Enoch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
warriorscribe) wrote2015-06-01 03:54 pm
warriorscribe) wrote2015-06-01 03:54 pm
Snowblind Inbox
[Such a wondrous device. Are there little invisible couriers for these messages?]
btw you have a reply at the wrong level again ^^; I do it all the time, myself.
warriorscribe
2016-07-23 08:42 pm (UTC)(link)
[Well, points for catching on so quickly. He guesses that's where the non-sequitur came from and that he shouldn't ask what pancakes have to do with Gil.]
...Isn't that the name of the medicine House uses? What are you doing with it?
...Isn't that the name of the medicine House uses? What are you doing with it?
[There is no answer. He hears it, even if Enoch doesn’t outright say it. And it’s like a physical blow, a pressure forcing out the air he fights for. An evil that even God – Enoch’s God – cannot account for. Was that the true meaning of what Caine had said to him, or not said? No hell but what they have made for themselves on Earth?
But it wasn’t free will that made the curse of his kind, and it was not free will that made Gehenna. There is a darkness. The darkness is real.]
You… [he hesitates. It isn’t for Enoch’s sake, though he hears the other man’s distress. Maybe it’s for both of them, what they both seem to circle around, now. Once the thought is voiced, there’ll be no taking back the roots it strikes.] You make it sound as though the Darkness is stronger than Him.
But it wasn’t free will that made the curse of his kind, and it was not free will that made Gehenna. There is a darkness. The darkness is real.]
You… [he hesitates. It isn’t for Enoch’s sake, though he hears the other man’s distress. Maybe it’s for both of them, what they both seem to circle around, now. Once the thought is voiced, there’ll be no taking back the roots it strikes.] You make it sound as though the Darkness is stronger than Him.
[It is really just affront at his precious archaeological record. This is what archaeologists do on drugs, apparently.]
Angel's given me some. It's brilliant. She even says there won't be aftereffects tomorrow.
Angel's given me some. It's brilliant. She even says there won't be aftereffects tomorrow.
It's okay! It'd be easier if I could change to site layout without losing the sidebar...
warriorscribe
2016-07-26 02:18 am (UTC)(link)
[Not quite where Enoch is going. He had long since been broken of the idea that God could see, know, and react to everything. Many things, perhaps, countless more than any mortal or even any angel can respond to. But not everything.]
I think if it were stronger, He would have been overthrown by now. It is...a formidable foe. That is all I know. And its denizens hunger for human souls.
I think if it were stronger, He would have been overthrown by now. It is...a formidable foe. That is all I know. And its denizens hunger for human souls.
(Though you seem to have some c/p weirdness happening here)
...Doesn't that medicine have a more vital use as medicine right now?
[He doesn't mind recreational drug use - why would he? But last he knew it was kind of difficult to get those pills. They only showed up in one spot, after all, and surely House had a use for them that wasn't messing with his state of mind.]
...Doesn't that medicine have a more vital use as medicine right now?
[He doesn't mind recreational drug use - why would he? But last he knew it was kind of difficult to get those pills. They only showed up in one spot, after all, and surely House had a use for them that wasn't messing with his state of mind.]
((OOC: And fixed that too, idek what that was about!))
I can breathe without hurting for the first time in weeks. I'd say that's plenty medicinal.
[He sounds torn between chagrin at Enoch's implication, and just plain delight at the pain being gone. There's a lot else that the medicine helps with, but breathing really ought to be a basic right. For a mortal.]
I can breathe without hurting for the first time in weeks. I'd say that's plenty medicinal.
[He sounds torn between chagrin at Enoch's implication, and just plain delight at the pain being gone. There's a lot else that the medicine helps with, but breathing really ought to be a basic right. For a mortal.]
((Who knows. Technical malfunctions happen!))
...Weeks? You have that stubborn illness, too?
[He'd just met up with Frisk and Toriel again, and Toriel had, judging by her child's reactions, been sick for a long while, herself. And Frisk seemed to have come down with it, themselves...]
You're at least the second I've seen now. Possibly the third.
...Weeks? You have that stubborn illness, too?
[He'd just met up with Frisk and Toriel again, and Toriel had, judging by her child's reactions, been sick for a long while, herself. And Frisk seemed to have come down with it, themselves...]
You're at least the second I've seen now. Possibly the third.
MN poisoning. You can call it what it is. What I think it is. I won't die of the name. I might die of the poisoning.
[Snark gives way to some bitterness. He's capable of it even under the Vicodin's influence, when it comes to illness and dying.]
I saw Frisk. Toriel. The Joker, maybe. Who else? It's just a matter of time for all of us...
[Snark gives way to some bitterness. He's capable of it even under the Vicodin's influence, when it comes to illness and dying.]
I saw Frisk. Toriel. The Joker, maybe. Who else? It's just a matter of time for all of us...
We'll find a cure, whether it's MN poisoning or something else.
[He thinks it's something else - his only encounters with it have been the mental afflictions. Luckily, Winter isn't far off from confirming what Beckett just said. With her corroborating it, he's likelier to accept it.]
We just have to keep looking. Keep moving.
[He thinks it's something else - his only encounters with it have been the mental afflictions. Luckily, Winter isn't far off from confirming what Beckett just said. With her corroborating it, he's likelier to accept it.]
We just have to keep looking. Keep moving.
That's what they all say.
[And the way he drawls it make it clear how much he believes that promise, even now when the pain is gone. It'll come back. Mortality is pain.]
I don't want a cure. I want to be me again. You and your bloody - free will, death, humanity...
[And the way he drawls it make it clear how much he believes that promise, even now when the pain is gone. It'll come back. Mortality is pain.]
I don't want a cure. I want to be me again. You and your bloody - free will, death, humanity...
[And there is the thought, voiced, and Beckett takes a long time before he finds the next one. The concept of God as, essentially, just one more supernatural player on the stage is one he's familiar with. Others in Norfinbury seem to have similar mythologies and metaphysics. But this is not what he'd been speaking of, with Enoch. And it is not what the other man seemed to be speaking of. To have the idea placed in front of him again suddenly - that God is limited, fallible, may Himself lack answers - is wrenching.
They've all said it. House has taunted him with it. Shiro has said it. Haurchefant seemed ready to believe it. Caine himself had left the idea there to eat away at him. Even Anatole had wondered, in their darkest hours. And he had kept searching, because he had always been the doubter, even when what it really meant was belief...]
This is not what I want, [he rasps, and hears his own words with perfect clarity for the child's helpless tantrum that they are. Raging at cosmic unfairness. What you want has never existed.] I wanted answers, damnit, I wanted truth, I wanted grace -
They've all said it. House has taunted him with it. Shiro has said it. Haurchefant seemed ready to believe it. Caine himself had left the idea there to eat away at him. Even Anatole had wondered, in their darkest hours. And he had kept searching, because he had always been the doubter, even when what it really meant was belief...]
This is not what I want, [he rasps, and hears his own words with perfect clarity for the child's helpless tantrum that they are. Raging at cosmic unfairness. What you want has never existed.] I wanted answers, damnit, I wanted truth, I wanted grace -
We may yet find a way to restore what they've taken from us, too. But we can't give up. If we do, we consign ourselves to failure.
[It's slow and deliberate. Not the enthusiasm of naivete, but an optimism that has been battered at for centuries and still stands. He will not let go of hope, and he won't leave anyone who can't hang on behind.]
[It's slow and deliberate. Not the enthusiasm of naivete, but an optimism that has been battered at for centuries and still stands. He will not let go of hope, and he won't leave anyone who can't hang on behind.]
Some questions don't have them...
[This is both freeing and frightening. He knows. He went from thinking God had a hand in everything to learning He sees much but acts little. The angels say He knows all, but they all phrased it in hypotheticals. "It is said that...", "God is supposed to..."
Like humans. Like them. The two obviously learned it from one another, but which among them had the idea first, who can say.]
I would like to help you, if I can. We are made as companions to one another and the caretakers of our Earth. It is our only directive from Him. So I will help, if you'll have it.
[This is both freeing and frightening. He knows. He went from thinking God had a hand in everything to learning He sees much but acts little. The angels say He knows all, but they all phrased it in hypotheticals. "It is said that...", "God is supposed to..."
Like humans. Like them. The two obviously learned it from one another, but which among them had the idea first, who can say.]
I would like to help you, if I can. We are made as companions to one another and the caretakers of our Earth. It is our only directive from Him. So I will help, if you'll have it.
[It is the sensible and mature thing to say. If Beckett was not hazy and unguarded from the drug, he might merely have answered with biting sarcasm - or even seen Enoch's conviction and his point. As it stands, things spill out of him, thrust to the surface just because of that conviction, driven by something acid like envy.]
Of course you're so certain of that. You will go back and be God's messenger again... the only condition is your success. Easy to be an optimist when failure isn't an option.
Of course you're so certain of that. You will go back and be God's messenger again... the only condition is your success. Easy to be an optimist when failure isn't an option.
[It's almost unfair - a part of him wishes he had the breath to shout at Enoch. You say you want to help, and this is what you give me! If that is the only directive, then it's a pointless one. His companions are gone, and there will not be others. Not of his Kindred. Enoch can speak of God and Heaven of all the personal experience he has, but he is not Anatole. No one will be.
He shifts in the blankets, restless and helpless. Human things are suddenly overwhelming. He's too hot, his throat is tight, his head feels stuffy and aching. If he speaks up too loudly or coughs or sobs someone will wake up and come see to him, and there is nothing he wants less. He wants to be alone with his - it's not existential emptiness - it isn't some kind of cosmic anger. It's just grief.]
There's nothing you can do, [he rasps finally. The pain is in his voice, though it's a very human one now.] Thank you, but there is nothing.
[That is the last reply Enoch gets that night. Grief too needs its time.]
He shifts in the blankets, restless and helpless. Human things are suddenly overwhelming. He's too hot, his throat is tight, his head feels stuffy and aching. If he speaks up too loudly or coughs or sobs someone will wake up and come see to him, and there is nothing he wants less. He wants to be alone with his - it's not existential emptiness - it isn't some kind of cosmic anger. It's just grief.]
There's nothing you can do, [he rasps finally. The pain is in his voice, though it's a very human one now.] Thank you, but there is nothing.
[That is the last reply Enoch gets that night. Grief too needs its time.]
No, death was not an option. There are more ways than dying in the effort to fail a task.
[He's firm in correcting this. The man who has no doubt at all is a fool.]
And I am not certain, except of the fact that giving up guarantees failure.
[He's firm in correcting this. The man who has no doubt at all is a fool.]
And I am not certain, except of the fact that giving up guarantees failure.
[That is true, lord, how true that is.
It silences him for a brief hard instance of something not unlike self-loathing. Stupid of him to have called up Enoch of all people, Enoch who understands the nature of his struggle better than anyone in the town. Enoch who has this confidence in him, which is not God's gift at all, just the man's own nature. Beckett can't match it. It's driving him mad.]
And if I don't care about failing anymore? What then? Why not give up?
It silences him for a brief hard instance of something not unlike self-loathing. Stupid of him to have called up Enoch of all people, Enoch who understands the nature of his struggle better than anyone in the town. Enoch who has this confidence in him, which is not God's gift at all, just the man's own nature. Beckett can't match it. It's driving him mad.]
And if I don't care about failing anymore? What then? Why not give up?
Because these times of not caring always pass, and your continuing effort affects more than just you.
[This, if anything, is the one sense where success and his life were inextricably tied. In this, failure was not an option. He could sit down and refuse to go on. But the world would fall into ruin, and he would never age.
In this, his circumstances had a heavy hand in his outlook.]
[This, if anything, is the one sense where success and his life were inextricably tied. In this, failure was not an option. He could sit down and refuse to go on. But the world would fall into ruin, and he would never age.
In this, his circumstances had a heavy hand in his outlook.]
That's not fair. [Plain, petty petulance. But he doesn't care. He's too far gone out of both his normal self-possession and the shadow of real despair, and apathy - dull, empty, restful - has its siren song.]
Why in bloody hell should it be up to me? I've done this for three hundred years. I should be free to stop if I want to.
Why in bloody hell should it be up to me? I've done this for three hundred years. I should be free to stop if I want to.
Believe me, I know the feeling. And...strictly speaking, you are. All I can do is try to convince you not to, because I believe it's the right thing to do. It is your choice, truly. I just...
[He trails off, with a heavy pause. He knows Beckett's pain well. Keep going, no matter how many years, decades, centuries...
Because somehow it will be worth it. Somehow...]
...I can't leave you to your despair without trying.
[He trails off, with a heavy pause. He knows Beckett's pain well. Keep going, no matter how many years, decades, centuries...
Because somehow it will be worth it. Somehow...]
...I can't leave you to your despair without trying.
Is that part of your mission, too? To bring doubters like me back to the fold of faith?
[There is a hint of hostility in his voice, which he'd regret when he sobers up. In his current state, complexities are stripped. Ever since he'd learned of the other man's past and mission, somewhere in him he's always envied Enoch, always resented him that which he doesn't even, himself, consider a gift. Here it is now, present in full.]
I have to live. I have to - I have to wait for Anatole. But I don't have to like it. Or be thankful for it.
[There is a hint of hostility in his voice, which he'd regret when he sobers up. In his current state, complexities are stripped. Ever since he'd learned of the other man's past and mission, somewhere in him he's always envied Enoch, always resented him that which he doesn't even, himself, consider a gift. Here it is now, present in full.]
I have to live. I have to - I have to wait for Anatole. But I don't have to like it. Or be thankful for it.
There is no divine will in this effort, only my own. Only one man trying to help another.
[His voice seems to become softer as Beckett's gains an edge, as if in deliberate contrast.]
Beckett...it's all right, to feel that way. Many people resent living from time to time - so long as we find reasons to live anyway. I'm glad to hear you have.
Tell me about this Anatole. A friend?
[His voice seems to become softer as Beckett's gains an edge, as if in deliberate contrast.]
Beckett...it's all right, to feel that way. Many people resent living from time to time - so long as we find reasons to live anyway. I'm glad to hear you have.
Tell me about this Anatole. A friend?
[One man to another. Of course it is. And Beckett wearily wonders why he'd even asked the question. Enoch means his words as comfort. So many things should be a comfort. So many things.]
The memory of Anatole is sand through his fingers. Not for him. He grasps at it nonetheless.]
More than a friend. [His voice is very quiet.] A brother in the search. My guide, for as long as I have been - myself. He'd been speaking of the end for as long as I've known him. And somehow, in three hundred years of friendship, I haven't managed to actually listen.
The memory of Anatole is sand through his fingers. Not for him. He grasps at it nonetheless.]
More than a friend. [His voice is very quiet.] A brother in the search. My guide, for as long as I have been - myself. He'd been speaking of the end for as long as I've known him. And somehow, in three hundred years of friendship, I haven't managed to actually listen.
Edited 2016-08-17 13:48 (UTC)
"The end"?
[Humanity in his day and age was a little too young to think beyond the scope of its own life often enough it became the go-to interpretation of "the end". Philosophy would have to wait while quality of life was striven for.]
Of...what, if I may ask? Your search?
[Humanity in his day and age was a little too young to think beyond the scope of its own life often enough it became the go-to interpretation of "the end". Philosophy would have to wait while quality of life was striven for.]
Of...what, if I may ask? Your search?
[And there they are, to the thing itself. Sometimes Beckett forgets that the only people who know are himself and the few, the oh so few that he's told. Two, three people maybe? In all of Norfinbury. In all the world as it is. It's almost impossible to grasp, that it could have happened, and but for him, no one would know.
But he is the chronicler. Haurchefant had even suggested as much, that that is why he still lives. When the question is asked, he answers, even if every return to it costs.]
Of - everything. You don't have the concept - the idea of the end times? God's day of judgement - no, of course you don't.
[Not Enoch. Despite what the book might have said.]
We call it Gehenna. The prophesied end of all things. The destruction of all Kindred... and perhaps of all humanity and the world with us. It certainly seemed to be heading that way. Anatole always knew. And I always doubted.
But he is the chronicler. Haurchefant had even suggested as much, that that is why he still lives. When the question is asked, he answers, even if every return to it costs.]
Of - everything. You don't have the concept - the idea of the end times? God's day of judgement - no, of course you don't.
[Not Enoch. Despite what the book might have said.]
We call it Gehenna. The prophesied end of all things. The destruction of all Kindred... and perhaps of all humanity and the world with us. It certainly seemed to be heading that way. Anatole always knew. And I always doubted.
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