"Daughter of the Darkling" Log Date: 12/2, 12/3/99 Log Cast: Dulcinea, Richard, Moirae (NPC emitted by Dulcinea) Log Intro: Richard has spent over a decade in Haven, his true self and old life left far behind him. Or at least, he has striven to leave his past behind -- but to his chagrin, the Rook has discovered that that past has a way of surging up to haunt him when he least expects it. Something of his history has already been discovered by a small number of women who are close to him; some of it, too, has been guessed by his off-again, on-again partner in thievery, Nox. He has found his conscience demanding that he reveal to his two Mongrel wards what manner of man he truly is. And through it all, in years past and in far more recent weeks, he has been driven by the eventual goal of one day, someday, being able to take his revenge upon the younger brother who robbed him of his life. But never in his wildest imaginings has Richard guessed that House Nemea would come to Haven. That Dulcinea, she whose accusations resulted in his exile from his family, his people, and the sky that is birthright to all the Children of Air. And that Dulcinea would be bringing with her a white-winged, black-haired child of teenage years who bears a shockingly strong resemblance to himself.... *===========================< In Character Time >==========================* Time of day: Late Morning Date on Aether: Monday, August 27, 3905. Year on Earth: 1505 A.D. Phase of the Moon: New Season: Summer Weather: Partly Cloudy Temperature: Warm *==========================================================================* Old City Garden - Haven A strange thing, to some, to see such a thick, unbridled mass of forest within the city walls. Even during the brightest days, it is shady here; looming tree branches above filter out the sunlight, casting shadows that might be relieving during a warm summer day, or alternatively fearsome by night. The heart of the garden is most often alive with the chirps and chitters of the wildlife that makes its home here. Still, some civilization prevails, if only tentatively. A wide, roughly cobbled road stretches east to west, suitable for the usual traffic of a city street, if a bit precariously. Benches line the various man-made paths, reminding the visitor that this is indeed intended to be a respite from the bustle of the town, and is not merely some uncontrolled mass of trees within Haven. Contents: Dulcinea Obvious exits: Streets Garden Archway Late morning finds a group of new arrivals in the Garden. An Empyrean woman, her servants, and two children all descend upon the grass. Blankets are laid out, baskets set down and people made comfortable. The lady reclines upon a blanket, a small toddler in her arms, while the older child, a girl, wanders the garden paths, waving an idle hand to her mother's warning of "Moirae, don't wander too far." The Empyreans and their attendant Mongrels are not the only individuals in the gardens, as it happens. This is not one of Richard's preferred hours -- indeed, if he has his say in matters, he prefers not to stir out of bed until noon -- but even such considerations as the privilege of lingering in bed must give way to Purpose. He's been making inquiries through his contacts in Haven... and it hasn't been exactly difficult to track down where exactly in the Empyrean quarter House Nemea has set up holdings. Nor has it been difficult to keep a watch on the residence in question... or follow behind at a discreet distance, when the Dea and her children and attendants set off on their outing. Now, little more than an unobtrusive shadow in the cover of the trees, he watches the family through narrowed twilight eyes. At a nod from their mistress the servants move off to an unobtrusive distance, leaving the Dea and her children relatively alone. She seems to relax a bit and breathe easier. She holds a sleepy boy in her arms lovingly, and yet the look she gives him is one of bemusement, murmuring into his downy head, "You, my love, are far too much like your father, poor thing. However will you last against your uncle, my little darling?" Cea lifts her head to keep an eye on her daughter, her look one of love, pride and more than a little exasperation as she sees her errant offspring has disappeared again. Richard is not in easy earshot to hear the woman's murmur to the youngster -- too small to even have his wings in, yet -- but he can easily see Dulcinea Nemeides' affectionate cradling of the boy. The sight curls his mouth into a sardonic smirk. _Motherly affection, Cea?_ he thinks. _Who could have thought you have it in you?_ Still, though, darkly amused by the sight though he might be, he cannot quite make himself give up his hidden watch. She hasn't seemed to change much, has Dulcinea. Grown, perhaps. Matured. But she is still achingly lovely, and the sight of her hits him like a spear through his chest. It takes old memory to finally force him to look away, grimacing, the muscles of his back contracting involuntarily to try to snap wings that aren't there. Cea lays her now sleeping son upon the blanket with a kiss on his cheek. She looks around, growing annoyed, but not wanting to yell and wake her son. Finally she sees an all too familiar dark head coming her way. She opens her mouth to scold but finds she can't when she spies the myriad of blooms plaited through her daughter's dark hair. "Moirae...you look just like Persephone out to welcome spring," she calls softly. The young girl prances this way and that at her mother's praise, blue-black curls frosting over pale white skin and making such a contrast when they flow of pure white wings. The girl throws herself down at her mother's and brother's side; careful not to wake the babe, she places a kiss upon his cheek as well. "Mother...don't you like it here??" she asks, having caught her mother gazing at her with sad eyes. He thinks to leave -- but the return of the girl seizes his attention. Once again it seems as if a spear runs through his chest, but now for entirely different reasons. Moirae... who might be of just the right age... and her hair is dark. Dread seizes Richard, and he can't quite make himself finish that train of thought to its logical conclusion. But now, neither can he move from his hiding place in the trees. Not yet. Dulcinea smiles at her eldest child. "I like it well enough, Moirae...do you??" she asks, laughing when her daughter nods excitedly. "Oh yes Mother...there's so much to see and do, it /smells/ different here. And no one seems to notice my hair so much and of course Uncle Erasmus isn't here!" she says triumphantly, and then looks guiltily at her mother for that last bit. Cea only sighs in silent agreement but she does not voice it; that would be most improper. Moirae leans against her mother for a moment. "Mother, may I plait your hair?" she asks as most little girls like to do. "I can weave flowers in it like mine". At first the Dea seems about to object but then she nods. It's a simple thing after all and it will please her child. She reaches up to unpin her hair and let it fall as her daughter runs off to collect more flowers...disappearing behind a bend, but unknown to a certain sentient shadow the girl is rather close. Where did she -- ach, Tyche, down the path? Disturbed by Moirae's swift disappearance, Richard turns warily behind the tree, trying to peer through the greenery while straining his ears for the sound of the girl's footfalls. How quiet can a winged maiden be in the trees, after all? Not a natural habitant for the Children of the Air. Rather quiet after all having spent her life trying to draw no notice, Moirae finds herself suddenly nose to nose with a man who is looking behind a tree. She opens her mouth to scream, but then she /looks/ at you and her eyes get bigger and bigger. _That's_ how quiet a winged girl can move in the trees, apparently. Richard sees the shadow of her wings before he registers anything else, and he whirls around sharply to find himself within paces of the maiden he'd just been trying to locate. Tyche, indeed! _Smacked by her left hand today, aren't we, mate?_ Richard does not, however, let surprise rule him for long. He straightens slowly, lifting up his hands to demonstrate his lack of -- well, his lack of _obvious_ weapons. "Dinnae fear, lass," he murmurs, swiftly taking refuge in the street accents with which he's disguised his voice for the last fourteen years. "I willnae hurt ye." She's not put off by your voice or the commonness of your clothes. "But...but...you...you are...bright lares!" she says in awe. Could it be?? Could she know you?? Well, come to think of it, it may make sense that another darkling of House Nemea would make it her business to dig up things about its last darkling. And besides despite the difference in sex, in age, her features are not too unlike your own. And so the child gapes at you, astonishment on her face, blinking. "I'm nae one o' consequence," Richard states firmly, softly. But despite the glib statement, he is struck by the features before him. Up close, the stamp of shared blood between him and this young maiden is unmistakable upon Moirae's countenance. "Doin' naught for which ye need give me awa', eh?" Moirae's young features get a stubborn cast to them...one you may recall looking out at you from a mirror. "But you /are/!" -- meaning, someone of consequence. She grabs your hand in her tiny one. "Come on...Mother would be so happy to see you!!" She tugs, utterly confused as to why you won't budge. "But...But you /are/ my Uncle Julian. I know you are." And impulsively this exuberant child throws her arms around your neck. If Richard was expecting any particular reaction to coming face to face with her disgraced uncle from this half-grown lass, this is most assuredly _not_ it. Shock bolts through his system at her utterance of a name he hasn't used since his youth... and at the idea that the woman who betrayed him would be _pleased_ to see him. All he can manage to blurt out is a strangled, "Nay, lass, I--" And then he's being hugged by young arms, leaving him thunderstruck. The child's joy at seeing you can only make you wonder how lonely her life has been, and how much she must have imagined her Uncle Julian was like. A darkling like her, it seems she's put you up on a bit of a pedestal. Young arms stay wrapped around your neck as a soft check is pressed to yours, utterly trusting. "I knew I'd see you someday..I just _knew_ it!!" He'd almost forgotten what it's like, trying to hug someone with wings -- forgotten, at least, in his head. Richard's arms, however, seem to remember without him, lifting up awkwardly to make a loose embrace about this astonishingly exultant young creature, loose enough so as not to put more than slight pressure against the snowy feathers folded along her back. What in the world to do now? Lie? Flee? Self-preservation and more than a little desperation cause the wingless one to shoot a wide-eyed blue glance over his shoulder, as he rasps out huskily, "Lass, I... I'm nae who ye think..." The child pulls away as the lie hits her ears, she stares at you in disbelief and she shakes her head in denial."no.no you are..I know you are.." she insist even as tears well up in those huge sapphire colored eyes. She reaches into her toga and pulls out a small portrait...old and cracked still it's you alright. One of those family things..little personal portraits. Where did she dig that up anyway?? Scurrying around in some old trunk probably. She holds it up."see.. nad Mother has one too..only she hides it awfully well I've only seen it once". Consternation slashes across Richard's features, first at the teary gaze trained upon him, and then at the little painted image of... himself. His younger self, to be sure, with longer hair and a more boyish countenance. And most importantly, the ebon wings rising up from his shoulderblades, shadow-colored feathers and pinions that frame his head in twin sweeps of night. He who now calls himself Richard stares hard at the miniature depiction of the boy Julian Nemeides... and it is too much. Trembling, stricken, he stumbles back from the anxious-eyed girl, to be stopped only when his wingless back collides with the tree behind which he'd just been lurking. Moirae, notes the stricken eyes of her Uncle. She's sure of that now and she pauses all the other bits of information that's gone filed away in her head finally coming together. And her eyes go large again, shoving the picture back into her toga she reaches out to hug again.."Oh I am sorry. I didn't think..I wont' tell anyone I promise Uncle Julian. but..but don't you want to see Mother?? She wouldn't tell Uncle Erasmus she'd seen you.." See Dulcinea. The woman he thought he'd loved as a youth. The woman whose public accusation of him drove her husband -- his older brother -- into a fit of rage powerful enough to rip the wings from his dark sibling's body... and have him whipped. The woman who'd destroyed his life. Despite living for the past fourteen years as a Mongrel, Richard is still too well-bred to actually gape... but he comes perilously close. His own voice sounds cracked and strained in his ears as he mutters, "I... don't think... your mother has much reason to want to see me..." "Moirae..go check on your brother" is the voice that reaches your ears after your last statement. The voice hasn't changed much , neither has the face or the form. The eyes have though. Where before they were young and seemingly guileless now they are wise, older..harder in someways and softer in others. At her mother's order Moirae glances betwen the two adults and thinks yes..yes it would definitely be better if she goes and looks after her baby brother. Still, the child smiles at Richard and even goes so far as to squeeze on of his hands before she leaves. The Dea looks at Richard as if from a ghost from the past and for a moment, just a bare moment her eyes light up like a young girls before the past barrels in and puts out the light. Dulcinea swallows and says softly.."Ave, Julian" Richard's entire frame seems to him to go ice-cold at the sound of that voice. Without really feeling the pressure of Moirae's squeeze of his fingers, he stares down at her hand... and then, as she darts off, the wingless one pulls himself away from the tree trunk and forces himself into a straighter posture. It is only with the mightiest of efforts that he can manage to turn to face the woman who has become Dea Nemeides, however. Once he does he stands there rigidly, as though braced for a blow. Old genteel mannerisms never really truly discarded -- merely hidden beneath the rougher veneer of Haven's streets -- come to his rescue enough that he can reply with reasonable fortitude, "Ave, Dulcinea." But his voice, usually a velvet tenor, has turned rough and harsh. The woman who wronged you so many years ago simply looks at you. Taking every change of feature, every line that her action put upon your face and finally behind you to the lack of feathers. She blanches slightly though it is quickly replaced by an expression of cool composure. "I..I did not expect to see you here...with Moirae" as she adds her daughters name her voice changes slightly it becomes hesitant and uncertain. Aye, there are lines in his face that hadn't been there when he was eighteen. He is weathered now. Features that had been blandly, boyishly attractive in his youth have been given character and definition by his added years; his eyes, too, are different. They'd been quick to reflect his slightest change in mood before, whether sunny or stormy, cheerful or black. Now, their gaze is clear and hard and unfathomable. "You weren't supposed to notice," he drawls, a hint of an edge keeping bite in his tone. Dulcinea raises a brow, nodding. "No I don't suppose I was." She looks around at your obvious hiding spot and then back at you "spying Julian?? Well...what do you think of her?? " she asks obviously about Moirae. Her eyes seek out her child and her lips curve in obvious fondness "Lovely is she not? Impulsive too.." When caught somewhere you don't belong, pretend you do. It's a fundamental principle Richard learned some time ago, even before he lost his wings. With a deliberate nonchalance he leans against the tree and crosses his arms, the sturdy trunk supporting him comfortably right between the shoulderblades -- not a stance he'd have been able to take before. He doesn't bother to dignify the guess about his activities with a reply; no need to address that which is blatantly obvious. But even as he exercises that particular trait of the well-bred, he unflinchingly discards another -- and cuts straight past delicate small talk to what, as far as he is concerned, is the point. "A trifle dark in the hair. Is she mine?" The edge comes through more clearly in his voice now, while his eyes seem to turn to twin points of sharpened sapphire. Dulcinea mastered the art of looking as if she belonged long ago in the den of vipers she calls her natal House. Still the directness of your question catches her so off guard after years of playing a delicate dance of smoke and mirrors you catch her with what might be a honest expression on her face though it's doubtful that with your shared past you'll believe it. The Dea blinks held for a moment in what /looks/ like profound grief. It's fleeting though replaced by haughtiness. Cea looks you in the eye and says just as directly "Yes" Even though he'd asked the question, still Richard is not entirely prepared for the answer. A muscle sharply twitches in his cheek, and for a fraction of an instant he is overcome with blank, white shock. _I have a child..._ But the moment quickly passes, as he forcibly wrenches his mask of composure back into place. With a dark twist to his fine-molded mouth, he inclines his head in an ironic kind of graciousness. "Well. You need not fear, Dea Nemeides, that I'll damage whatever pretty fiction you've spun for her." The years have changed her more than you know. She's still manipulative, social climbing, sneaky ect..all those /lovely/ qualities that make her a perfect candadite for the nobility. Yet where her children are concerned she seems downright protective, honest..maternal. Her eyes narrow at you at the implication as she raises her rather regal head "Moirae will /not/ be some marriage pawn and I've spun no fiction for her..not really. I simply let others think what they will and do not comment on it. I keep Moirae out of the public eye and out of Erasmus' way" she says with a bite in her voice. "Out of the public eye? In _Haven_?" Beneath his disguise of street-rough mannerisms and a street-lilting accent, Richard is too elegant a man to snort; now that that disguise has been cast aside, disbelief richly palpable in his voice relays all of his doubt for him. "I'm surprised any of you acknowledge her at all as Nemeides, much less are willing to bring her here where _anyone_ might chance to see her." Dulcinea cooly regards you."Haven is /not/ Civitas Dei and within the Pallidium I make sure she generally stays within our Suites." She raises one elegant eyebrow.."she's alot like her father though and often slips away.". Those icy blue eyes look at you for a long moment trying very hard not show how seeing you again is like having a ton of bricks fall on her during flight. 14 years ago you were handsome in a boyish, rakish sort of way. Now? The years have shaped you well turned boyish good looks into mature handsomeness. "As for acknowledging her?? why should'nt I? She's /my/ daughter" Added years and experience have not diminished his rakishness in the slightest, either. If anything, it's honed it, refined it, to the point that he can wield a large lopsided smile to devastating effect -- especially when, as now, that smile flares up in conjunction with his icy, merciless gaze. "Your bastard daughter by a darkling who, as far as our precious family is concerned, raped you." He doesn't raise his voice, oh no. But the pace of his words increases, and so does their sharp edge. Without a doubt, he is furious. Fourteen years of pent-up rage now make that tenor of his lash forth with all the crack of a whip for all that he is not speaking with any particular volume. "I'm surprised Cleon let her remain in his sight. Surely you can't expect me to believe that any of you didn't object to having such a blatant reminder of my 'tainted' blood anywhere near you?" Dulcinea turns her own smile upon you, lips curve sweetly at you and her voice is soft..melodic. "Tyche has an odd sense of humour. She made sure I carried Moirae small..all belived when she was born that she was early. Cleon never doubted that she was his. . As for being a reminder?? Moirae is who is she is and I've loved her from the moment I held her in my arms. " at this she pauses, dropping that artifical smile and simply looking at you. She draws a ragged breath.."I am what I was created to be Julian" she shrugs slighlty "and I don't really think you'll belive me. But I always told myself that should I ever see you again I would tell you, tell you about Moirae and tell you I am sorry. Had I had /any/ comprehension of what my words would do I would never have spoken. I was young, I was scared..it was wrong." The flow of words cease...but was she telling the truth or was it simply another act from this consumate actress and does it matter at all?? Something of the knife-edged wrath drains out of the wingless one's expression, to be replaced by bitter, mocking disbelief. "No... comprehension?" he echoes. "What did you think they were going to do to me, woman, when you accused me of rape? Smack me on the hand and send me to my room without my supper?" Dulcinea sighs slightly and turns away for a moment to seek out her children. Moirae is curled around her baby brother and they both seem to be sleeping under the watchiful eyes of Ian. She lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose and then lifts her eyes to look at you. "Do you want to know really?? Or do you just want to take your revenge and be on your way? she asks directly. For you could you knw..you could drag her away before Ian could get to her,you could kill her, scar her with those weapons she suspects are on your person. Ian. Oh, yes, Richard's seen that big brawny Mongrel out there, which has been no small part of why he's kept to the shelter of the trees. Sneering, but still reining in his rage, he pushes off from the support of the tree. In deliberate disregard of those further questions, he presses on mercilessly, "And what did you think accusing me of rape would do to _me_?" Richard doesn't bother to go for his blades, either the one discreetly tucked in his boot or the ones stashed elsewhere upon his person. Instead, sensing even through his anger those small signs of remorse, he opts to wound with his words. "Or did you simply have it in your head that since everyone _else_ was already playing Torment the Darkling, it'd be a lark for you to join in too? That if his blood were tainted, he wouldn't mind if you took his professions of love and hurled them back at him in tiny, screaming, writhing pieces?" Disgust transforms his smirk into an outright sneer as he concludes, "Congratulations, amora. You won the game." Dulcinea keeps her back straight as she looks at you rage at her..but she takes it all without a word. When you are done then she speaks somehow managing to keep her voice low, controlled. "Do you recall that night /amor/ ?" spiting that word right back at you. "Do you recall how nervours I was?? HOw kept trying to get you to talk sensibly? But /no/ you had to play you had waste time.." here she draws breath.."nevermind. YOu don't want to hear this..and you probably wouldn't belive me even if you did. As for what I thought would happen I didn't know. I was married to Cleon, getting caught up in Erasmus' plotting and falling in love with you. Add to that the fact I find myself pregant with a child I /knew/ was yours..I was terrifed what Cleon would do." Richard, to this, actually starts to laugh -- though it's soft, harsh, sardonic laughter. "Well. You know now, don't you?" He steps a pace or two farther away from the tree, then turns with outstretched arms in a full circle, giving an excellent view of his back. His shirt of black silk is no garment an Empyrean would usually ever think to wear, for it cannot accommodate wings... but then, Richard, _Julian_, does not have them. "Take a good look. Thanks to my dear departed brother, there's one less darkling in the skies. And one less darkling to sully the name of House Nemea." With that, he executes a smoothly fluid bow and then turns away, tossing off over his shoulder as he begins to take his leave, "Vale, Dulcinea. Your child is lovely. Treat her better than you did me." Dulcinea watches you stalk away, half formed words on her lips. Because your back is turhing and she does not have to look you in eye and because of general emotional turmoil she says what she's thinking without her intellect having much say in the matter. Her voice remains soft though as she says "I will Julian, I have..I love for your sake as well for her own.... I loved you and I failed you. I won't do so with our daughter." almost a murmuring to herself as she watches you walk past Moirae asleep on the blankets. With a shake of her head though she seems to come to herself and seem embarassed at that brief lapse of control. Those plaintively murmured words are not lost upon him, but he doesn't halt, nor does he look back as he stalks implacably away. "Good. Because if I ever find out that child has been put through _any_ kind of harm, yours will be the first throat I cut because of it." And with that dire promise his final farewell, he who was once Julian Nemeides vanishes into the trees, soon enough gone from sight. [End log.]