I will only complicate you. Trust in me and fall as well.
Tuesday, September 1st
Day 93
EveningI do not bother to draw my form back together after I leave the Grindhouse, instead I remain as desert air drifting over the carnival, simply enjoying not being contained in human form for awhile. I did not look for Zann immediately after I left but I know perhaps only a day has past between then and now and ( Read more... )
Day 93
EveningI do not bother to draw my form back together after I leave the Grindhouse, instead I remain as desert air drifting over the carnival, simply enjoying not being contained in human form for awhile. I did not look for Zann immediately after I left but I know perhaps only a day has past between then and now and ( Read more... )
"Humankind is so very good at defending itself," I observe. "Almost as good as it is at destroying itself. Really, I barely needed to lift a finger during the Apocalypse." I smile a little at that. Watching humanity tear itself apart - well, it was like Zann's little music box in macrocosm.
"Do you think that the reaching's love?"
Of course it is love. What do you think you were made for? Love like poison; love like the end of days. But I just smile placidly and say nothing to that, for I do not have to reply to every question, and Zann has asked many. Her curiosity is like a flame. I wonder what a tightrope she would walk with that flame behind her.
"And we make poetry. And gods. Did we make you? Or--Him, did we make Him?"
She is looking upward, and I laugh. The very idea of owing my being to her, to them...
"If I believed that Man had made me, I would have destroyed myself ere now," I say. "But then again," I say, and my smile glimmers, "perhaps I am wrong, hm? If you asked Tez, he would say that he was responsible for the creation of the world, but I saw it made and he was not there. So why does he believe that he was? Perhaps we are all of us wrong. Would that be a comfort to you, Zann, believing that I do not, after all, know?" I finish my tea. "But I am not in the business of comfort. And Tezcatlipoca did create the world, after a fashion; but that was long after it came into being, and that I did see." I smile. "And as for my Adversary, Him is an inadequate sort of word."
ٱلۡأَرۡضِۖ يَعۡلَمُ سِرَّكُمۡ وَجَهۡرَكُمۡ وَيَعۡلَمُ مَا
وَمَا تَأۡتِيهِم مِّنۡ ءَايَةٍ۬ مِّنۡ
I feel that great and terrible grief again. Man, you can never know the depths of my despair; but I will bring you into some shadow of it if I can in the last days, before I, too, fall for the second time. I look at Zann, and despite my passing interest in her, in this moment I would quite happily crush her skull between my palms and grind her into dust.
The moment passes, and I have not moved one muscle that would give away that anger.
"Why do you come to me for truths, Zann, when everyone says I am a liar?" I ask. "It is a sensible thing to have done, for I know a great many things and one of my greatest gifts to men has always been knowledge."
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"Why do you hate us so much?" Oh God, was it us that made you turn yourself into the tremendous malengine you are, pulled love out of yourself? Please no, please no...
"Perhaps we are all of us wrong. Would that be a comfort to you, Zann, believing that I do not, after all, know?"
"No ma'am," I say quietly.
"But I am not in the business of comfort. And Tezcatlipoca did create the world, after a fashion; but that was long after it came into being, and that I did see," and she smiles smooth and clean as new wire, and even with her sitting there tall and smooth and luxurious I can't help but smile back at the thought of seeing that. What it must have been like, crucible creation and the song beginning, first notes chiming out and the beginning of shaping...
"And as for my Adversary, Him is an inadequate sort of word." She adds something I can't understand, and I think it's that same language that had the air all hot and dusty before but I can't tell, and I look down into my teacup again, feeling small and ignorant.
"Why do you come to me for truths, Zann, when everyone says I am a liar? It is a sensible thing to have done, for I know a great many things and one of my greatest gifts to men has always been knowledge."
I look up and smile at her a little, half-ashamed one-sided quirk of my mouth and shrug. "I wanted to talk to you. I think I came for that more than I came for truth, really. Besides... most of what I ever heard about what I thought you were, it wasn't lies exactly. Misdirection and dazzle and half-truths, being cleverer then the people you were guiding into something. Don't need to lie outright if you're smart enough, you know?" Think and don't say that the Devil would have made one hell of a midway talker, and finish my tea and set the cup down.
"And people say you're wicked, and dangerous, and I believe that, but... I don't know what's going on." I'm running my fingers across the blueprint, old paper and ink and how it passed through someone's mind and ran out through their fingers and then came to this. "I see a little of the shape of it, and I hear bits and pieces around the edge, but it's like... looking at the shadow of something and trying to understand how it runs, it doesn't work properly at all. And I guess you're part of it, and I guess you see better than most, and I just wanted to... I don't know. See you. As well as I can."
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I have heard that question before, but rarely is it tinged with honest sympathy. Zann is an unusual creature. I wonder how much to tell her; so much of what I feel cannot really be expressed, not to a mortal.
"Imagine," I say at last, and Svetlana's fine voice softens into powdered snow, "that you are in love, and then your beloved throws you over for another man or woman, and then tells you that you must love this interloper. That is some tiny fraction of what it is," I say.
"I wanted to talk to you. I think I came for that more than I came for truth, really. Besides... most of what I ever heard about what I thought you were, it wasn't lies exactly. Misdirection and dazzle and half-truths, being cleverer then the people you were guiding into something. Don't need to lie outright if you're smart enough, you know?"
I smile a little at that.
"Indeed," I say. "I often tell the truth; it is more interesting than dishonesty, and people still usually do what I would like even without a lie to help them." I prefer it, in fact, when men hurt themselves through truth rather than falsehoods; their burden of guilt is the greater.
"I see a little of the shape of it, and I hear bits and pieces around the edge, but it's like... looking at the shadow of something and trying to understand how it runs, it doesn't work properly at all. And I guess you're part of it, and I guess you see better than most, and I just wanted to... I don't know. See you. As well as I can."
I smile wider at that.
"You would like the blueprint, would you not? It is frustrating not to know what is going on, I would imagine. I could help you," I continue. "The cogs in your head, they run smoothly enough, even quite prettily, but they could be faster, more efficient." I touch the blueprint she is holding. "I can see your mind as you see this paper," I explain. "I know well enough how it could be done." I look at her, at the way she has shrunk in on herself a little, and I touch her fingertips. "Would it make you more comfortable, if I were Kent again?"
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Swallow at the thought of that, thinking of Genny and Tez and okay that's different but it still hurts, and we've hardly even been together a month and she hasn't even left me. "I'm sorry," I say, and I reach out towards her and then remember the stains on my hands, and pour her more tea instead. Leave the cup there for if she wants it. "I'm so sorry, that--that was cruel."
"I often tell the truth; it is more interesting than dishonesty, and people still usually do what I would like even without a lie to help them." Nod at that, and I don't know if she does it because it's easier or because it's... prettier, somehow, neat and shining, but it fits the patterns I've picked up faint shapes of, elegant and precise and canny and delighting. Her smile widens. "You would like the blueprint, would you not?"
I can feel myself grinning. "Yeah--yes," I admit. "I don't think I can see the machine, exactly, but I'd like the blueprint."
"It is frustrating not to know what is going on, I would imagine. I could help you. The cogs in your head, they run smoothly enough, even quite prettily, but they could be faster, more efficient. I can see your mind as you see this paper. I know well enough how it could be done."
...oh. My god.
I look down at the blueprint, and her long fine fingers glide over the paper and touch mine, fingertip to fingertip, and I look down. My mind. My mind, running faster cleaner clearer, and the patterns, and maybe the seeing... "Would it make you more comfortable, if I were Kent again?"
Oh, damn. I hate to put her out, I really really do, and I can feel my cheeks growing hot, but since she's noticed... "Yes," I say quietly, my mind still spinning with the idea of... hell, of changing my mind. "If you wouldn't mind." Swallow again and look up at her.
"Could you? What--what would it do to me?"
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"I never offer anything I will not give," I say, and it is Kent's voice I speak in, for I am already him again, faded jeans and gravel-throated. I reach into my pocket and pull out a packet of cigarettes, and I offer her one as I did the first time we met.
I take one for myself and light it with a match, settling the cigarette between my teeth, each movement perfect for Kent as the tea pouring was for Svetlana.
"Could you? What--what would it do to me?"
And, oh, I have her. She may not submit today, of course, but the thought will be there in her mind now, a sibilant whisper of betterfastersmoother. I exhale smoke.
"It can be difficult to predict," I say. "I can look at your mind, and I can know that if I showed you certain things, you could think more quickly, notice patterns better, but as I am sure you know, when you change the inner workings of machines, they feel different in some intangible way. You would still be yourself; I would not add anything to your mind that is not already there. But how you felt afterwards I cannot say." I smile. "You could speak to Anushka about it, although what happened to Anushka was not a tightening of cogs but an opening of a gate."
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"It can be difficult to predict. I can look at your mind, and I can know that if I showed you certain things, you could think more quickly, notice patterns better, but as I am sure you know, when you change the inner workings of machines, they feel different in some intangible way." Nod, because I know what he means, even if it's tangible. I mean, not something to actually touch, but--dammit. Alright, I guess it is intangible, the same way the sound of words is. "You would still be yourself; I would not add anything to your mind that is not already there. But how you felt afterwards I cannot say."
"Calibration," I say to myself, and he smiles, and I smile back, and draw thoughtfully on the cigarette. Leave it in my mouth and lean forward, running one hand over my hair and feeling the warmth of my scalp through the stubble. There's another word, too, one I've seen but never really had cause to use. Overclocking. "Why would you do that?" Which is another way of saying What would you want for that, really.
"You could speak to Anushka about it, although what happened to Anushka was not a tightening of cogs but an opening of a gate."
"Guess I should do that, yeah," I say. Glance over at the music box I made, and then back up at him. "Did you know," I say quietly, "that I can fix things? Not with my hands or a wrench or anything like that. Just... fix them."
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I smile easily.
"For fun," I suggest. "And because you would owe me a favour." I stretch out my legs. "And your loyalty, perhaps, in thanks." I smile again. "I am always open to the negotiation of details."
"Did you know that I can fix things? Not with my hands or a wrench or anything like that. Just... fix them."
I nod.
"Yes. I would like to see it done, though. But not this," I say, lifting the music box into my lap. "That would rather defeat its poetry, I think. It would be just another music box." I stroke my fingers along its lid, feeling the broken song within it. I think for a moment, and then I stand and turn to the kinetic sculpture in the corner whose quiet clackclack has been in the background all this time. I touch it, and at once it stops, bolts loosening, levers falling. "Would you show me?" I ask.
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He gets up and turns to the sculpture, running on smoothly, and touches it and for a second I'd swear my heart freezes in my chest. Stopped, it just stopped cold, and I knew he could do that and hell I even knew he'd probably like to do that, but...
"Would you show me?"
Oh, this I can do, and I get up and go stand beside him and the machine, take the cigarette out of my mouth and crouch down and rock back on my heels and look through the steps and spiral and lattice, where it's all trembling with waiting motion. Downside is I'd swear it was practically new-made, but it's all movement, it was meant for that, wordless song vibrating out for pure joy.
"All is a procession;
The universe is a procession, with measured and beautiful motion." Shoot a quick grin up at Kent and then look back to the sculpture, and Oh, honey, I know--born to run, right? And I've got the shape of things, know how it should run to feel right, and I bounce up on the balls of my feet. Realize I'm humming an old song, something fast and sweeping and fine. And there's the quiet impact of bolts and guides slipping back into place, like arching my back to get my spine back in line after a long day and feeling the vertebrae jolt snug against each other.
clackclack
And my back is killing me, and my shoulders and my hips, the joints sore and twisting, and my hands are shaking just a little. Not as bad as fixing the midway lights after Tez and Gaueko had their fight, it's really really not, but I take the steps back to the couch and sit down on the arm of it, looking up at him.
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The machine clicks, and she is humming a joyful song. I wonder how many broken machines I could give her, for how long I could keep her occupied and thinking of nothing but this, the glide of steel and iron and copper.
She sits back down, shaky-limbed.
"Well," I say softly. "Isn't that something." I smile at her. "There is a poetry in what you do, Zann." A poetry that is antithetical to mine, perhaps; but I can appreciate it nonetheless. And who knows what Zann might turn her hand to mending? Those who split the atom did not do it because they were wicked; they did it because there is a joy in discovery built into the human heart... But it almost led to mankind's end. And Zann, I think, has little sense of self-preservation when her attention is captured. Yes, she will play her part in what is to come.
"Imagine if you could do that," I say, "for hours on end before you grew weary. Oh, there is a poetry in fatigue, of course. Of knowing your body has worked. You would not wish to be an automaton yourself. But you could be quicker, more efficient, and imagine how it would feel, hundreds upon hundreds of bolts sliding together at once, that low deep satisfaction of knowing a job is done replicated a thousand times over, altogether." I lower my face so that it is closer to hers, and I cup her stubbled head with my calloused hand. "It is all already here, Zann, like a match waiting to be struck."
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Listen to the clackclack of the spheres running their timeless arcs, and I'd lean into his hand a little except I remember how he touched it and it stopped. Seen what he can do, but oh, what he can do...
"Would you ask me for a favour that'd hurt the family?"
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"We can negotiate boundaries," I say. "You can tell me..." I think. "Three things you would not do. You should be quite precise in your language," I smile. "And if I agree, it will be done. Your word will be your contract, and mine." My hand moves down and strokes the back of her neck. "But if you decide you would rather not, you can leave now, and I will bear you no ill will for it."
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Shake my head a little, feeling his hand running over the back of my neck; it's a nice feeling, half sleepy and half electrically-awake, fine hairs standing on end. "Don't want to do that," I say about leaving. "Three things... Don't want to hurt the Carnaval or its people..." Trail off and shake my head, straightening up a bit. "I need to think about those things," I say. "It's... I want to be careful about this, you know?"
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"Think on it," I say, "and call for me when you have decided. If you say my name with intent, I will hear you." I smile. "Our friend Lily has been gone for quite a while, has she not?" I observe. "Perhaps I scared her away." I can feel Lilith in the room with us, the dry heat of her, and my smile deepens.
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"Our friend Lily has been gone for quite a while, has she not?" and I look up and around and Jesus, when did that happen? Think back and... yeah, been a while. "Perhaps I scared her away."
"Oh gee, maybe," I say, grinning. "All the times she's run into you, and she cuts and runs when you start just talking about being the devil." Shrug a little and draw my knees up, balancing on the arm of the couch. Still not polite to ask about Lilith instead of Lily, or how well she's fitting into the new name, but... "Have you known her long?"
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Ah, Lilith, Zann knows you are not what you seem. But I will not tell her who you are; that can be your secret to tell.
"For quite some time," I say drily. "She is an... unusual woman, but I am fond of her," I add. "I am sure that next time you see her, you will both have much to talk about." I take the blueprint and roll it up, old paper crinkling, and I hand it to her. "I will see you soon."
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"Probably," I say, taking the roll of blueprint and feeling the soft weight of it, ink and thick paper and the hint of meaning where the pen scratched in shapes, there and there and there.
"I will see you soon." Nod at that, and smile, and get to my feet.
"Thanks for having me over," and it sounds too formal by half, and I laugh a bit. "I'll catch you later, I guess. Take care, okay?" Really do, please. Pause as a thought hits me.
"Why did you come out to the Tavern that night, if you hate us and you could have stayed at home and drunk whiskey here?"
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