Gabriel + Dominic // Up A Scale
Who: Dominic and Gabriel Sabreme
When: 7th November
Where: House Bercator
Ratings & Warnings: None.
The message had come from Lennox Bercator by way of the mail, an official looking thing that, once the seal was broken, outlined the troubles of his youngest son and his concerns, in brief, as his father, but also as a lord. Gabriel could understand, though it would seem a cold thing to others. Nobles were not well outfitted to handle the stigma of a crippled family member. After reading it he'd taken a long time to consider what course of action he would take. He believed that there were others, perhaps more capable of the task, and that he would ask one from the Citadel was of further mystery to him. The young Bercator boy had been injured as a result of the Citadel's attack upon the Hour.
It was humbling, therefore, to have been considered so seriously. He was not very well acquainted with this branch of the family, that had taken over from the previous, though he had certainly met them on numerous occasions. His own family was in a similar position to take over as the head Sabreme family if a similar thing were to happen, after all. They were alike in a sense. And Dominic, whatever his reasons had been for being at the Hour, had been a part of the Citadel for a short while, and the two had gotten along well enough. He appreciated the boy's manners and moreso his sense of art and music, though art was not necessarily Gabriel's strong point.
So, in the end, he accepted the man's request. He was not of much use at the Citadel beyond a comforter and a counsellor. Simple cleaning tasks were fine but anything more strenuous was beyond him, and healing was not something he excelled at either, not to the point he would require to be for some of what they had taken in. But for him, there was import in this.
He was not unfamiliar with the Bercator's main house. When he arrived, having travelled by foot from the Citadel, lute in tow, careful not to let his thoughts stray as they so often did, he was greeted at the door by a servant, taken aside a short while by Lennox to discuss the boy's predicament in greater detail. A woman hovered nearby, clearly concerned, which made Gabriel uncomfortable but carefully he ignored it, glancing at her so as not to appear as though he were excluding her especially (though he wished he could), then was brought upstairs, still in quiet discussion, towards Dominic's room. There Lennox announced himself and their guest, and Gabriel waited to see the damage for himself, physically and emotionally.
The presence of Lennox did nothing to assure his son of comfort. Fortunately, after the first announcement and seeing his son was at least up, dressed, and appearing with the same veneer of polish that he always did, the Lord professed himself critically satisfied. With a nod to the priest, he departed without speaking to Dominic directly, the slap of his footsteps dwindling briskly down the corridor.
Dominic, dressed as customary in tailored layers of soft creams and iron greys, rose to meet his guest with no little trepidation. He had, truth be told, admired Gabriel's grasp of music from his time in the Citadel and, like every other Initiate, had a healthy respect for the exacting attitude the priest maintained. When the man had announced his coming, therefore, the blonde had hurried into a flurry of activity to ensure he looked least like an invalid and most like a boy in control of himself. Nothing else would do, nothing else would maintain any form of equilibrium. He was still an Initiate, officially, but his exact status was flying high in the air until the Citadel recovered, until he recovered. He would never recover, and he would be a cripple for whatever remained of his life. What a humiliation he was to his family. First his eyes changed colour, then he lost the use of them.
Then, of course, there were the ghosts, the Bercator ghosts, those who cackled and hissed in his ears. Louder now, they were, now that he had no distraction from them. He could still see them, dimly, the gathered ether that produced them hung like slime in his head. He wondered if that was compensation, some trick, or just his imagination, the sense that he'd had before professed into something visual that he could tease and taunt himself with; cheesecake to a man on a diet.
"My Lord Priest," he said, softly. "Welcome to House Bercator. Thank you for coming. Would you like some refreshment?"
"Gabriel alone will suffice at such a time, my young lord," he said, his voice quiet, but breaking the silence of the room easily. The room was clean, recently aired, but there was a feeling of melancholy permeating it. Dominic stood in front of him, but even without the knowledge of the boy's affliction Gabriel would have known something was wrong with the boy's sight. It was rare for the boy not to look another in the face, though he sensed at times it was difficult for him to do so. An upbringing such as theirs would have beaten the ability to look away out of them, unless it was in fact impossible to look.
"That will not be necessary, though I thank you," he said, instead taking a seat, glancing about to take stock of the boy's room. He recalled vaguely that Dominic had been interested in art, probably a memory from some small conversation earlier in the boy's acceptance as an initiate. "Sit, please. I will be forward with you, Dominic, as I see no need for preamble. As I wrote, your father told me of your situation and has asked my help in the matter. A rehabilitation of sorts, perhaps." He paused a moment, considering his own words, threading his fingers together on his lap in front of him. No, healing had never been his specialty. He wasn't quite sure how to approach this.
But the idea of being unable to indulge in his own talents gave him sympathy for the boy, and he had to approach this as carefully as he could in light of that. "Tell me your thoughts on this, Dominic. And do be honest. I can do nothing if you will not be honest with me."
Dominic, in truth, had little idea where he was looking at all. When the Civitate spoke, the glass-green of the youth's eyes swung readily in that direction, focusing with distance and ignorance just past Gabriel's left ear. He was glad enough of the invitation to sit, for there was little he immediately had to say in response. He had gathered, of course, that Gabriel had been summoned for just such a reason and had from there realised that the topic would be brought up almost instantaneously upon arrival. He was glad Lennox had left.
Realising that Gabriel had taken a seat whereas he himself had not yet moved a muscle, Dominic broke the stationary pose he held and slid his hand into a more supporting role on the back of his chosen chair. With that as a guide, the motion of taking a seat was, if not graceful or poised, at least not a shambles. The enclosing nature of the furniture was as much relief as anything could be, and although there was nary a shred of relaxation in Dominic's person, some layer of tension melted from his shoulders at being once again aided by something more reliable than his own steam.
"My thoughts?" he asked, careful to keep bitterness from his tone. He remained the utmost of civil cordiality. "On my situation, Master Gabriel? Surely there is nothing to be said."
He watched Dominic carefully, poised to aid should the boy need it, but not about to take what little control he had of himself away before it was necessary. He relaxed once the boy was sitting, though he found himself rubbing at his lower lip in a nervous way. He was unused to seeing people changed in such a way. Dominic had always been very careful to speak properly, to cause as little a disturbance as he possibly could. He felt more empathy than he would have liked.
"I cannot be so sure of that, Dominic," he said, frowning slightly. "After all, everything I have heard has been from everyone but you." He rested his hands comfortably in his lap again, sitting back slightly, uncertain if he appreciated being able to observe the boy with so little of his notice. "After all, the loss of one thing has taken many other things from you, and some of those things others will never be able to understand the loss of it. Not even I. So what will you do now?"
That was a very, very good question, and one that Dominic had spent long hours and longer days pondering the worth of. He remained silent for several moments that stretched into minutes, conscious of Gabriel's request that he be honest, thank you, and more so aware that if his father had lured the man in, then perhaps, just perhaps it meant he cared enough to try and help the cripple back into society. That, of course, had likely been due to Firenze and her nerves. Lennox barely knew Dominic existed.
"I don't know," he said. Now, more than ever before, would Dominic be in the role of the birthed noble. He would be hidden from sight, left to quibble over gossip and rumour with servant and socialite, and ultimately contribute nothing to society except the waste of the tithe-payer's money. "There is nothing for me to do."
Gabriel remained silent. For all his love of music, silence did not bother him, did not make him uncomfortable. Unconsciously he tapped a rhythm onto the back of his hand, his lanky frame settled into the chair. No, he knew very well the sort of crisis Dominic must be facing. Being the third child, the furthest from any inheritance, having the least expected of them, but still being required to do something, both from others and themselves. To have meaning. It was hard enough when in possession of one's facilities.
He kept his sigh inward. The answer did not surprise him, but it aggrieved him nonetheless. "What did you plan to do before?" He linked his fingers together again. "What were you expected to do?"
Useless things. To marry, to further the line, a political tool and nothing more. Without eyes to see, he'd be a burden on the Evandros' family too, and what woman would need that in her life? Especially one that he didn't get along with anyway. It was likely best for both of them, this turn of fate.
"I was donated to the church, Brother," he said, and if there was a dry hint of humour in Dominic's tone, he made it subtle and deliberately light-hearted. There was no need to cause offence to the man who had given up his time, and Dominic had no intention of doing so. "And the Evandros' youngest to further my father's position here." Gabriel was a noble, he would understand such things without thinking them odd or derogatory. Nobles rarely picked their own partners. "It is hard to be an initiate without taking part in the chores." Not that he'd been too brilliant at them in the first place, in truth; soft hands a noble made.
Gabriel had been lucky, in a sense, that his stubbornness had outlasted his father's fury. But while their lots had been similar, their desires had differed to the extent Gabriel had rebelled when normally he would not have. Dominic had not come to that point in his life, and had, as Gabriel would have, obeyed with little complaint.
"Hard, but not impossible," Gabriel said. "Most of it likely beneath your dignity's notice, however." This was said without vehemence or condemnation, a simple fact borne of their way of thinking. "Some things can still be done regardless, and none of it done very well without practice regardless of the ability to see."
He tilted his head slightly while he thought. "But will you return? I assume the choice has been left to you now. I do not assume your father has much to say one way or another." A lost case? It would be charity now if he were to be shuffled over to the Citadel against his will. Gabriel was silent a moment before he spoke again.
"What of your art and your music?"
Dominic considered that. This, as he had previously realised, was his ticket out of a dangerous situation. The Citadel was standing its arms down, currently, but underneath it all they still believed that his differentiation from their straight, human genetics made him less of a person, less worthy. If he was discovered, he could not rely on them treating him any differently than they treated Sister Isvelle.
"If the Citadel has a use for me, then I will gladly return," he said, with an air of decision. His art was, in all likelihood, lost to him, his music could not be far behind.
"If that is what you wish."
Was he relieved? Sad? He hadn't invested much of his own feeling into this meeting, and whatever answer Dominic had given he would have accepted. But with this, he could be more interested.
"Rest then, and reaccustom yourself with the world as best you can. When you are ready to return, report to me and I will oversee your tasks and your musical instruction as before."
Dominic rose from his seat, bowing in acceptance of the charge. Musical instruction? Gabriel was, if subtly, a lot more optimistic than Dominic himself. Perhaps he had seen something of this kind before - and if he had, that surely was enough to give the youth some form of hope.
"I will discuss the matter with my father," he said. "Thank you, my L-- Master Gabriel."
Indeed, Gabriel seemed to have no issue at all with the idea of Dominic continuing in the realm of music. Dominic had been a favourite of his, though perhaps it was only because he was a reminder of what had been and what could have been.
But if the young lord wished to be more than what others would relegate him to, it would be up to Dominic and no one else. First, build up his confidence again. Do what was possible to make him feel 'normal' again. And from there find a path.
"Do that. And take care of yourself in the interim, young Bercator."
He stood, an elegant unfolding of limbs, and when he stood he stepped closer to Dominic to press his hand to his shoulder briefly in farewell.
The door shut behind him a moment later.
When: 7th November
Where: House Bercator
Ratings & Warnings: None.
The message had come from Lennox Bercator by way of the mail, an official looking thing that, once the seal was broken, outlined the troubles of his youngest son and his concerns, in brief, as his father, but also as a lord. Gabriel could understand, though it would seem a cold thing to others. Nobles were not well outfitted to handle the stigma of a crippled family member. After reading it he'd taken a long time to consider what course of action he would take. He believed that there were others, perhaps more capable of the task, and that he would ask one from the Citadel was of further mystery to him. The young Bercator boy had been injured as a result of the Citadel's attack upon the Hour.
It was humbling, therefore, to have been considered so seriously. He was not very well acquainted with this branch of the family, that had taken over from the previous, though he had certainly met them on numerous occasions. His own family was in a similar position to take over as the head Sabreme family if a similar thing were to happen, after all. They were alike in a sense. And Dominic, whatever his reasons had been for being at the Hour, had been a part of the Citadel for a short while, and the two had gotten along well enough. He appreciated the boy's manners and moreso his sense of art and music, though art was not necessarily Gabriel's strong point.
So, in the end, he accepted the man's request. He was not of much use at the Citadel beyond a comforter and a counsellor. Simple cleaning tasks were fine but anything more strenuous was beyond him, and healing was not something he excelled at either, not to the point he would require to be for some of what they had taken in. But for him, there was import in this.
He was not unfamiliar with the Bercator's main house. When he arrived, having travelled by foot from the Citadel, lute in tow, careful not to let his thoughts stray as they so often did, he was greeted at the door by a servant, taken aside a short while by Lennox to discuss the boy's predicament in greater detail. A woman hovered nearby, clearly concerned, which made Gabriel uncomfortable but carefully he ignored it, glancing at her so as not to appear as though he were excluding her especially (though he wished he could), then was brought upstairs, still in quiet discussion, towards Dominic's room. There Lennox announced himself and their guest, and Gabriel waited to see the damage for himself, physically and emotionally.
The presence of Lennox did nothing to assure his son of comfort. Fortunately, after the first announcement and seeing his son was at least up, dressed, and appearing with the same veneer of polish that he always did, the Lord professed himself critically satisfied. With a nod to the priest, he departed without speaking to Dominic directly, the slap of his footsteps dwindling briskly down the corridor.
Dominic, dressed as customary in tailored layers of soft creams and iron greys, rose to meet his guest with no little trepidation. He had, truth be told, admired Gabriel's grasp of music from his time in the Citadel and, like every other Initiate, had a healthy respect for the exacting attitude the priest maintained. When the man had announced his coming, therefore, the blonde had hurried into a flurry of activity to ensure he looked least like an invalid and most like a boy in control of himself. Nothing else would do, nothing else would maintain any form of equilibrium. He was still an Initiate, officially, but his exact status was flying high in the air until the Citadel recovered, until he recovered. He would never recover, and he would be a cripple for whatever remained of his life. What a humiliation he was to his family. First his eyes changed colour, then he lost the use of them.
Then, of course, there were the ghosts, the Bercator ghosts, those who cackled and hissed in his ears. Louder now, they were, now that he had no distraction from them. He could still see them, dimly, the gathered ether that produced them hung like slime in his head. He wondered if that was compensation, some trick, or just his imagination, the sense that he'd had before professed into something visual that he could tease and taunt himself with; cheesecake to a man on a diet.
"My Lord Priest," he said, softly. "Welcome to House Bercator. Thank you for coming. Would you like some refreshment?"
"Gabriel alone will suffice at such a time, my young lord," he said, his voice quiet, but breaking the silence of the room easily. The room was clean, recently aired, but there was a feeling of melancholy permeating it. Dominic stood in front of him, but even without the knowledge of the boy's affliction Gabriel would have known something was wrong with the boy's sight. It was rare for the boy not to look another in the face, though he sensed at times it was difficult for him to do so. An upbringing such as theirs would have beaten the ability to look away out of them, unless it was in fact impossible to look.
"That will not be necessary, though I thank you," he said, instead taking a seat, glancing about to take stock of the boy's room. He recalled vaguely that Dominic had been interested in art, probably a memory from some small conversation earlier in the boy's acceptance as an initiate. "Sit, please. I will be forward with you, Dominic, as I see no need for preamble. As I wrote, your father told me of your situation and has asked my help in the matter. A rehabilitation of sorts, perhaps." He paused a moment, considering his own words, threading his fingers together on his lap in front of him. No, healing had never been his specialty. He wasn't quite sure how to approach this.
But the idea of being unable to indulge in his own talents gave him sympathy for the boy, and he had to approach this as carefully as he could in light of that. "Tell me your thoughts on this, Dominic. And do be honest. I can do nothing if you will not be honest with me."
Dominic, in truth, had little idea where he was looking at all. When the Civitate spoke, the glass-green of the youth's eyes swung readily in that direction, focusing with distance and ignorance just past Gabriel's left ear. He was glad enough of the invitation to sit, for there was little he immediately had to say in response. He had gathered, of course, that Gabriel had been summoned for just such a reason and had from there realised that the topic would be brought up almost instantaneously upon arrival. He was glad Lennox had left.
Realising that Gabriel had taken a seat whereas he himself had not yet moved a muscle, Dominic broke the stationary pose he held and slid his hand into a more supporting role on the back of his chosen chair. With that as a guide, the motion of taking a seat was, if not graceful or poised, at least not a shambles. The enclosing nature of the furniture was as much relief as anything could be, and although there was nary a shred of relaxation in Dominic's person, some layer of tension melted from his shoulders at being once again aided by something more reliable than his own steam.
"My thoughts?" he asked, careful to keep bitterness from his tone. He remained the utmost of civil cordiality. "On my situation, Master Gabriel? Surely there is nothing to be said."
He watched Dominic carefully, poised to aid should the boy need it, but not about to take what little control he had of himself away before it was necessary. He relaxed once the boy was sitting, though he found himself rubbing at his lower lip in a nervous way. He was unused to seeing people changed in such a way. Dominic had always been very careful to speak properly, to cause as little a disturbance as he possibly could. He felt more empathy than he would have liked.
"I cannot be so sure of that, Dominic," he said, frowning slightly. "After all, everything I have heard has been from everyone but you." He rested his hands comfortably in his lap again, sitting back slightly, uncertain if he appreciated being able to observe the boy with so little of his notice. "After all, the loss of one thing has taken many other things from you, and some of those things others will never be able to understand the loss of it. Not even I. So what will you do now?"
That was a very, very good question, and one that Dominic had spent long hours and longer days pondering the worth of. He remained silent for several moments that stretched into minutes, conscious of Gabriel's request that he be honest, thank you, and more so aware that if his father had lured the man in, then perhaps, just perhaps it meant he cared enough to try and help the cripple back into society. That, of course, had likely been due to Firenze and her nerves. Lennox barely knew Dominic existed.
"I don't know," he said. Now, more than ever before, would Dominic be in the role of the birthed noble. He would be hidden from sight, left to quibble over gossip and rumour with servant and socialite, and ultimately contribute nothing to society except the waste of the tithe-payer's money. "There is nothing for me to do."
Gabriel remained silent. For all his love of music, silence did not bother him, did not make him uncomfortable. Unconsciously he tapped a rhythm onto the back of his hand, his lanky frame settled into the chair. No, he knew very well the sort of crisis Dominic must be facing. Being the third child, the furthest from any inheritance, having the least expected of them, but still being required to do something, both from others and themselves. To have meaning. It was hard enough when in possession of one's facilities.
He kept his sigh inward. The answer did not surprise him, but it aggrieved him nonetheless. "What did you plan to do before?" He linked his fingers together again. "What were you expected to do?"
Useless things. To marry, to further the line, a political tool and nothing more. Without eyes to see, he'd be a burden on the Evandros' family too, and what woman would need that in her life? Especially one that he didn't get along with anyway. It was likely best for both of them, this turn of fate.
"I was donated to the church, Brother," he said, and if there was a dry hint of humour in Dominic's tone, he made it subtle and deliberately light-hearted. There was no need to cause offence to the man who had given up his time, and Dominic had no intention of doing so. "And the Evandros' youngest to further my father's position here." Gabriel was a noble, he would understand such things without thinking them odd or derogatory. Nobles rarely picked their own partners. "It is hard to be an initiate without taking part in the chores." Not that he'd been too brilliant at them in the first place, in truth; soft hands a noble made.
Gabriel had been lucky, in a sense, that his stubbornness had outlasted his father's fury. But while their lots had been similar, their desires had differed to the extent Gabriel had rebelled when normally he would not have. Dominic had not come to that point in his life, and had, as Gabriel would have, obeyed with little complaint.
"Hard, but not impossible," Gabriel said. "Most of it likely beneath your dignity's notice, however." This was said without vehemence or condemnation, a simple fact borne of their way of thinking. "Some things can still be done regardless, and none of it done very well without practice regardless of the ability to see."
He tilted his head slightly while he thought. "But will you return? I assume the choice has been left to you now. I do not assume your father has much to say one way or another." A lost case? It would be charity now if he were to be shuffled over to the Citadel against his will. Gabriel was silent a moment before he spoke again.
"What of your art and your music?"
Dominic considered that. This, as he had previously realised, was his ticket out of a dangerous situation. The Citadel was standing its arms down, currently, but underneath it all they still believed that his differentiation from their straight, human genetics made him less of a person, less worthy. If he was discovered, he could not rely on them treating him any differently than they treated Sister Isvelle.
"If the Citadel has a use for me, then I will gladly return," he said, with an air of decision. His art was, in all likelihood, lost to him, his music could not be far behind.
"If that is what you wish."
Was he relieved? Sad? He hadn't invested much of his own feeling into this meeting, and whatever answer Dominic had given he would have accepted. But with this, he could be more interested.
"Rest then, and reaccustom yourself with the world as best you can. When you are ready to return, report to me and I will oversee your tasks and your musical instruction as before."
Dominic rose from his seat, bowing in acceptance of the charge. Musical instruction? Gabriel was, if subtly, a lot more optimistic than Dominic himself. Perhaps he had seen something of this kind before - and if he had, that surely was enough to give the youth some form of hope.
"I will discuss the matter with my father," he said. "Thank you, my L-- Master Gabriel."
Indeed, Gabriel seemed to have no issue at all with the idea of Dominic continuing in the realm of music. Dominic had been a favourite of his, though perhaps it was only because he was a reminder of what had been and what could have been.
But if the young lord wished to be more than what others would relegate him to, it would be up to Dominic and no one else. First, build up his confidence again. Do what was possible to make him feel 'normal' again. And from there find a path.
"Do that. And take care of yourself in the interim, young Bercator."
He stood, an elegant unfolding of limbs, and when he stood he stepped closer to Dominic to press his hand to his shoulder briefly in farewell.
The door shut behind him a moment later.