[html] Travelling was not just a case of tramping over miles and miles of simple land. Feeling dry or sweet grass beneath one's feet; opposing the perilous intentions of a lofty mountain; pushing aside vast twists of plants and willowy trees to cross a sweeping forest. Often it included simply facing the wild like that, walking through it -- travelling it, and learning it -- but because this was a ravaged land once inhabited by creatures other than the animals that ate and mated their way through life, there was more than just natural landscape. Vast, creaky structures were dug so deep into the ground, almost set into the cliffs or mounds on which they leant. Solemn, blood-metal bus stops were so overgrown that patches of verdant moss overcrowded the red and black rust. Structures like these were highly unnatural; but how natural they looked, set into the earth like they sprouted there like the plants around which they so desperately stood.
Tamerlane's thoughts jumped from one philosophy to the next -- as did those of any intelligent, open-minded creature. It was early evening and the bleeding sunset turned his pale cream fur a deep and lustrous gold. In his tall Optime form, he sat on the wall of the overgrown graveyard, one foot drawn up beside him, his wrist resting on his knee as he turned his grey-black eyes over the place of death sprawled out before him. At its end was a chapel, still beautiful, he thought, when ravaged and ancient. It was unnatural to him that dead bodies should be marked so, and grieved over in such a formal way. Perhaps a stone to mark the place of burial was enough, but even then it was a little too lavish. What better, after all, than to be returned to the ground from which one was originally spawned? Tamerlane considered death simply not worth it if he were to be packed in a coffin and surrounded by concrete. |
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indent Over a thousand miles lay sprawled out on the dusty road Ahren had left behind. When he left the ancient monolith building where his cousin-sister lived, he had gone alone into the wild. It was not as primitive as it was here—for indeed, the upper half of North America was not as densely populated as many parts of Europe. Regardless of this fact, an ancient, darker sort of night remained in those forests. The very cities were tombs and gravestones, marking the long fallen billions. Man and beast alike littered the underground; from war, disease, persecution. Each layer of dust was another chapter of the short, pathetic novella of man’s existence.
indent His mother’s church still stood. A long time ago, he had dreamt of burning it to the ground. From here he wandered down the road, past abandoned cars, crumbling homes, cracked sidewalks. It was a ghost town, this once-city, and belonged to no one but the ghosts themselves. Below his feet, the earth turned, but he did not feel it. The only transition he recognized was that of concrete to grass, and that he had left the street for a cemetery. Behind him, the sun continued to descend, setting his pale hair aflame. It was close to, but not quite, the same color as his fire-red eyes.
indent Soon, he was joined by a stranger. Regarding him for a moment, Ahren spoke. “Hello,” he offered.
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[html] Tamerlane considered the graveyard for a long time. It was perhaps a tribute to his liberalism that he did not dwell on what many would in this situation; the inevitability of death. There it lay, death everywhere, but all Tamerlane could think of was how unfair it was that corpses should be disrespected in this manner. Surrounded by unnatural lavishness, instead of being faced by the true and lasting inexorableness that was the grit and grime of death. Growing rotten, alone, in the ground. Physically disappearing to nothing. The high stench of the lifeless. That was death, and he found the pragmatism of it all beautiful.
Leaning forward and resting both wrists on his knees, he squinted up towards the sanguine sun. Darkly silhouetted, a stranger approached him and considered him with a cool red gaze. The stranger was not tall, but he was a jaggedly princely buck, with wild hair and the odd scar that shone like daylight under the radar of the sunset. Tamerlane nodded his greeting briefly. Because he was currently so involved in his own philosophies, it made sense to the trim young traveller that were strangers to speak to him, they would contribute to the thoughts of the graveyard. The ability of nature to incorporate deformity into itself is beautiful, despite all its rust and decay, he said hazily. Do you think that too, or is it just me?
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indent They had burnt his father. Given him back to the thing that had spat him out; all hellfire and damnation and all that rot. His mother’s body had lay scattered in pieces; he himself spread them. Perhaps there was symbolism in that action. He couldn’t remember. He didn’t connect to the person he had been before. If he passed him today, he might leave him with a warning. He might shatter his perception of the world for the hope of change. True change, though, only came through suffering.
indent His companion for the moment, pale and marked with strange symbols, with the worn look of a leatherfoot. One knew his own people. Regarding him for a moment, Ahren contemplated the words quietly before speaking.
“You must not be from around here,” he said with a dull sort of cynicism he had not been aware of gaining.
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[html] | Distantly but passionately romantic in his subtle thoughts that merged the beauty of a mountaintop to the strength of a rusting, burnt-out car frame, Tamerlane turned his dark eyes back towards the stranger. There was a pause as the lithe male with the liquid-red eyes seemed to mull over his words, and then finally a tangent. I'm not, replied Tamerlane, turning his eyes back towards the run-down chapel as he spoke. What makes you say that? he soon asked, his soft inquisitiveness mild but evident in his evergreen thirst for a stream of relevant knowledge. |
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indent “You don’t sound like the locals,” Ahren said, watching the dark-eyed stranger regard the church. Shifting his weight, he curled his hand, heard the bones crack, and inwardly cursed a man he hoped he was dead. Nothing could turn back though, and nothing ever would. “Where are you from?” No question of names, no need for any familiarity.
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[html]OOC – ignore the, er, dots in the middle of words. 
IC –
| At the stranger's potentially enigmatic but in fact frugal reply, Tamerlane wondered briefly whether this vast generalisation of what the locals "sounded like" was strongly founded. Perhaps it was, but could anyone truly follow it to the end? If he were to remain in Bleeding Souls long enough to be considered a local (technically, he was one already), there was nothing pushing him to become a potential Souls stereotype; one that the stranger would perhaps use in this generalisation. Everywhere, replied the traveller honestly to the question, but at the moment, S.torm. It seemed odd to call it his h.ome; for his h.ome continued to be any place he wished. Or at least, any place he chose to walk upon. Are you a 'local' of which you speak? |
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indent It was the answer he expected, the first of the two, and the Place of Lightning and Thunder only confirmed his suspicions from the scent. It had changed, meaning the leadership had undergone change as well. “I used to be,” he answered with a shrug. “Spent two years here.” From birth until exodus, as it had gone. Nothing would change, and he was not quite as anonymous as he had hoped. A year, it turned out, was not that long at all.
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[html] | Tamerlane was a follower of knowledge, and he was nowhere near arrogant enough to suggest that knowledge didn’t include the past of others. Just as he was interested in astrology or ecology, he was interested in other people’s stories. Thus, he did not feel prying when he asked – now that you’re back, don’t you consider yourself a local once more? He simply felt like himself. |
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indent It was a curious question. His companion, who may have been around his age, spoke like a child. Investigating the world as though it was still something new and bright and wonderful—Ahren had lost his ability to do so. His cynicism and indifference had threatened to consume him whole. “No,” he said. “I’m a rogue existentialist wandering in death’s other kingdom.”
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[html] | The simplest answer was often the right one. This had proved itself time and time again, and yes there would be exceptions that proved the rule, but mostly the world was meant to be taken at face value. Tamerlane didn't take it as such -- he was, after all, far from a simple being. He didn't judge swiftly or 'a book by its cover'; he looked deep, but he didn't swan around believing that he was above and beyond the simple things, bathing in his own attitudes. He had spent his entire life being open-minded, and not about to close his mind off. And whilst he took in all knowledge he could, the stranger was acting like he had somehow mastered the world and life, and had risen above it. As for his flamboyant words; That's a self-indulgent title, Tamerlane observed harmlessly, but it doesn't mean anything apart from what you want it to mean. You sound more like a rationalist and cynic, which has little place for existentialism. |
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indent Ahren’s lips pulled back in a grin, revealing off-white teeth. “I’ve been accused of that before,” he said with a shrug, tilting his head slightly to observe the tattooed fellow. His ego bled through his skin, it seemed, due in part to the fact he did not wish to humble himself before others. Perhaps he was arrogant, perhaps he was self-satisfied, but that was the only way to live. Otherwise, one might give into the despair and weight of the days.
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[html] | Unlike the stranger himself, Tamerlane did not think that Ahren's ego was all that large or evident; ego, he felt, was more about doing things to boost one's own satisfaction; the blond stranger didn't seem to care about what others thought of him, though perhaps that meant that he cared too much of what he thought of himself. The Luperci at his side finally lightened up. You have a handsome smile -- I was beginning to think you didn't know how, he observed with a dark smile of his own, leaning back on the wall and gazing up towards the flashy heavens. Too busy wandering in death's other kingdom to smile more often, eh? he quipped with black humour. |
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indent “It happens from time to time,” he said nearly snidely, though still smiling. His peculiar companion might have been a philosophizer, one who roamed the desert and the mountains looking for truth, or reason, or the answers to life. That was how they all were, even if most of them did not seek such lofty goals. “So what brought you here?” He asked, leaving the question wide open. Why this church? Why this city? Why the Place of Lightning and Thunder? Why Bleeding Souls? Why Earth?
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[html] | Unaware that the strapping male was still having an interior battle about "who was the most arrogant" (a question that was just a wee bit suspect in itself), Tamerlane continued to gaze up at the strangely bright sky, before blinking down to look at the coyote once more and answer his question. Here specifically? The church looked so ancient and ravaged that I couldn't help but admire it for a while. As for everywhere else... I just go where the wind takes me, I suppose. I'm sure you share the experience; a real traveller doesn't necessarily have a choice of destinations, in the indirect sense. |
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indent In believing himself to be absolutely free, Ahren understood that all that bound him was truly his own doing. To forgo the concepts of family and 127.0.0.1, he would loose himself. “I understand that, certainly. Took me halfway across the world,” he added, casting his fire-red gaze over at a bird, flittering from one branch to another. “The rest of the city looks like this too, if you haven’t seen it yet. I won’t be surprised if it collapses upon itself someday.” Just as the men had done, of course.
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[html] | Tamerlane re-adjusted his large hands on the wall, following the stranger's fiery gaze to a spark of life in this ravaged kingdom. I've seen some it, he replied, and each area seems as desolate and rugged as the next, but nevertheless diverse. He paused, throwing his nigh-black gaze into the distance, where the horizon was harsh and craggy. What do you know of the city's history? he asked softly, their surroundings appealing to him further still. |
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indent “Not much,” Ahren admitted openly. “I can assume it was once grand and fell apart when their world did.” This had proven true in every city he had passed through since. In some, their brothers had claimed ownership, such as Echo Lark and the port-towns he had seen on his journey. “It’s an attraction now, though. People visit it to see the past. Some even lived there.” As had Syemv (though he knew it not), his mother’s clan, and her estranged orphaned son.
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[html] | Tamerlane had seen human remnants such as these in his travels; great structures that bowed over a ravaged land, doors off their hinges and floorboards boasting the heaviest mould. Nevertheless, it was rare that one set eyes upon such a large once-human area. He nodded faintly at the stranger's words, dwelling on the failure of humankind. We are so capable, as Luperci, he murmured, running a long hand over the wall beside him, which was clearly constructed by human endeavour, I wonder why so many of us favour our wolf side over human. |
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indent Destruction crept slowly, spreading disease and rot where it went. Wood began to warp and bend, turn green-black and crumble. The smell of dry rot could never compare with decomposition, but they were alike in some small way. “I couldn’t tell you,” he remarked, sparing another gaze towards his companion.
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