Come hell or high water
Characters: Nathaniel/John Mandrake (knew_anyway), and Aelia Laelia Crispis of the Animus (adstring_npc)
When: December 19th
Where: A secluded building in the northeast quadrant
Rating: PG-13?
Summary: Nathaniel summons his first Animus on his attempts to help the city become a nicer place to live. It sort of works.
( This sick world will know I was here )
When: December 19th
Where: A secluded building in the northeast quadrant
Rating: PG-13?
Summary: Nathaniel summons his first Animus on his attempts to help the city become a nicer place to live. It sort of works.
( This sick world will know I was here )
The floor glowed, seemed to ripple, like it couldn't decide whether to remain still, to break apart, to turn into something else entirely. Testing the constructs, wild and utterly contained.
A woman pulled herself from the floor- from the wood, from the stone and earth beneath it, from some other place entirely. A long braid was splayed on the floor, brushing along one of the lines of the circle, as Aelia pushed herself up, shaking her head, as if dispelling the last dregs of sleep. Her legs were still caught in the floor, but she ignored it, wrapping her second braid back around her neck, the first now settled comfortably over her chest. An orchid stayed tucked behind one ear, and she was uncomfortable to look on directly. Though nude, her skin looked like just a human decoration; she was both young and old, beautiful and unremarkable and hideous, and when she stared up at Nathaniel, blinking gray-green eyes, it was to know everything about him, and be completely ignorant.
She inclined her head politely.
"Hello John."
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As the exhaustion from the summoning slowly started to settle in, Nathaniel tried to get a good look at her, but he wasn't quite able to. Something about her appearance was odd- strange, but he couldn't put his finger on it, and he instinctively tried not to. It was frightening, but the familiarity of it was comforting.
His hands tightened, and he nodded in return. He didn't reply to her words, but they seemed to put him at ease, somewhat. By addressing him as John, it seemed that she didn't know his true name. That would make things somewhat easier. Nathaniel looked down at the markings. Everything seemed to be holding up so far.
Finally, he spoke in a low, calm voice.
"Are you Aelia Laelia Crispis, entity of the Animus, the one who resides with the other spirits in the Inner City and speaks to us in the beginning of the events in Adstringendum?"
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"'Animus' is a term visitors give to several of us, nothing that any of us chose, but by your definitions- yes, I am."
She still seemed disinclined to stand, but likewise didn't mind staring up at him. Her smile was gentle, soothing- entirely insincere, and entirely open about being insincere.
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He could live with that. He'd gotten the confirmation- and while she seemed odd, compared to the other spirits that he had summoned, Nathaniel didn't think much of it. She seemed content enough, even though she was bound to the pentacle... but then again, she was another being entirely, wasn't she? And it was more than likely a relief to be away from the others.
He didn't crouch to meet her eyes, simply remained looking down at her from where he stood.
"I have several questions that I would like answered."
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It was almost apologetic, but there was no apology in it. "And no one else will listen in."
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His eyes are alight, the danger temporarily forgotten and replaced with the temptation of knowledge. He'd always been a scholar at heart- underneath the ambition, underneath even his desire to do good, Nathaniel hungered for information.
"I want to ask you about the others- soon enough. But first, you say you aren't technically Animus. What then, are you?"
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"Just myself, you could say. A wandering spirit. My old world died- it's fortunate for me that I ended up here." She shook her head, glancing to the side. "Who knows what happened to anyone else."
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"You were pulled here with the other Animus. How did all of you wind up so mixed together? Bartimaeus is a spirit and he's not- among the lot of you."
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"There's more to us than you, or your friend. We fell here, but we don't- couldn't- manifest entirely. You have room to spread out, remain separate entities; we haven't had that luxury. Pulled in piecemeal, stitched together afterward... there aren't many of us who even remember who we are."
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Nathaniel finally knelt to try to look her in the eye, all aspirations of power play forgotten. He wanted to know- wanted to see for himself what sort of creature she was, and he found himself looking away instead. He didn't like looking at her- it was like rubbing sandpaper against his skin, it prickled and hurt.
"Tell me more about yourself, Aelia."
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"Why? I could give you stories of a dead world, but I don't know what good they would do you." She half-shrugged. "My name is my mind. I've always been able to change anything I want with it, leaving records of it in case I forget."
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"And the others? Are they the same species as you?"
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He wanted to sit there and pull his notes out and spend hours interrogating her- her abilities, her usefulness. Nathaniel felt the temptation to use her influence over his enemies, to gain power... but no, that wouldn't be right.
"How many of you are there?"
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"In parts? Thousands- we're all connected to some degree, but those without much of their mind to them, they're constantly changing, in flux. A composite god. The few of us with a stable consciousness... we absorb what we can of the others."
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"And why do you influence us like this? Why do the animus cause the people here suffering- why is there a price exacted for death?"
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