow as he gulped it down and realised for the first time how tired he was. He rubbed his temples and wondered about calling Io.
"Want to lick the bowl?" Mark said, holding it out. "I need to deal with mother's lunch."
"Please don't kill her," Davy said, knowing it was useless but unable to say nothing.
Mark smirked and handed Davy the bowl. He hadn't left much. This was another thing Io might not get, but drakthae were practical creatures and there was no point letting good blood go to waste. It tasted strange, both alien and familiar, but mostly it tasted good. He finished and put the bowl down before licking his fingers and wrist clean. The cut had closed, but not before running into his shirt sleeve and he wondered if it was worth saving it, or if he should just throw it away.
"Put the memento chest back in the study when you've finished," Mark said. He had the woman tossed over one shoulder and was on his way out the room. "Davy..." Mark hesitated in a way quite unlike him. "On the balance, and if she had complete foreknowledge of the events, I believe mother would still have chosen to carry you."
Davy blinked, genuinely shocked. It was so unlike Mark to say something like that. "But I..."
"Do you really think she couldn't have got rid of you if she wanted? There are enough herbs for that, even if a healer couldn't trigger a miscarriage. I know, I offered her some myself." And that was like Mark, to let slip something like that so casually, on his way out the door. "Oh, and don't forget to polish the sword before you put it away. I don't want it getting rusty,"
end
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-03-02 09:42 am (UTC)It's these little things that make Mark seem almost human.
Great as always. {g}
no subject
Date: 2003-03-02 10:13 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2003-03-02 10:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-03-02 01:20 pm (UTC)