hadriel | 001

Entry tags:

001 | Video

[ The scene set is that of a living room. It does not appear to have been lived in much, no trinkets on shelves or the table, and no pillows set up on the couch. The video is static for a long moment before the Outsider appears on screen in a wash of black smoke and shining pieces of onyx. He's set himself up in the center of the couch, on the back of it, his feet planted on the cushion. His hands are folded together as he leans forward. There's a twinkle of amusement in his beetle-black eyes. ]

Have you ever heard the tale of Empress Emily Drexal Lela Kaldwin, first of her name? [ No response? No problem. He's going to tell it to you anyway. ] A child born to take the throne, she grew up privileged. She learned about the world from a distance and when people killed her mother and stole her throne, her father took up sword to take it back for her. [ He disappears in a wisp, reappearing further from the camera. The distance has no effect on the loudness of his voice. He gestures widely with his arms. ] Her father returned the throne to her and though she tried to be the Empress her mother once was, she lost sight of what was important: the voices of her people.

Another came for her throne while she was blinded, a woman who had been born in the hole and clawed her way out to the top, and that woman took it with blood. If only Emily had paid attention. If only she spent a little less time on the rooftops of her city or in the arms of her lover. If, if, if. [ Again, he disappears, this time appearing to lean against the left arm of the couch. He shakes his head. ] She took up sword, same as her father. She took on my mark, same as her father.

But do you think she managed to get her crown back? Could she do it as bloodlessly as her father? [ A quiet chuckle in the back of his throat. ] Or would she be as ruthless a killer as her betrayers?

It's a tale that can end in so many different ways.

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[The way he moves is like a spirit, but the way he talks is like a demon. It's hard to say anymore. Things are too different in the damp dark of the cave. Things echo.

Still, let it never be said that Cole doesn't try.]

A fear and a feeling, fallen and faded forever. Are you singing songs that don't belong to you?

All songs belong to the Void in the end. [ It's an undeniable truth in his universe. Inescapable. ] Born to disappear.

But they burn, bright like the blinding. They still were, even if they're gone now.

And yet they still go, nothing but a bright blink in the dark. And then tales will be all that's left of them, that and my memories. [ because he doesn't forget the people he's Marked. He doesn't forget much, honestly. ] But even all those will be swallowed up.

[ And... that's just how it is? There's no changing the way all the threads, in the end, come together to end everything; all the timelines, all divergences, they all end the same way.

Emptied into the Void, swallowed by some great blackness. ]

Yes. But no one can change that they were. They lived and died and left parts of themselves behind, thread tied together in a tangle in someone else. They aren't here but they are, too.

[ There are few that speak like The Outsider, few that communicate in ways easily misunderstood because the words can truly only be understood by the few who are similar. ]

What is it you are? [ Cole, this stranger, sounds as if he tangles himself in the world and those tangles are hard for him to word. Does he feel things? Is that what it is? Or is he a god, like the Outsider, tied to the world and something far beyond? ]

I'm me. Wisps and whispers and wonders. Fade and faded. [It's hard to find the right words. He didn't need them in the Fade.] I hear the hurts and I help them.

[ He hears the hurts and he helps them. The Outsider, too, hears the hurts but it's rare for him to help them. Only the rare few receive his help, his advice, and his gift. ]

And how is it that you help them?

How they need it. It's different. People are different.

As different as the rocks beneath our feet. [ But they all wear away the same. Sure, one or two may be different from the rest, but, save from what he's observed of this particular place, humans are... all about the same. ]

Would you be so kind as to give me an example?

[He stares for a moment, silent, but then his expression goes almost blank and he's even more quiet when he speaks.]

Darkness first, cold and clammy, but not for long. Then bright with burning pain. It echoes for eternity until numbness. But it's always there, dull and dying. Maker it hurts. Make it stop. I know they can't fix me. Make it stop!

[He seems to come back to himself then, completely calm.]

He needed mercy. Someone to end the pain. The healers couldn't. So I did. Sometimes its other, smaller things. Something found, something lost, something given, something taken. It's different because people are different.

[ The Outsider listens with a hint of interest, darkness sparkling and twisting as he leans in closer to the phone. He took the life of a man in pain to help him. He finds things that will help, however tiny and insignificant to the rest of the world, like bandages no one in the world can see. There have been such few men and women like Cole in his world at a single one time, willing to do what it takes to help; Hypatia, for instance, but her willingness to help took her down such a grim path. ]

It's not something you can help, is it? Like instinct. [ Is that Cole's reason for being? It certainly sounds that way. ]

Yes. I have to help. I can't not help. I'm not me if I don't.

And what is it you are? [ Because he's observant enough to know that Cole, whatever he is, isn't quite human. Maybe he was, once upon a time like the Outsider himself, but not now. ]

I said. I'm me. Fade-born and fading, but real, too. A ghost of a memory you might have made up. Here and gone, found and forgotten.

Spirits are different than people.

A spirit. [ There's an edge of curious fascination to his echoing, doubling voice. There is no Fade where he's from, just fading. Always, always, people fade away. It's part of the Void, it's part of life. He hasn't faded because he isn't allowed to yet. One day, though, he will be gone just as the other gods have gone before him. ]

What makes a spirit so different from people? Other than your ability to help. [ In invisible ways, even. ]

They aren't people. [That's probably not helpful, but it's true.]

People are hard. Spirits are simple. They're only one thing.

[ The Outsider hums curiously. The abbey has called him a spirit once, an 'evil' spirit meant to misguide, but the abbey is filled with those who've plugged their ears to the Void and the dark reality around them. They make claims that there are spirits that exist in the universe aside from the Outsider. If only they knew how wrong they are.

Except for here. Here, in this place, spirits do exist. ]

It must not be easy for such a simple being to be trapped here. All those voices... [ There's a lot of hurt and pain in this place, the Outsider is well aware. ]

[That's always the first thing people latch on to when they find out what he is, what he does. Cole can't ever understand it, but no matter how many times he tries to explain, there's always someone very concerned about the voices--or maybe that he might go mad listening to them.]

Sometimes, when the silence sings and the loudness lingers. But if I can't hear I can't help.

[ If only that were a concern of the Outsider's, though he won't deny that it isn't fascinating to a degree. Spirits are not things that exist where he's from and humans rarely go out of their way to help one another, and he rarely goes out of his way to help them. ]

And you need to help. [ Amused. He leans his cheek against his closed fist, nothing but wisps of darkness and onyx to prop up his arm. ] You must be so very busy, then.

Yes. I'm not me if I don't. [It's difficult to find the words that describe it. A need, a drive, a fixation, whatever it is, it's the same sort of obsession other spirits have, he knows that much at least. Only their specific focus changes. Maybe it's Justice or Command or Wisdom or something else.]

Sometimes. Some people don't want help.

That's often because humanity is stubborn and have spent so many of their years knowing that the only thing that can help them is themselves.

Yes. But they still need it even when they think they don't. So it's soft and small and they think it's them but it's me instead. And then they forget. And I forget too.

And why is it you forget, too? Do you not wish to hold on to the good you do? [ Or is this just another aspect of being a spirit? Either way, both fascinating and sad. ]

That doesn't matter. What matters is I helped. I forget so I don't keep it. It's theirs not mine. It makes me clean so I can help more.

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