Beckett of the Mnemosyne (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bookofnope) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
snowblindrpg2016-10-06 08:28 pm
bookofnope) wrote in snowblindrpg2016-10-06 08:28 pm
[network] @Mnemosyne; video; the light we cannot see [open] Night 165
I can't sleep.
[The tablet is on the floor, lighting its own patch of paleness on the ceiling above. Beckett is lying next to it, prone on his back - that's what the angle of his arm, raised half-heartedly into the frame, suggests. He pulls more clearly into view for a moment, rising to a sitting position, to squint at the camera. His glasses are off, and his eyes glow a faint red in an ashen face.]
For all I know, I imagined it - the girl, the eyes. I'm certain the red pen was real, though, and the choice that came with it.
[He falls back again. Too tired to sit up. The tablet records to show nothing but light and shadow as he speaks.]
It may have been just me. Doubtful, but possible... but it was not just me who saw things. Perhaps we all did. I'd like to know what. Piece of some whole, or just another attack on what's left of our collective sanity... either way. For the sake of the record, if not any kind of answer.
[His relationship with answers isn't getting any less complicated. His voice drops low, dreamlike as he speaks on.] I saw a girl wearing a cloak. She was drawing the eyes, all around me... around me... until I was surrounded. She climbed on my back and drew her eyes on mine, and I knew there was no leaving. There has never been, not for me. Perhaps we are all...
[Too much. He stops abruptly, and rises again, grabbing for the tablet.]
It's all in my notes.
[The recording ends. In its place he sends his notes file out again.]
[The tablet is on the floor, lighting its own patch of paleness on the ceiling above. Beckett is lying next to it, prone on his back - that's what the angle of his arm, raised half-heartedly into the frame, suggests. He pulls more clearly into view for a moment, rising to a sitting position, to squint at the camera. His glasses are off, and his eyes glow a faint red in an ashen face.]
For all I know, I imagined it - the girl, the eyes. I'm certain the red pen was real, though, and the choice that came with it.
[He falls back again. Too tired to sit up. The tablet records to show nothing but light and shadow as he speaks.]
It may have been just me. Doubtful, but possible... but it was not just me who saw things. Perhaps we all did. I'd like to know what. Piece of some whole, or just another attack on what's left of our collective sanity... either way. For the sake of the record, if not any kind of answer.
[His relationship with answers isn't getting any less complicated. His voice drops low, dreamlike as he speaks on.] I saw a girl wearing a cloak. She was drawing the eyes, all around me... around me... until I was surrounded. She climbed on my back and drew her eyes on mine, and I knew there was no leaving. There has never been, not for me. Perhaps we are all...
[Too much. He stops abruptly, and rises again, grabbing for the tablet.]
It's all in my notes.
[The recording ends. In its place he sends his notes file out again.]
no subject
[He's seen his share of those, too. The search has claimed its victims. And it's almost strange that he isn't one. It's the Beast, of course, the Beast wants to live.]
Madness would be easier, [he murmurs, almost all to himself.] But I don't want it.
[And the Man wants to live too. It's strange to realise. It feels like the first time he's realised as much.
He opens one eye, tilts his head just enough so that he can catch her gaze. He doesn't think she's lying, of course, but the truth he wants from her goes deeper. Not just what she wants to feel, for either of them. But what she feels under that, in her own broken places.]
Do you really feel it would be that simple? If Rhys were to leave - just to understand his decision, if he chose something else over your friendship when you need that friendship most?
[He's not just thinking of himself and his own dilemma now. Which is... good.]
no subject
[ It's hard to think about, and talking is even harder. It needs to happen, though, and not only for Beckett's benefit. ]
Because if it was just a question of love, it'd be a much easier decision. He'd stay. I think. But there are other factors! It isn't just about choosing one thing over another thing. It was the same for you, right? Or you wouldn't have any regrets at all.
So yes. I'm sure I won't feel let down if it comes to that. The same applies if circumstances lead to you ending up somewhere I'm not, by the by.
[ It's comforting, almost, to find that this is really how she feels. She's been thinking of herself as a selfish brat a lot lately, and there's something pleasant and familiar in knowing that her ability to be self-sacrificing is still very much A Thing.
Which isn't messed up in the slightest. ]
no subject
It makes a shiver run down his spine, which rather ruins that penetrating stillness. He presses a little closer. A kind of burrowing for warmth. It's an interesting irony, how with both of them a little feverish, they can generate more of that precious warmth between them.]
No. [He says it very quietly. Never mind that no one else is near. This is only for her ears, only for her.] I thought the same once. I was wrong... about this as about so many other things. She had every right to ask what she did of me. I owed her... owe you... something that goes beyond circumstance. I won't make the mistake of leaving again.
[So there you are, Angel. Stuck with a sad vampire who loves you. Possibly forever.]
no subject
[ Unfortunately, it's hard to sound properly chiding when you're doing The Smile Thing. Particularly when you top off your statement with an impulsive kiss on the forehead of the person you're scolding. Alas. ]
That isn't how love works, you doof. Um - not that I'm saying I don't want you around! Just that you aren't obligated. And you wouldn't be letting me down. Especially since - erm - you know. If everything works out, your decisions will - they'll last longer than I will, I suppose.
[ MORTAL LIFESPANS, MAN. It's her turn to snuggle up closer, seeking comfort as much as she's trying to give it. Things are always so complicated. ]
Sorry, that sounded a lot less horrible in my head.
no subject
It's - there is more to it than love. Or maybe there isn't. Maybe that is what love means, the choice to stay... [Rambling. Right. Your emotional philosophy is stupid, Beckett.] You give yourself up too easily.
[There. That, he is sure of. That, he is going to say, even if she calls it fussing.]
But I would - I've said this before, haven't I? I think I was drugged up to my eyeballs at the time. I'd give you the Embrace. Without question, if you ever willed it.
[It's simple in his own mind. Probably too simple. But since they're all so well-adjusted here... yeah.]
no subject
[ It's not the most eloquent argument, but she is kind of distracted by Beckett petting her hair. And, you know. The whole vampire thing.
Immortality is frightening. It's hard not to think of ways it could go horribly wrong, particularly considering the life Angel has led. She's chosen death over solitude and pain and hopelessness before, so the idea of rejecting death completely? Forever? Terrifying, even without all the other factors in play. Like outliving people she loves. Or drinking blood. Or potentially losing it and attacking people. Then having to live with all that, for-freaking-ever.
But -- ]
If - when the vampire stuff is an option, you should make that offer again. Um, please.
[ She doesn't want him to be alone any more, any more than she wants to be alone herself. It's like he just said, isn't it? Maybe sometimes love is making the choice to stay. ]
no subject
His hand freezes, for a split-second on her hair. He tries to hide the response, that instant of flinching doubt, like a cold shock at touching his own thoughts. Why did I make the offer? He'd told her more than once that any reason is good enough, as long as one is aware of it, sure of it.
They've just talked about it. Maybe they're still talking about it. What right does love give, to ask...?]
Tell me honestly. [His voice is hoarse, throat gone dry with mixed emotion.] Would you want it for your sake, or for mine? Is this really something you would want, or - a sacrifice?
no subject
[ Well, he did ask for honesty. Sometimes honesty comes in the form of an infuriatingly clueless noise.
It's pretty precious, though. ]
I'm not saying that it isn't a pretty scary thought, because it is. And I don't think I'd be especially good at... vampiring.
[ Meaning that she's pretty sure she'd be worse at being a vampire than Beckett is at being a distressingly sniffly leaky human. Egads. ]
But I wouldn't call it a sacrifice. I mean - being able to keep you company would be more than worth the potential teething problems, I think. Hehe - teething problems - um.
no subject
There's hardly a manual for it. Or a quiz at the end.
[Not anymore. There isn't anything anymore.
Would it be worth that? He wants to ask her. Not only the cold stillness of death, the dark - how much sun has Angel seen in her short life, and what empty heritage does he offer her in return? There had been so much once. History, lore, riddles and questions. Now it's all going to die with him, unless he hands it on.
She's so young. Too young to be his absolution. If he makes her his childe, he'll make her free.]
When - if - when we get out of here, [he settles on that word at last, and sticks to it,] you should wait a while first. Live a little. Be young. Chase a dream or a Vault or two. Date poor Kunsel maybe. Take five years, ten... then ask me again, if you still want it.
no subject
[ Poke poke. That's what you're doing, Beckett. You're shipping things. For shame. ]
The rest of that sounds okay, though. Something to look forward to while I finish growing my hair out. Does Vampire hair grow? You're going to have to teach me so many things.
[ And he'll have to stick with her for those five-to-ten years, too. Oh no. HORRORS. ]