Icon of Coil: lessons [kyrsha'wai'gas-ayydis]

September 15, 2002

lessons [kyrsha'wai'gas-ayydis]

[wyrmpit]

(kyrsha'wai'gas)
Here she is, where she has been for the past weeks, she hasnt seen much of Christian, here and there, but she has made a point to be here...in the lab...

(asher)
music throbs against palms stretched flat against black mesh, catching the sound that pulses and jumps thick bass clear treble slamming from the dish encased in wood, lean body waging balance's war against the oversized speakers in kneeling crouch (at who's altar of madness doe he genuflect)

his eyes (open windows to the hell buried within) closed 'beat the rapturous sound that fills the gathering room

(kyrsha'wai'gas)
she hears the sounds (how coudlnt she) She hears the music (pounding thumping throbbing ) Someones here....she walks softly downthe hallways towards the noises and sounds..
Hair pulled back off her face, those blue eyes taking in the lab hallways she walks..
tight black tube top, only clinging to her breasts wrapping tightly around her and baggy hip hugging jeans. Moving closer to the
sounds

(asher)
something that could be called a smile (black pleasure) melts across the poet's lips, lungs filling with the breath of notes slung at him from the depths of Weaver's inventions, t-shirt baggy over loosely fitting jeans, fabric slinking and slithering around his frame (a dance their own with each diaphragmic heave)

nothing else exists

nothing but the world created and composed before him in mourning, tangible sound

She moves slowly towards the sounds, stopping at the door and turning slowly the knob
the door swings open slowly as she stands there in the doorway...
Eyes watching..
music pounding

a creature in worship
head bowed before the alter of sound
pounding indulgence
feeling it vibrate through every bone, muscle and organ as if the very sustenance of life itself (his hungers) as if by pulsing touch it can soothe such devastation away
those eyes slowly open as her scent reaches out to him in coy trail, bodysmoke weaving the distance, a ripple of flesh beneath the long scars on his back all that shows he even remembers she exists in this audial world

And she watches
silently
The girl quiet as she watches the man who brought her into her new life...
throbbing intensity music pulsing
She feels it ripping through her own body....moving into the room, slowly
almost silently...moving closer to him.. watching him so closely, trying to figure out what is in his mind..
what are you doing...do you know im here?

the body twists - in perfect time with the ooze of her approach across the floor
his back flattening against the speaker's mesh
glazed, mismatched eyes, half mast as they appriase her (does its beat become your pulse) slightest smile returning its coy play on his features, lips moving as if the music traveled through rather than around him

So precious you know this hate of mine exploded
I'm so deranged you know
I will never be the same

Tying yourself to me
Stitch up my emptiness cause your the death of me
So precious loving the thrill

And she cant speak, the music just filling her up just watching him
She moves slowly, surprising to her, not normally a dancer...but graceful fluid movements as she moves with the pounding of the music
taking over her
filling her up

Hesitant smile acknoledging his
does he see me or is he looking through me
Such fluid movements as her body sways slightly and her head cants back with the pulsing beats...
no words yet, just those eyes, watching him

You can't escape what makes you tragic you know
Vicious cause you want to be
Leaving time possessed to please you
What might have been was never the way you envisioned things
So difficult to stop pretending what's this to you anyway

the lyrics a gift across his tongue, voice warm suede slowly erupting in her mind along with the what crawls from the speakers to grace her ears
rising for bare feet to make the silent (stalking) trek between them
not once disturbing her dance, only allowing his presence to warm the space around her - never touching, never disrupting, and never (quite) joining - molding the air that wraps the slow grace into a twisting, swaying cape, swirling to pool subjugated before her feet and climb twisting tendrils around her legs
that strange smile never leaving

Turn down the voluptuous
Keeping close to me again
Hold back your virtues
You're fearless in motion

Never a dancer, never a dancer, the gnawer wasnt graceful normally, but this time, tonight she was for some reason extra graceful, something out of the ordinary for the gnawer, but something completely taking her over..
feeling the fabric slipping through her legs the music still taking over the moment...

smokey slide a thousand fingers caressing the electricity that rhythmically courses through her, drawing, commanding and begging each languid movement

You found your way
So why keep asking me
Nothing common suits you
You live again in solitary
Look away for now beautiful alone
Now who decides to settle down
Maybe nobody really cares
What's this to you anyway

the smile grows (malicious affection) uneven eyes watch (morbid attention) drinking the dance that becomes her (loving molestation)
the dance just for him

Something dirty's got you dear
Makes me want to be with you
Something painful's with you dear
Makes me want to be with you

and when the music fades, he remains, blond hair spilling to gravity's call as a canid tilt betrays his curiosity

"..... something's inspired you, tonight."

She smiles...no words yet a song of her own pounding in her head
Walk with me my little friend,
Take this promise to the end,
Speak with me my only mind,
Walk with me until the end,
And make the forest turn to sand,
You take the legend for a fall,
You saw the product.....
Why can't you see that you are my child,
Why don't you know that you are my mind,
Tell everyone in the world, that I'm you,
Take this promise to the end of you.

She moves slowly to a stop, blushing a bit now realizing she had been so swept up with the music
obsession in her eyes
That loving look...she wouldnt dare cross,
i am your child, you brought me here
but she doesnt speak...she tucks her hair behind her ears, the tube top exposing the curved shoulders and slender waist...
"must have been the music" she manages to get out softly

"Good."

fingers reaching, tips brushing away (smearing through) the blood softly collected beneath cheek's skin, thumb following the curve of her cheek (mismatched gaze calling the obsession burning in her eyes)

from inspiration there is desire
from desire there is lust
and with lust...... anything is possible

"You seemed to enjoy it.... I did."

so many layers in his words
touch trailing to her throat before her skin feels his absence

"Has Christian treated you well?"

She watches him
(obsession, intense overwhelmingness) This wasnt right...she wasnt expecting this, mesmorized in the moment
time stands still She pauses momintarilly
feeling his finger along her cheek
you were my teacher...not him
But she manages out a few words...while swept away in a world that is not her own...her mind clouded...
dancing, why was i dancing
"Christian has been good, teaching me well" or has, he where exactly HAS he been "But i have been spending less time with him and more time in the lab" She manages to muffle out a chuckle a bit, the smirk growing into a smile...
then a chuckle as she composes herself even more, to the Gaby she knew....
"Actually, I'm not much of a dancer, more of a pool player" she smiles
and its back, she is herself again, what...came over her to make her dance she had no idea..

(taryn)
Desire from inspiration...
She's been buried in books - having discovered delight in the poetry that he suggested, having gone so far as to run into the nearest library, get a card, and check out another book as well. She slips out of her room, nose buried in the book held before her only vaguely watching where she is going as she moves to, and through the great room toward the kitchen, intending on grabbing another soda as she devours the words on the page... who knew he could be right. again. Man - that's just a bitch isn't it... a soft murmur follows steps that move in lyrical (unconscious)interpretation
"As often-times the too resplendent sun
Hurries the pallid and reluctant moon
Back to her sombre cave, ere she hath won
A single ballad from the nightingale,
So doth thy Beauty make my lips to fail,
And all my sweetest singing out of tune."

a soft chuckle breaks from his lips
.......I know..... do you?
eyes locked a moment more, and then the Galliard turns away, murmuring his request

"Tell me what you have learned....."

She shrugs her shoulders and recites somethings shehas learned...
Referring to...on top of the basic pack interaction, ranking system, and some minor banes, Christian had also taught her (and made her memorize) each of the Urge Wyrms and their avatars, and some of the major hives in the world, like the Trinity Hive and the Hell's Hand hive....

She recites the things she has learned...eyes facing the ground as if she was being given a op quiz and not fullyhappy about it

"And as at dawn across the level mead
On wings impetuous some wind will come,
And with its too harsh kisses break the reed
Which was its only instrument of song,
So my too stormy passions work me wrong,
And for excess of Love my Love is dumb."
A soft muse falling from lush lips - though not the lyrical quality of the Galliard, she has her own mystical quality lent to the words that are felt more then read, a glance up realigning her steps with the kitchen door before lowering to written page again
"But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show
Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung;
Else it were better we should part, and go,
Thou to some lips of sweeter melody,
And I to nurse the barren memory
Of unkissed kisses, and songs never sung."
inspiration within the words of others to tease desire from deep within, to flare along butterfly wings against her belly as she sidesteps into the kitchen, the fridge, a glance as she turns the page to grab a pepsi, then back toward the great room again... flipping pages until another catches her eye, her attention..

a quiet observation of the recessitation, then a nod which she may never see - attention flicking towards Taryn - but drawing back to his (current) student, grazing chuckle find its way to vocalization once more

so chastized, she seems, so sullen to be questioned

"Good."

now he knows what to build upon, lean body moving, and collapsing (curling) on the couch, studying the patterns of the ceiling

"Have you learned the benefit of using all the Urges to help you serve Pseulak and the Father?"

She shakes her head..more questions, more questions, and now an audience
she wasnt used to this, eyes moving to the new girl, it was Taryn, she smirks only slightly at her..
how are you, how are you doing.. last time they had bonded only briefly, but still the one time with Malcolm in the closet...she hadnt forgotton

Those eyes looking to Asher..
do we have to do this now
She had come for the music, something that never grabbed her and ripped her from what she was doing, but for some reason...tonight she was here..
fidgeting back and forth on her feet, finger moving to the dark curls to twist them in between her fingers...

Voices filter through as she enters again and a glance offers Asher a smile, book lifted slightly, and warm grin for Gaby ( I'm fine, I've got your back, you've got mine, and I'm fine.. you? she ahsn't forgotten either, advise that has tested true, and strenghtened her since) but she herself falls silent as she curls up on a couch across from asher, pops the tab on her soda, takes a drink, and again, looses herself in the written word - this time, silent as eyes pull the words within to savor, drowning in the subtlties found in the various authors found in this anthology.

he does not catch her glance
but perhaps he already knows the words by her silence
a quiet (indulgent) laugh - then finally his attention returns to Gaby

"From your dance...... I thought you already knew....."

gaze flickers, turning, locking on the blood-haired girl (predator having found new prey)
a test

"Taryn. The dynamics of the Pack is only a mirror.... a methodology connected to the gifts the Father bestows upon us in knowledge and means. Tell me how you would use your newly gained knowledge to serve Him."

to what did she pay attention the night before, and does she pay attention now

And silently she watches..listens..isnt speaking not yet
uncomfortable now, for the moment.. if only she had some alone time to talk to Taryn, to compare notes..
Oh how she wanted to be walking the streets right now

Head snaps up - torn from the beauty of the words before her, hair of flame (to be reborn..) tumbling about her shoulders as she listens and tips her ead slightly. Some things she has not learn as Gaby has - though she does pay attention, then, and now.. even so she gives the question proper thought.
"desire is found in inspiration, and through inspiration the strength to serve the Father. The newly gained appreciation of Poetry..... The use of words and the beauty therein, spoken or sung, read or danced, can be used to teach, to entice, to birth the desire within another to guide them to the Father as well..."

"Inspiration is the key.... Kyrsha'wai'gas...... it begets the greatest tool to use against your enemies. From inspiration comes indulgence of desire, greed, the blinding need to consume.... even if one must lie to get it, even if one must be violent, even if one must corrupt, betray, or wrest the greatest power of all from another's hands..... you've learnt the Urges we serve well, now you know why we serve them."

there is pleasure in the Galliard's absent smile
for them both

"They are the greatest weapons of all."

She nods and listens..
inspiration is the key...
"Learning the other urges? im not sure i know, i know the one that fills my being, i know the one that makes me tick " the last word out with a smile..

She smiles - proud that she has brought a touch of pleasure to that smile, and she nods her understanding, her gaze dropping to flip through to one of the many marked pages to something to caught her eye and speaks of the indulgance that inspiration can bring.. her voice soft as she skims to the center of the work..
"Sometimes a clockwork puppet pressed
A phantom lover to her breast,
Sometimes they seemed to try to sing.

Sometimes a horrible marionette
Came out, and smoked its cigarette
Upon the steps like a live thing.

Then, turning to my love, I said,
'The dead are dancing with the dead,
The dust is whirling with the dust.'

But she - she heard the violin,
And left my side, and entered in:
Love passed into the house of lust."

"You understand the one that makes you tick...... you only know the others. Take what you know of them, and being to understand them. Learn to use all the tools the Father provides."

another smile gracing his lips to hear the words in lilting tune from Ayydis' tongue
he will mold them into Pack, he will mold them into what Kaj'sha demands for the Spiral's Heart
for the Father

" Perhaps both you and Taryn may work together to accomplish this? The intricacy is important, but never easy to grasp. Find strength in the knowledge you share with each other - I know it has worked before, yes?"

She nods.."that would be good, and no i am not learned of the different urges, the other ones" she sighs..
this wasnt goign well..
"but i am willing to learn them all, it only adds strength to have knowledge i assume"

(exit Pink)

She smiles, and nods her acceptance to working with the one she would call friend as well as packmate..
"Yes, Asher..."
She will be molded, brought into the pack if only to spite him.. hate breeds determination (lust)

an expression finds its way to his face (a calm, haunting, disconnection) while it focuses on Gaby, but as quickly as she leaves, his attention narrows on Taryn

"I see you enjoy what you've been reading...."

just who will it spite if she becomes what he wants of her

She watches gaby leave with a glance that promises she will call later before she turns again Asher and nods. Of course - she had hoped she'd hate it, but of course she didn't... the Theurge enjoys it on a level untouched before..
"Yes, thank you... do you want your book back? It's in my room still... this I borrowed from the library.."
Who indeed...

"When you're finished with it, I've read it many times. What book is that one?"

She unfolds from her couch, to move to his, sinking to sit on the floor (she would not presume to join him on his couch) near his feet.
"It is an anthology of Modern Poets, including some translated works from other languages. I have two others as well, from various time periods. Some are simply ok and do not speak to me.. others touch on many levels... "
A smile, slight and sheepish..
"I can't believe I had ignored poetry this long.."

that gaze returns to the ceiling
he can.

"Have you discovered any favorites?"

She is only 16.
But she nods, and chuckles softly..
"Several... including a couple by Pablo Nurada that reminded me of you, actually..."
A glance up at him, then down again to flip through to marked page, and softly read..
"The light wraps you in its mortal flame.
Abstracted pale mourner, standing that way
Against the old propellers of the twilight
That revolves around you.

Speechless, my friend,
Alone in the loneliness of this hour of the dead
And filled with the lives of fire,
Pure heir of the ruined day.

A bough of fruit falls from the sun on your dark garment.
The great roots of night grow suddenly from your soul,
And the things that hide in you come out again
So that a blue and pallid people,
Your newly born, takes nourishment.

Oh magnificent and fecund and magnetic slave
Of the circle that moves in turn through black and gold:
Rise, lead and possess a creation
So rich in life that its flowers perish
And it is full of sadness."

that is not an excuse

but he listens, quietly, reclined, eyes half closing to provide darkness for the movie theater of his mind, and perhaps that fond smile considers returning (absence an ache) for a short moment

"How does it remind you of me?"

curious her opinion versus his interpretation

She considers it a moment - as the connection made was instant, though she did know he would question her on it so gave it thought beforehand..
"There is always alight that surrounds you - even in the depths of withdrawel, the light of fanatism, consuming determination to serve Kaj'sha and the Father well...
you stand alone, though filled with the flame, 'a pure heir of the ruined day'... Your devotion to the cause and determination to serve the Father...
The things that hide in your silences are what nourish the newborn - me - once we've learned to find them, and accept you're teachings..
You 'rise, lead and posess a creaton' in teaching me, even your posession leads me closer to becomeong a part of the pack, molded into a true servent of the Father, a warrior worthy of your praise.
But there is a sadness as well.... 'So rich in life the flowers perish, and it is full of sadness' I don't know what it stems from... but I can see it."

the smile is wry, and the laughter soft, murmuring

"You are very preceptive, Ayydis."

though he does not tell her of what
or the depth of her perception
(pain)

She chuckles softly.
"I am Theurge, it is my calling."
Still learning, but some things merely take time. She studies him a long moment, and then softly...
"there's another... though it is entirely different in its memories of you.... if you'd like to hear it.."
The playful glint slides into her eyes, her smile again... though she still feels the pain, she knows better then to ask.

"Read it."

softly, absently

She nods, and flips to the page.. her voice still holding that soft lilt, lyrical and felt - though without the song of the Galliard, holding it's own intensity
"I crave your mouth,
Your voice, your hair.
Silent, starving I prowl
Through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me,
Dawn disquiets me,
I search the liquid sound
Of your steps all day.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
For your hands the color of the wild grain,
I hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your loveliness,
The nose, sovereign of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
And I walk hungry, smelling the twilight
Looking for you, for your hot heart,
Like a puma in the barren wilderness."

there is silence, after
those eyes finally tearing away from the ceiling to cast themselves towards her

"Your first lesson."

Teeth slide over lower lip as she waits through the silence, before she nods with a smile.
"Yes."

the (vivid) gaze is held
a moment, a minute, a decade
(what unspeakable dreams lurk behind his eyes)
his gaze soon returning to the ceiling

"You are learning to appreciate the power of words...."

She holds his gaze unflinchingly - where weeks (months years decades) ago she would flinch away, blossoming strength shown in little things. And it does not waver even as his pulls to the mysteries of the ceiling again.
"Before words were simply stories - a way to escape rather then a tool to explain and entice. Maybe... maybe I just no longer seek to escape my fate, but rather embrace it."

perhaps there is a method to his madness (or is it all simply sheer, homicidal lunacy) a smile faint across a poet's lips
indeed, she is learning

"Then perhaps I may not kill you after all....."

She can't help it... she laughs and nods, looking down to the book in her lap again..
"Perhaps not. And maybe in the end I might even be grateful for that."
Her voice holds the lilting tease, the mischiviousness that thrums deep in the heart of Karnala's child.
"though I am certain you will break me again and again. until such time as I return the favor.."

"You are learning, Ayydis..... "

a smile finds its way to his lips, absent, and breif
then the Galliard pulls from the couch and silently moves towards his quarters

She chuckles again and nods.
"one learns or dies..."
And as he walks away, she gives him one more to think on - perhaps it reminds of him, perhaps of her, or perhaps simply the sadness that weaves through him still...

"To drift with every passion till my soul
Is a stringed lute on which can winds can play,
Is it for this that I have given away
Mine ancient wisdom and austere control?
Methinks my life is a twice-written scroll
Scrawled over on some boyish holiday
With idle songs for pipe and virelay,
Which do but mar the secret of the whole.
Surely there was a time I might have trod
The sunlit heights, and from life's dissonance
Struck one clear chord to reach the ears of God:
Is that time dead? lo! with a little rod
I did but touch the honey of romance -
And must I lose a soul's inheritance?

...Goodnight, Asher"
She grabs her soda and finishes it off, then leans back against the(his) couch and continues reading, silently, again.

there is pause, hand resting on the handle to unlock the heavy door, silently listening to the words which spill across his ears as they seep through the tunnels
a small (agonized) smile growing
the only response a door opening (closing, locked) and in the absence of light, boxspring's creak as the lean Dancer curls upon the bed

Posted by asher at September 15, 2002 12:00 AM

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