Icon of Coil: admissions [kaj'sha]

admissions [kaj'sha]

[wyrmpit | kaj'sha's chamber]

he was invited (ordered) but there is pause outside the chambers, broad hands spreading (rough pads) against the wall to straddle the door, mule ears swiveling foreward (nearly touching the ceiling)

listening

he's never knocked (he's never had to) tail lashing a slow waltz behind furry form

He finds his Alpha washing, which is not an unusual thing. Just his two hands this time, water running fresh and untainted, even here, over fair skin, sleek bones, tendons and muscles. "Come in, Asher. You know you're always welcome here."

Well. Almost always. There were times when his door was resolutely shut...usually during private calls to Daddy.

Turning, Kaj'sha dries his hands, mops his face once for good measure. Though Asher has seen them a thousand times, perhaps more, it is still a shock to see the eyes of the Philodox, so utterly black and unreflecting in a face so lovely, otherwise.

The towel is folded neatly and set on the edge of the sink. Someone will clean it up, later; not he. Dressed all in white, a simple undershirt and drawstring pants, he sits on the pristine floor, crosslegged.

"You've been quiet, Asher." Kaj'sha rarely begins a conversation by speaking of himself. Tonight will be no exception. "Is there something on your mind?"

taloned feet (clean, always clean before coming here) breach the barrier of the doorway, long neck folding to pass the frame's gable, stopping only when (deformed) body sinks to crouch just before his Alpha

eyes that still reflect balefire sink into the black voids (when I look into your eyes......) tail still slowly moving as if to sweep (non-existant) dust from the floor (pensive.... to be questioned) underhinged skull dropping in slightest nod

.....yes.

echoing (sad) whisper, as if it truly be formed by those lips - unspoken but he knows its heard

Kaj'sha is easily dwarfed by the Crinos. Though tall, he is slender, and folded easily on the floor, almost a child in proportion to Grra'ack's twisted bulk. In response, he merely lifts a hand, palm briefly up.

Tell me, he invites, abandoning the words of the humans for the gestures and sounds of the Dancers of the Black Spiral.

knuckles brush before hands flatten against the (pristine) floor, weight rocking forward - long tar black fur around his throat dangling just above inviting palm (jugular exposed)

trust....... admission

as if by scent alone it would tell everything Kaj'sha would wish to know (and perhaps it does) neck twisted so that even his breath does not flutter soft fabric, ears held pinned and away

...... apathy....... disrespect....... dreams......

There is no murdering blow, no sign of such. The tips of his fingers drift through the fur of his Beta's throat, barely touching, and then that hand folds and turns, subtle and graceful shifts of posture reflecting his reply. There is only a certain sadness in his features.

I cannot lose you to the Nameless Angel, Grra'ack...I will not lose you to disrespect.

Tell me of these dreams.

a breath, thick, drawn between misligned lips to rattle in his throat

....... when the Father first called............

head lowers as if to settle across his Alpha's knee though it misses as body further twists, tail sweeping around (body the waning black crescent-moon presented at the feet of the fallen Fang) but never will the embrace touch (scarred belly protected)

Merely silence, waiting for more...the Philodox, the bringer of light (dark), the straight blade, the forthright path. His eyes have slipped closed, but Grra'ack knows he can see him just as well.

Merely silence, inviting more.

how he aches to move closer (a boundary never crossed)

........ it haunts....... disconnects...... saddens......

barrel chest fills in deep (sad, lonely.... hurting) sigh, spinning the tale of the dream in broken phrases and crumbling memories - he understands not why it affects him now, this act from years ago, or the silence that's been triggered (do you remember the terrors that came after the galliards' lost their songs?)

Tell me...

Pausing, head down, thinking; choosing words, picking them as carefully as an artist chose colors, a sculptor his palette knives.

...about your past, Grra'ack. Before the Father called, after, and all that happened between.

the great (mangled) skull tilts - a question that had never been posed, by anyone, and a part of it surprises him.....but the weight soon returns to where it rests across his forearm (I would tell you everything)

the echoing whisper (beautiful agony) continues, sounds becoming visions (the Galliard's gift) flashing in his Alpha's mind (as Kaj'sha has never seen, perhaps Asher is just special).......shunned Metis at his birth Caern, parents split and the pup banished....... the welcoming (divine) touch of Aethera Inamorata.......

love and loss in the attack (belly hidden - safe - against the ground)..... the birth of hate, the night the Father first touched him but he never realized it, the dreams (nightmares of memory, vision and prophecy) that have kept his slumber company for weeks now

Crest of the Horn stoked his Rage for more than three years - more than one Fang had fallen by his hand - deed name earned as he danced in the blood of bodies that lay at his feet...... and finally (why did he wait so long) the epiphany before throwing himself into their Father's arms to dance (indulge my mad obsession) past where all the others collapsed

[in order to be reborn, we must first be destroyed.... he will stand and watch Gaia as she burns to be of those Chosen to watch her rise again from the ashes]

hatred such a strong force, focused so coldly from the actions of a single Tribe, perhaps only a single Pack that began it all

several months passed as he learned to serve the Father......

Kaj'sha has seen the rest, that is when he found the (twisted) Galliard, fanatacism's drive needing direction, discovered, molded (pulsing) within the Spiral's Heart.... though it may only be now explained why Asher serves him so loyally (a small part cringes in fear the reaction to the almost admission that was not even in words), so unquestioningly

[the boardwalk fortuneteller's words ring in his mind - lust and love, truth and lies, it is not the woman you love but rather despise....]

Did Asher think, perhaps, that such honesty, such admissions would spur Kaj'sha to anger? No, never; for Kaj'sha cares not for reasons or means, but only for the ends. The Father's ends. His ends.

(Like father...like son.)

When the last of the whispers - visions - fades away, and long after, the youth sits unmoving. The Spiral has stolen all vestiges of mortal age from him, and he remains forever the way he was when he first Danced, just as It stole all vestiges of honor, of truth, of belief other than those the Father keeps.

Through a mirror darkly, is Kaj'sha: through a mirror, dark. And he reaches forward now, not stretching - simply lifting a graceful hand to rest upon the once-Gaian, once-Child of Gaia's brow, fingers stirring the soft fur between the mule ears for which he had once been shunned.

There is a purpose to everything, Grra'ack, are the words unspoken, drifting together from gestures and growls, and the Father tests us often so that we are strong enough to serve him as we must. It was, and is now even more so my belief that the pack stands before a long and strenuous test.

Each in our own ways, we must stand to the temptations offered us, and sidestep the many and hazardous pitfalls in our path. Our reach and numbers have grown greatly, but I believe not all can be trusted...and not all is as it seems.

Hold fast to your course, Grra'ack. The reason behind your Dance is only the vessel for the Father's will. You were Chosen, and you are Chosen. If these dreams come as reminders, lessons, learn them well; if they come to distract you from your true purpose, bar them from your heart.

Once, he might have spoken similar words to hold his packmates to Gaia's path. Once, in another life, it might have been.

A little later, a confession for a confession: I believe that I, too, am being tested...and that I have strayed dangerously close to failure.

perhaps...
(nothing mutilates as quickly or permanently as ridicule)

long (graceful, in another light) ears relax beneath the gentle touch, sliding to the side in answer to gravity's call, belief in his Alpha now - once more - reaffirmed in that simple contact between them, the language of gestures and growls colored with affection's rumbling purr

......... reminding...... hurting........ securing.......I had thought them the Father's call......

beneath the idle touch, skull tilts in question (though he dare not move away, not even to look up, else break the spell)

Perhaps they are. The Father hurts us to make us strong...destroys us to make us again. Is that not so? He is a good master, but a demanding one. We will not fail him.

A long, long pause then, nearly endless as, for once, the Philodox's glib tongue is tied. At last, softly, he speaks of that which he has never spoken of before.

When first I Danced the Father...promised me some things. He promised me He would use me well to achieve great things in His name. He promised me that if I served Him well, I would be rewarded in the way I most desired.

Grra'ack, there is nothing I desire more than a cub. A son, a daughter, a child to call my own, spawned of my seed, borne upon one whose blood matches mine in purity. All this He promised me, and it was more than I had ever dared hope.

That Silver Fang kin, Malcom's toy: she is pure, as pure as the Father promised. But I see now that she is not for me. She is...premature. A test. If I succumb now to my undeserved reward, all this will collapse. The pack will tear itself apart and the Father's hold over this city will crumble. She is the first part of my test. I am certain of it now.

As for the second - I am beginning to suspect one of our own is not what he seems.

those ears carefully swivel, one at a time (the juggler's careful act), not to dislodge but to catch the tones spilling in (angelic) rain..... enchanted by the voice (moreso by the admissions) tailtip flicks as if a child at play

and he does well to maintain composure at even the mention of the Fang kin

though the Galliard remains quiet, his turn to invite (beg) more

There is no more on the kinfolk. Not now. Kaj'sha is a master of half-truths, but perhaps Asher has known him long enough to recognize a painful, bitter truth from one that is merely a tool to achieve an end. The first admission is the one that hurts; the kin is the one he does not wish to relinquish.

It is, perhaps, the longest they have remained in contact: the Philodox's hand upon the Galliard's brow, his black eyes distant. Words come slowly, and only after a small smile.

You know the one of which I speak... you have never liked him, and you have always seen the danger he poses. He will try to kill you at first opportunity, you said. I thought perhaps we would wring use from him. But instead, his mistakes nearly kill the entire pack.

His tone turns cold, And he calls them 'antics' while he fondles his little girlfriend. He is becoming a liability.

something ripples beneath the Galliard's skin (hunger, excitement, but for what.....) prickling the thick fur beneath the Philodox's touch, lifting it into (far from) idle hand

........ he was not pleased when I told him the Bone Gnawer had Danced from my hands, rather than his.........

the long tail sweeps across the floor (anticipation) before returning to the smooth curve around his Alpha, sensing the bitter pain (knowing it far too well) and something ignites far beneath where even the Father's fires burn in the once-shining soul, something darker than the hatred stored so carefully within (vengence)

Oh? Good. You know what to do, then.

(...taunt him. Goad him. Push him to madness. Push him to violence. The usual...)

My decree on in-pack violence stands. The Alpha's tone is musing, beatific. Blood and massacres, and the songs of angels - all are one in the dark mind of the fallen one. If he strikes out, his life is forfeit. Not yours.

Never his.

the only sign of the animal's willingness to act, now, is the slow whipcrack of that long tail (hypnotic across the floor) over pristine floor - he dares not lose that granted touch, sounds thickening in talented throat

he knows what will get to Gur'thek
it's already caused argument in public once, easily instigated again
(a little..... cracked)
how it pleases him to see the bitterness replaced by divine muse (blood willingly shed to see that smile)

And the kin... He forgets nothing, and yet the words are hard to say. (Do not become overfond of anyone. It is dangerous.) His own advice: a bitter pill to swallow.

...when you have taken care of Gur'thek, do with her as you see fit. The Tribe could use another brood mare...far, far from here...or, you could cleanse yourself in her blood.

He trembles.
It matters not to me.

Emerging from the small room in the basement...the small room she was staying in....
troubled by something
She walks slowly up the stairs and opens the door..
peering around....seeing who is there tonight.
Still in the tank top and jeans and barefoot, hair hanging lifeless..shower...she should probably shower

momentarily, the tail's, eager swipe stills

there is...... confusion.... and contradiction in the Galliard's heart (the tremble, no matter how slight, was not missed..... no detail ever missed) he knows what he would do, he knows what he wants to do

but should he do it.

the matter pushed away (when the time arrives, the Father will show him what is right) those strange, strange eyes lifting to glance to his Alpha once more, long ear rotating backwards at the sound echoing down the tunnels of the basement door whispering open - though it is not enough to steal his attention away from Kaj'sha

But Kaj'sha is finished, it seems. He says nothing more on the matter, and his hand lifts from Asher's canid brow, betraying him no further. He leans back, palms braced on the floor behind him as he, too, looks to see what the noise will bring.

a breif expression (loss) when the hand is pulled away, but it allows heavy skull to lift, mismatched gaze cast over his shoulder to watch the door, breath filling his lungs to draw the tunnel winds as brail across acute senses (shower, she needs a shower)

she is not of the pack yet..... the twisted creature does not leave his Alpha's side

She looks around...walking through the halls...eyes checking out the surroundings...
something is troubing her

the creature rises as Kaj'sha retires, taloned feet clicking as they move down the tunnels towards the great room (towards the scent)

.........kyrsha'waaaaiiiii'gaassss......

the whispered voice ghosting through the darkness

[cont'd in desire]

Posted by asher at August 19, 2002 12:00 AM