A kiss, cold as a November rain, kiss of a traitor, cold as a snake-skin

[morsus_et_mors]

Date: Friday, 7 July 2000
Time: Late afternoon
Location: Cobalt Viriconium antique records shoppe, Muggle London
Characters Involved: Montague Morsus and OPEN (Please, ask before joining)
Status: Incomplete
Rating: PG-13 at the very least

Comments

[morsus_et_mors]

What an adorable piece of meat. Montague felt a sudden urge for a laughter - liberating and relaxing, as it promised to unhinge the last remnants of order there were still to be found, in the room full of records and one nervous Jewish Ravenclaw.

"Whatever that you are looking for--" Montague was now standing right beside the other male, once again taking pleasure from discomfituring him-- "It isn't here." He glanced at the row of records, wondering whether he'd know anything the younger male listened to. Possibility - zero. Montague's tastes were far too obscure and archaic to be matched by those of even this most whimsical boy.

A few seconds into attempting to recognize the eccentric names of bands and singers/songwriters, Montague grew bored and diverted his attention back to his unwitting companion. He never really thought about the boy in his free time. Montague Morsus actually forgot Terry Boot existed in the same dimension as he did, when he didn't have the boy standing right in front of him - just like today. But when he did, everything else faded away, leaving only Montague and this boy, and that inexplicable kind of a connection the two unwillingly shared.

There was no use in denying what was there - a desire, a need to hurt, because it was begged for. Something in Terry Boot always invoked that greedy thirst in Montague, the thirst to skin him and put him back right. Akin to something godly, a homicide by deicide, the sacral ritual of mending the broken piece by destroying it in the beginning.

Sometime in another dimension Montague thought this boy needed his help.

"What kind of music do you listen to?" he asked, voice calm and just that slightest bit mocking, not betraying the thoughts that raced through his mind just a few seconds ago. "I'd like to buy you one."

Because I want to own you.

[terry_schtiwl]

You know, if you sweat, while wearing the latex, it may cause the material to stick to your skin- thereby eliminating the purpose of protection, while also eventually mutating itself into skin.

With abrupt motions, Terry tore the gloves from his hands and threw them to the ground. He made a small sort of scared noise as he gazed down. Damp, cold, and now powdered, his hands frightened him, especially in the inherent darkness of the record shop. Quickly, he shoved them into his pockets, frowning as trails of white were left behind on his suit fabric.

Disgusting.

Terry's forehead creased momentarily with worry and loathing. Looking out of the corner of his eyes, he watched Montague a moment as the man asked him what he listened to. But, since he (Terry) was peering peripherally and not through the glass of his spectacles, all he saw was a moving black hole in a blurry space of tannish.

"I-" He pivoted on his left foot to fully face the man. The usual expression of anxiety, surprise, and helplessness fell onto Terry's face as he blundered silently for words. "-All different sorts. Um. Talking Heads, Laurie Anderson, Mathieu Chedid, Pamelia Kurstin, Neutral Milk Hotel-- ..."

A slight head-jerk cut the boy off, but he merely cleared his throat, keeping his eyes fixed on Montague's. "Et cetera."

[morsus_et_mors]

"All Muggles, I assume--" Montague's lips quirked in visible disgust. It was all very predictable, of course - a Muggle would definitely like Muggle music. He probably did not know Wagner, who may have been thought of as a Muggle - but when it came down to such greatness, did it really matter? The dark magnificence of music more than made up for the great German's impurity of blood. Or so Montague thought. It happened rarely, that a Muggle or a Mudblood deserved justification in his eyes, but it did happen when there were characteristics that compensated for the lack of blood purity - an exception to the very general rule.

Moving around Terry, Montague glanced down at the gloves on the ground, arching an eyebrow in a silent question. The scared look fit the boy, he found yet again. The perfect forehead would crease with worry, eyebrows coming together in a syncopated manner, impulsively - like a jump into cosmic orgasm - his killer eyes buried deep in the torment. What could have caused such reaction to mere gloves?

"I like how Laurie Anderson's name sounds - more classic than anything else," he said, peering down at the records and the name tags. Artist name, album name - they were at the letter 'T'. Talking Heads. Triviality aspiring after eccentricity. Montague continued sorting through the records in an irrational hope he might find someone he knew, someone of the more worthy coterie - musicians not the post-modern trash.

"So then, Terry, my dear boy," he then said, finishing with the racks and looking away at his companion. "Do enlighten me - what is wrong with your psyche?" Montague smiled, very slowly and very effectively, before taking one step toward the younger male. "You think I could help? I wouldn't charge much." His smile widened into a grin, as he leaned slightly forward, fingers clamped behind his back - their faces coming closer, eyes on one level - the brilliant light blue behind the hideous specs and the stormy ocean green.

[terry_schtiwl]

Terry's usual expression of discomposure melted into something closer to slight anger at Montague's obviously condescending words about Muggles. He frowned- small lips curving downward as his eyes riveted themselves on the other man's.

"Yes, Muggles. Wizards don't seem to make such good music- or books, for that matter. Everything is merely informative, rather than- ah, innovatory," said Terry in rather direct way, his hands tapping away on the metal of the rack to his right. He blinked at Montague. "Laurie Anderson- yes, well. She's an American feminist. Into futuristic beat poetry type of things... She's interesting, anyway."

The frown that had begun to ebb away as the tall man fingered through records made a comeback as eyes reconnected and inquiries were made after Terry's mind. His bottom lip plumped out slightly as he tried to think of the correct, vague way of answering the man.

But before he could really come up with something, Terry felt the distance between himself and Montague close, and looked up hurriedly- finding himself eye level. He swallowed; distractedly wondering why he wasn't being ordered by Blitz to back up. For some reason, with Montague, Blitz decided to shut up- and Terry always felt pulled in by some sort of gravity.

It was horrifying.

"Wh-what?" He asked in a sort of worried croak, head threatening to jerk. "I- there's- How could you help?"

[morsus_et_mors]

The assistant seemed to have disappeared by some magic will, leaving the two of them alone in the large records store. They were not alone, of course, there were thousands of musicians soaring in the air, and a few customers at the opposite end of the hall, listening to samples of music they'd chosen. If Montague were to kill or otherwise maim Terry - no one would have noticed a thing.

"I think you know how I might help," he answered, long and slender fingers reaching out for his chin and cupping it gently. "My rotten Lady doth know how to cure the incurable."

Montague cocked his head, studying the other male. Intangibly attractive in such a twisted way, like a candy a boy was denied - a candy in silver wrapping with excerpts from Kohelet written on it. It said - what has been is what will be - and it enchanted the mind, smooth-talked it, leaving it confounded, because... how could the past become the future?

Would there be a giant blue Morpho fluttering again above his head, and him trying to loosen the silken tie, and his shorts far too crispy, and the Gipsy woman smiling down at him - her teeth two rows of white perfection?

So close to the flame, too close to the flame, it'd burn his eyes, his perfect skin, his lips, his petals of lips - scar him forever.

"But we can discuss that later," Montague suddenly withdrew himself from the younger male, only his thumb running a line over the other's lips - smaller and thinner than his own - the pressure very light, yet tangible.

"Let's find Laurie Anderson," he said, turning his attention away from the boy.

[terry_schtiwl]

The frightened look on Terry's face intensified as Montague touched his chin- if gently. Terry could almost feel the weight of his ballooning pupils as his eyes, too, widened in what could only be fear. And they were heavy; a couple stones each, at least.

Lady?

His eyelids pulled themselves towards the ground, but Terry fought to keep his eyes open. It was strange- almost like sleep was about to overtake him, all the while he was fully alert.

Then, snapping back to reality as Montague's thumb trailed his lip, Terry frowned. His internal clock told him noisily that it was time to take his pills; but he ignored this alarm and watched as the other man turned away.

"Yes," said Terry as his eyes fell, with all their weight, to the discarded gloves. He reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out a small cigarette, which he lit fluidly- momentarily lighting the back of shop. "Fine."

[morsus_et_mors]

If there was a system to how the records were categorized, Montague was failing hard in trying to recognize the pattern. Muggles. The only reason he'd come to Cobalt Viriconium that day - aside from the earlier premonition (everything happening the way it did before, like in Venetia - he could feel the smell of distant azaleas) - was... what was it, really?

The gramophone. And Wagner. And the all-consuming desire for a change.

Montague led their way into the other end of the hall horizontally away from their previous location, gaze gliding over the racks with records.

"What is it that you like in Muggle music more than Wizard music?" he asked, not turning his head to look at Terry. "What is so good about Muggle music, Terry?" he added, glancing back with a smirk. "Have you never heard the Wizard chamber music full of elegance and refined splendour?" Montague was now walking backwards, facing Terry constantly, piercing gaze and smirking lips fixed on those of the other male. "How about the vibrating cellos, the torrid violins that come alive in the hands of Wizards? Have you never been to a Wizarding Symphony or Orchestra playing? Have you-- have you never seen a Wizarding music performance?" Montague was now grinning, slowing down on his way, as if waiting on the two of them to collide.

[terry_schtiwl]

It was certain. Terry was almost positive- Montague Morsus was a lunatic, and raving at that. There was really no other explanation for the man's behaviour- not that behaviour warranted an explanation (if anyone knew that, it was Terry), but- ...well, it was all just so off. His wicked grins, the flashing eyes, and all that. Not to mention, no one who was that beautiful was allowed to also be sane. That would just be unfair to everyone else. You could have one or the other- beauty or sanity. Never both.

Feeling uneasy and wondering where on earth everyone else on the planet had gone, Terry followed Montague hesitantly across the shop. He stopped next to the 'Other' rack and began to idly rifle through its contents. It was here that they kept the Laurie Anderson.

But- it was hard to search. Because A) Terry had no gloves left and B) Montague was basically interrogating him, smirking viciously all the while. (Not to mention, he was walking backwards- which made Terry nervous, as the man was bound to run into something.)

"I don't mean I like all Muggle music more than Wizard music," Terry said, countering the grins with frowns. His eyes tore themselves from Montague to watch the smoke that lingered inches from his face. "Just what I listen to, I find more appealing. The electronic sounds. The use of technology to make music. Using something so ...unfeeling to create these sounds that induce emotions."

He coughed and plucked Laurie Anderson's Oh Superman LP from the rack. "And I did go to an Orchestra playing once- Wizarding. It was very nice. -I understand, fully, other's love for the classics- the instruments- the compositions and all that. I just prefer other genres to it, personally."

Record extended in his hand, Terry bit the inside of his cheek.

[morsus_et_mors]

"Interesting," Montague flashed a brief grin again, gaze also shifting from Terry to the smoke rising from his cigarette. It had the potential for assuming the most unexpected of forms-- a thorny stem without the rose, a silver vessel - his Argenta - a skull and a snake - the smoke changed its form several times at the elegant waves of Montague's wand.

They had stopped on their way, Terry, apparently, having found the record he wanted. Montague shifted his gaze once again to focus it on the record with a white circle on black for a cover - a fisted hand as a symbol for force and power and omnipotence.

"Oh Superman," he read outloud, arching an eyebrow. "She likes Nietzsche, I assume?" His lips quirked in a grudging appreciation. "What does she sing about? Zarathustra and his teaching? God is dead? The general concept of Übermensch being unattainable for Muggles?"

It was almost amusing, how a Muggle singer, a woman at that would choose to perform on such a powerful topic. Even Wagner himself had not dared to embark on the issue fully - it demanded such greatness of mind and talent, it was nearly impossible.

"The record is about Nietzsche's concept, correct?" Montague asked then, suddenly realizing Muggles could be far too ignorant to even know of such concepts. He frowned, loathing the possibility of his being wrong. "I'll pay, of course," he added, diverting his gaze away from that of Terry, not wishing to see any scorn in those brilliant eyes at his lapse of judgement.

[terry_schtiwl]

Terry blinked a few times as Montague wondered aloud about the album (which was really the single LP, having Walk the Dog on the B-Side). He cocked his head slightly, scrutinising the man and his rather sudden frown. "No. It's not about Nietzsche or his philosophies, really."

Biting his lip and shifting his weight to his left foot, Terry peered down at the album jacket. It was rather ...Communist-esque, wasn't it? The fist- the colours. He smiled weakly and looked back up. "Although, I can see how one might get that idea. The superman- Übermensch- Beyond Good and Evil- but no. I'd say it's more about America, if I were pressed to come up with a theme. I believe she actually came up with the song, with the idea to use it as a 'cover' for Massenet's opera, Le Cid, for the song "O Souverain"."

Had Montague said something about the 'ideal human' being unattainable for Muggles? Terry frowned after a moment. It was for Wizards as well, he argued mentally, staring at the man.

[morsus_et_mors]

If Montague could hear Terry's reasoning, he would have sneered and launched into a lengthy discussion as to why and how exactly Wizards had more potential for attaining the Ubermensch ideal with examples and case studies. But that was not the case, and the world had lost on yet another brilliant chance to hear of Montague's calculations and concepts, which were quite idiosyncratic, if it came down to the technicalities.

"Ah," he said, turning back to look at Terry, gaze defiant and excessively haughty. "Of course, how silly of me to have thought a mere Muggle woman would have the audacity to put Nietzsche's greatest work into music." Montague smirked derisively. "Even Wagner himself had not been blessed enough."

Nevertheless, despite the derision, Montague found it strangely gratifying that the younger male had read Nietzsche's works and swam well in the ocean of philosophy and poetry. An interesting addition to his already outstanding looks - not attractive, not lust-arousing, but beautiful - arousing Montague's preference for the aesthetic, like a beautiful marble statue in the Arts hall of his mansion.

Thoughts on the subject of his home, Montague wondered briefly how exactly his wife would react to this young man. What an intriguing prospect--

"But tell me, does this record have those electronic sounds of which you spoke? And what exactly do you mean by electronic? Unreal? Inanimate?" Montague was now looking straight at Terry, gaze curious and questioning.

[terry_schtiwl]

A feeling of budding indignation nested somewhere in Terry's chest as he continued to frown at Montague. And it refused to lessen at the mention of Wagner. Like Schopenhauerians, did he?

While Terry agreed that, musically, Wagner could be called a genius- the composer's anti-Semitism wasn't exactly likable. He'd read Das Judentum in der Musik- and all the essay did was bash Jews and state that they were unfit, repulsive, and couldn't produce any sort of art because they were perpetual foreigners, alien to creativity and Christians alike. It was all bollocks as far as Terry was concerned.

"Nietzsche and Wagner didn't see eye-to-eye with the anti-Semitism-bit. I doubt Nietzsche would've let the man try." Said Terry, blinking and biting at the inside of his cheek.

'In this Speech, this Art, the Jew can only after-speak and after-patch - not truly make a poem of his words, an artwork of his doings,' Blitz recalled lovingly from Wagner's essay, to which Terry responded with a drag from his tab.

He exhaled, looking past the smoke and up to Montague. "Yes, this album does have those sounds. ...Electronic as in... keyboards, theremins, vocoders, the tape-bow violin, which she invented. Things of that fashion."

There was a momentary pause in Terry's speech. "I find the theremin the most fascinating."

[morsus_et_mors]

Montague grinned.

"You think?" he asked, taking a step closer. "I have a feeling Nietzsche would have been excited to have Wagner take his work as a base." Their gazes locked for a few seconds, when Montague decided to break it away, so he could take a look at his nail that was bothering him. "Well, at least in Wagner's earlier years," he added afterwards, brow furrowing, as he noticed a minuscule spider crawling over his middle finger's nail-- and to the other side.

How curious.

Montague let the spider continue onward and over onto the backside of his palm - one quiet Engorgio and now it was a gorgeous spider of two centimetres long with long and elegant terry legs. An Impedimenta and the spider's movements were gracefully slow, like a stop-motion animation - for the two of them to study.

"Interesting," Montague said, his gaze still fixed on the raptorous insect - the distance between him and Terry still minimal, as the two could feel each other's breath from where they stood. "Theremin, you play Theremin?" he asked, not raising his eyes to look at Terry - just questioning.

[terry_schtiwl]

"Or in Nietzsche's- as I believe he admired Wagner, until politics got in the way of things," Terry said, frowning with his cigarette caught between his lips, as Montague moved in. He brought a hand up to adjust his spectacles when he saw something-

A spider?
Was that a large, black spider crawling freely on Montague's hand?

Terry couldn't help but feel faint. Spiders, like other bugs, were so far from sanitary- Terry didn't even like to think about them. While most of them looked interesting, they also tended to carry diseases and illness- or a wild array poisons. And dirt. Loads of dirt and grim.

Shutting his eyes quickly, Terry puffed on his cigarette a moment in an attempt to calm himself down-- and to keep himself from running away screaming like a little girl. Anyway, he preferred the blackness of the back of his eyelids to that of the spider. It had such long legs..

The cigarette was moved to fingers and held at Terry's side- ashes falling to the scuffed floor as it dangled.

"Yes," he answered Montague, eyes still closed, in a slightly wavering tone. His left hand twitched at his side, itching to reach over and smack Montague's to rid him of the horrible, many-legged creature.

Now, if it had been a miniature person wandering about the other man's stretch of flesh- Terry wouldn't have been so frightened. More curious, really. But, Merlin, a spider!