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[perfect_paris]

WHEN: Week 05, 'Another Brick in the Wall' / Sunday, January 1st, 2009 / 4:31 PM
WHERE: The Grounds-- on a bench rather distant from the castle
WHO: Pariad!

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[homely_illiad]

Okay, so that -looked- like Paris.

But he was reading a Bible.

Which did not seem like Paris. Not at all.

Oh, but it sure looked like him.

What a conundrum.

Illiad approached this mysterious creature with his usual stealth, feet creeping lightly and gently over the frost-bitten grounds, careful not to step on the crunchy bits of snow that were still left from some of the more recent snow storms.

He picked the Bible up and off of his beloved's face-- just to make sure, you know, that it was really his beloved. It was.

"Why are you reading this?" he asked, in a cool, calm, affectionate voice, with a hint that there might be a kiss in it for Paris if his answer was interesting and honest. How long had it been since he'd held a Bible?! His family wasn't very religious, but his aunt Kittius had, for some reason, decided to be back when he was younger. And he remembered Louvika tugging on his hand as they went to church whenever he'd stay there, her pointing at the statue of a pretty young girl and saying, Look, Illi, that's His

[perfect_paris]

Paris wasn't going to lie-- he was absolutely mortified when Illiad seemed to, well, appear out of nowhere. Honestly, did he even make a sound? That wasn't the only part of it, though. Sure the sudden appearance of his pretty Illiad surprised him, but the fact that Paris had been thinking about him was what scared him the most. Perhaps they shared some secret telepathic talent

[homely_illiad]

"And just what on earth do you have to be scared of?" Illiad asked, quirking an eyebrow, eyes still down upon the book, skimming over passages about how X begot Y, who lived a hundred million years and the begot Z, who was a naughty, naughty boy because he slept with a harlot, so God rained butterflies down on his land, but they weren't happy, nice butterflies, oh, no siree!

He glanced up, but not because of Z's butterflies. He had been about to say something that would've been mean, would've been rude, and if it were Brinley, perhaps no matter how mean it had been, Brinley would've seen sense in it, Brinley would've just retorted something mean right back and Illiad would've seen that as a sign of that false affection Brinley always bore towards him.

But if he said it to Paris... if he let those words slip... what, do you think you're going to burn in Hell or something? What is this shit you're reading? Why are you so stupid as to believe it?!He couldn't say these words to Paris. Not ever

[perfect_paris]

"I know, I know," Paris scoffed, running a hand through his hair nervously. "I have nothing to be scared of... And yet I am."

It seemed like such a great contradiction. Paris scared of his father? Usually this was never the case. If anything, Paris was the one who intimidated his father. But this one comment threw everything out of balance. Paris had never felt so controlled in his life; Celestin seemed to have ultimate power over which way he would go in the afterlife.

This couldn't go on for much longer. Paris hated being told what to do, especially by his father.

When Illiad spoke again, Paris glanced up at him with curious eyes. Love? Such a simple commandment as that?

... in place of all which came before..."I'm sorry," began Paris, chuckling slightly. "I thought I could find sense in those old, leather-bound pages of pure insanity. But your words are comforting, Illiad. Thank you