[ Patroclus unlaces himself from the armor that once belonged to Achilles; he had grown brave seeing from the corner of his eyes a glint of the bronze, the gleaming gauntlets. And so, even when he knew that it was himself donning the armor, he had been overindulgent in confidence. For a good day he was unstoppable, and for a long moment he was not.
When he strips himself bare, they are just a shell that Hector would pluck from him as a child does wings of a fly.
He turns instead to Achilles, taking him by the arm, dipping his feet into the stream. Where he is skin and where he is soot is laid out in sharp relief, and the water is shockingly cold but gentle as velvet. Patroclus thinks to himself that perhaps they might try to avoid another bath tomorrow, as their teeth still might be chattering violently from this one.
He shivers but moves deeper inward, eventually stopping in the middle where it was deepest. ]
What enemies are there of the Audentes? I fear the fire is only the beginning.
[His fingers, the deftness of which Patroclus knows well having listened to his lyre and swayed to the rhythm of his love, swiftly undo the buttons of his shirt and the fastenings of his pants, peeling away the layers of his foreign dress to leave him bare and shivering. When he turns to his companion his gaze lingers over his soot-stained skin, and loosened from his memory is the image of that selfsame flesh ruined by blood and choked by dirt. His heart turns cold at once in his breast as if the breeze now drifts through the slats of his rib cage. As Patroclus leads him into the frigid waters, Achilles tries to think instead on the ardent nights and languid afternoons during which they let themselves forget that anyone outside of their world of two might exist, and he let himself drink in the beauty of his friend's nude form as one might revel in the sweet wine squeezed from Dionysus' vines.
At its deepest point the water embraces their waists, and the stream's idle current pushes against their legs. Achilles draws close to Patroclus, at once careless in how he allows their bodies to brush one against the other, yet at the same time wholly conscious of the way their thighs bump together and his chest shadows its brother, wherein beats the other half of his heart.
As he makes his answer, he dips his hands into the current to first dissolve the soot that clings to his fingers. Already the water's chill penetrates him to the bone, as sharp as the pitiless bronze of an arrowhead, and his broad shoulders shudder.]
I know little of the politics that hold sway in the house of ALASTAIR, nor of the allies and enemies this crew might have gathered in the days before I joined its ranks. The enemy of the wild-eyed Qorral, however, are those whom are called the Deemers, a clan of self-exiles who worship a false god.
[His hands now draw water over his arms, and his trembling palms drag too over the braided muscles of Patroclus' arms.]
[ It's always about politics and religion, isn't it? He wonders how the Trojan War would have gone if not for the pact they had made to Helen, if not every man had thought of all the suitors that he would be the one chosen. If Menelaus was not the victor, perhaps Agamemnon would not be at the helm-- and in all sense of the word, there would be no war had Patroclus taken Helen to wife. He would have sent a messenger and ransom, would have made sacrifice to the gods if they did not obey these rules of civilized conduct. But there would be no war.
And that would not be as the Fates intended. ]
I will ask not what business the house of ALASTAIR has with the wild-eyed Qorral, but what do the Deemers seek? Is this kind of arson some ritual by which to please their false god?
[ That seems savage and barbaric to him, but he's unaware of the fact that he might seem the same to someone else. He thinks instead of the warm summer sun, hazy nights laid out in a war tent when he presses his cheek into the crook of Achilles' neck as he does now, sliding arms around his waist as if in reclamation of Achilles from the water's embrace. ]
And what of the gods receiving the Qorral's prayers? Are they not fit to dismiss this false idol?
[ It does seem that the gods in these parts keep requiring the help of a people who are mostly uninvolved in the first place. He circles his thumbs over Achilles' arm, sloughing away the dirt and the soot. He thinks to himself that they were chosen for these missions in the same way that they were chosen for the War, because they were so willing to go when soldiers were needed. How long will they be here? Another ten years? Twenty? ]
[In the sharp cold of the stream, whose waters cut his bones, Patroclus' arms are a gentle buffer, his breath a warm affirmation of the life poured back into the once-empty vessel of his body. As Achilles washes the soot from his dear friend's chest with fingers numb and quaking, his memory pulls back to way that the women had so reverently cleaned Patroclus' flesh in preparation for his pyre; and when his hand passes over that dear head of curls he recalls bearing the weight of it to where all would burn away but for that which no mortal hands can grasp.
He shivers then, but not wholly for the water's chill.]
The savage Deemers seek salvation - such were the words upon their own babbling lips when in the forgotten town of Boneyard Junction our army clashed with theirs. It seems that for the sake of pleasing their false god and earning his favor, they wish to dig down into the belly of the life-giving earth, but why this is so I cannot say. Nor can I say what cause they may have for reducing to cinders the house in which we lately stayed, if truly it is they who have committed this crime.
As for the gods to whom the Qorral are suppliants, I know of only the sun god who over their native land reigns supreme. Perhaps they too suffer the selfsame plight as do we, straying so far from the sight of their gods that their prayers go unheard.
[Even the immortal gods have limits: just as they must abide by the paths that Fate sets before each man, allowing the course of each to unfold as has been decreed, so too might they be contained by borders carved in the blackness between the stars, beyond which even they can neither see nor hear. The kingdoms of gods are wider than those of men, but even these are not without end. For this discomfiting thought he feels small and set astray - thus he leans into Patroclus all the more with hands still carefully working.]
[ He thinks that ALISTAIR ought to host some sort of meeting as he has not yet been privy to attend to one of those, sitting in a war tent around a table making concrete plans. That might have been what the tavern was for, he does not know, but especially since they are from even greater and more diverse lands than all the Danaans were, he questions why they do not have nightly discussions.
It concerns him greatly how they are meant to work as a team but he has not even heard of most of their company, that he is unable to recall one by their face and region, of their fathers, of their famous deeds. How then is he meant to serve with them efficiently? He has no understanding of their capabilities or even of their limitations and possibilities. Against an enemy so well-oiled as the Deemers, so connected, they appear like children attempting to mimic a soldiers' formation.
Heaving a great sigh, he continues to wash the soot of Achilles' body and paying special attention not to tangle his locks. So often had he combed his fingers through it that he did not anticipate the knot of nostalgia unfurling warmly in his heart. ]
Should we not allow them to dig into the Earth if that is what they wish? What concern is it of the Qorral, if it is not their land on which the Deemers work? This planet is no small one, I see not why they should quarrel over this.
[The ends of his golden curls sway close to the water's surface as would the supple limbs of a willow tree. All is as it once was, as Patroclus would remember: for while Achilles had cut the long locks in mourning for his companion, the thread of whose life had been so cruelly cut short, that upon the pyre would burn too a piece of his own body, in the long months that have since passed his hair has grown to reach down his back once more.]
Those of ALASTAIR have declared that should the Deemers pursue their goal a heavy fate shall fall upon this land and all who dwell here. Their counsel proved to be prudent in the land of the Nalawi, and thus I am inclined to take seriously the prophecies they consult.
[His fingers now tremble along the ridge of Patroclus' collarbone and up the strong curve of his neck to wipe at his dusty cheeks.]
It seems that the wild-eyed Qorral and the god-hating Deemers long maintained a truce until just lately. For the politics of this race of men, however, I care little. Although the Qorral seem as strangers to the laws of hospitality that almighty Zeus protects, they have welcomed this company nonetheless, while the Deemers have raised arms against us in thirst for blood upon which to slake their pitiless hearts. Thus it is plain to me where our loyalties ought to lie.
[His hands fall back to his friend's shoulders, and there they lightly squeeze.]
Come now - I fear that a moment more spent in this current, and the extremities of my flesh shall be convinced to float free that they might escape this unwearying cold!
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epidemiology2016-11-09 05:12 pm
no subject
When he strips himself bare, they are just a shell that Hector would pluck from him as a child does wings of a fly.
He turns instead to Achilles, taking him by the arm, dipping his feet into the stream. Where he is skin and where he is soot is laid out in sharp relief, and the water is shockingly cold but gentle as velvet. Patroclus thinks to himself that perhaps they might try to avoid another bath tomorrow, as their teeth still might be chattering violently from this one.
He shivers but moves deeper inward, eventually stopping in the middle where it was deepest. ]
What enemies are there of the Audentes? I fear the fire is only the beginning.
[ And you know how Patroclus is with fire. ]
They demand we be weakened out here in the cold.
this got fairly gay
At its deepest point the water embraces their waists, and the stream's idle current pushes against their legs. Achilles draws close to Patroclus, at once careless in how he allows their bodies to brush one against the other, yet at the same time wholly conscious of the way their thighs bump together and his chest shadows its brother, wherein beats the other half of his heart.
As he makes his answer, he dips his hands into the current to first dissolve the soot that clings to his fingers. Already the water's chill penetrates him to the bone, as sharp as the pitiless bronze of an arrowhead, and his broad shoulders shudder.]
I know little of the politics that hold sway in the house of ALASTAIR, nor of the allies and enemies this crew might have gathered in the days before I joined its ranks. The enemy of the wild-eyed Qorral, however, are those whom are called the Deemers, a clan of self-exiles who worship a false god.
[His hands now draw water over his arms, and his trembling palms drag too over the braided muscles of Patroclus' arms.]
it's always fairly gay
And that would not be as the Fates intended. ]
I will ask not what business the house of ALASTAIR has with the wild-eyed Qorral, but what do the Deemers seek? Is this kind of arson some ritual by which to please their false god?
[ That seems savage and barbaric to him, but he's unaware of the fact that he might seem the same to someone else. He thinks instead of the warm summer sun, hazy nights laid out in a war tent when he presses his cheek into the crook of Achilles' neck as he does now, sliding arms around his waist as if in reclamation of Achilles from the water's embrace. ]
And what of the gods receiving the Qorral's prayers? Are they not fit to dismiss this false idol?
[ It does seem that the gods in these parts keep requiring the help of a people who are mostly uninvolved in the first place. He circles his thumbs over Achilles' arm, sloughing away the dirt and the soot. He thinks to himself that they were chosen for these missions in the same way that they were chosen for the War, because they were so willing to go when soldiers were needed. How long will they be here? Another ten years? Twenty? ]
no subject
He shivers then, but not wholly for the water's chill.]
The savage Deemers seek salvation - such were the words upon their own babbling lips when in the forgotten town of Boneyard Junction our army clashed with theirs. It seems that for the sake of pleasing their false god and earning his favor, they wish to dig down into the belly of the life-giving earth, but why this is so I cannot say. Nor can I say what cause they may have for reducing to cinders the house in which we lately stayed, if truly it is they who have committed this crime.
As for the gods to whom the Qorral are suppliants, I know of only the sun god who over their native land reigns supreme. Perhaps they too suffer the selfsame plight as do we, straying so far from the sight of their gods that their prayers go unheard.
[Even the immortal gods have limits: just as they must abide by the paths that Fate sets before each man, allowing the course of each to unfold as has been decreed, so too might they be contained by borders carved in the blackness between the stars, beyond which even they can neither see nor hear. The kingdoms of gods are wider than those of men, but even these are not without end. For this discomfiting thought he feels small and set astray - thus he leans into Patroclus all the more with hands still carefully working.]
no subject
It concerns him greatly how they are meant to work as a team but he has not even heard of most of their company, that he is unable to recall one by their face and region, of their fathers, of their famous deeds. How then is he meant to serve with them efficiently? He has no understanding of their capabilities or even of their limitations and possibilities. Against an enemy so well-oiled as the Deemers, so connected, they appear like children attempting to mimic a soldiers' formation.
Heaving a great sigh, he continues to wash the soot of Achilles' body and paying special attention not to tangle his locks. So often had he combed his fingers through it that he did not anticipate the knot of nostalgia unfurling warmly in his heart. ]
Should we not allow them to dig into the Earth if that is what they wish? What concern is it of the Qorral, if it is not their land on which the Deemers work? This planet is no small one, I see not why they should quarrel over this.
no subject
Those of ALASTAIR have declared that should the Deemers pursue their goal a heavy fate shall fall upon this land and all who dwell here. Their counsel proved to be prudent in the land of the Nalawi, and thus I am inclined to take seriously the prophecies they consult.
[His fingers now tremble along the ridge of Patroclus' collarbone and up the strong curve of his neck to wipe at his dusty cheeks.]
It seems that the wild-eyed Qorral and the god-hating Deemers long maintained a truce until just lately. For the politics of this race of men, however, I care little. Although the Qorral seem as strangers to the laws of hospitality that almighty Zeus protects, they have welcomed this company nonetheless, while the Deemers have raised arms against us in thirst for blood upon which to slake their pitiless hearts. Thus it is plain to me where our loyalties ought to lie.
[His hands fall back to his friend's shoulders, and there they lightly squeeze.]
Come now - I fear that a moment more spent in this current, and the extremities of my flesh shall be convinced to float free that they might escape this unwearying cold!