dear_mun | on apping at veloxia;

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on apping at veloxia;

I'd like to visit a new world.

Will they be kept safe from me?

[More importantly--]

Will they keep me safe as well?

[She looks away, lips neutral, gaze thoughtful. With a dainty little sigh,]

It's been so long since I've been worshiped. One longs for devotion, when one wanders alone. Did you know that?

[A tilt of her head.]

No... of course not.

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I think, perhaps, ye long fer companionship, not devotion.

Oh, no. My companions often end up dead.

Why's tha'?

I kill them.

[it's as simple as that.]

I don't mean to. It only happens when I'm hungry.

Well, tha's a bit of a pickle. Suppose a nice slab of cow or somethin' won't do it fer ya, then?

[She actually... pauses to give it some thought. But the answer is obvious.]

I have no interest in a cow.

Meat is meat, ain't it?

[A shrug.]

I'm used to bein' tucked in a Time Lord's pocket, so maybe I ain't the best judge of tha'. Human's pretteh gamey though...

I wouldn't like to be a cow.

[The angels consume the blood of humans so that they may take their shape - their life.]

Would you?

Oh, querida.

[ Fela knows about wandering alone. There are none at her side, and she does not remember a time when there was--(Mother.) ]

Do not be lonely.

Running ever farther won't make you any more deserving of devotion, Mary.

[Do not be lonely. But is that what she is? Is that the word for what causes this longing?]

People are all around me, all the time. There is life.

I like it.

[She reaches for Cort's features, fingers just barely hovering over his cheek. She fights the urge to touch him - as though wondering if he's really here. If he's real.]

Oh, Cort. I don't run. I chase.

[He doesn't step back, despite her proximity, but he frowns. His eyes narrow and focused on hers, her finger tips blurring in his vision.]

Is that what you call it? I suppose I can't disagree. Though now I can't help but think of this new world as your new hunting ground.

[He leans in, just a centimeter, so that she is forced to make real contact.]

I think you can answer your own questions about safety.

[Her fingers jerk slightly, as though his human skin is enough to burn her. If Mary is scared of him, she is excellent at hiding it - save for these fractions of an instance.]

How long has it been, since someone offered their life to you?

[There is pity in her tone.]

I'm still here, aren't I?

[75 years, 2 months, 11 days, 5 hours since the last willing offering, though he would never admit that failure to her.

The last would have been willing. He would have been, if he had known. But desperate times call for desperate measures.]

There are always those willing to serve a higher purpose.

Yes... somewhere out there, for us to find.

Do you like what you've become? [She tilts her head, eyes lowering, finger brushing her hair behind her ear,] Do you miss their devotion?

[It needles, in the back of his mind, in the near constant burning fire in his eyes. It needles that they could be similar - she the sinner, he the saint. That she should be able to read him so easily.]

I am what I am for a reason. [Flatly. The lie he's told himself for a millenia. Well, half a lie.]

I embrace their devotion in death. They all gave their lives for me, for glory, every last one. I do not miss them. I will have followers soon enough, if I am patient. [He always has been good at lying to himself.]

But I am here for a reason. How will you hear the trumpets call your redemption if you are a universe away?

[Whether Mary knows what she's doing - inflicting offense, digging her claws into his pride - is always ambiguous. One is free to believe what he or she will, but truth is Mary never speaks up. It's easy to believe she is unknowing of her ways, as it was when Father decided to cast her down among the mortals, just as it is to suspect there's always a sharp intention behind those wondering eyes.]

They call for me no longer, brother. Father's music has given me only silence.

I am very glad to hear to that.

You are not lonely, are you? [a pause. She watches Fela with intent.] You do not have the eyes.

[ Fela laughs at that, happily. ]

Perhaps on some days, I become a little lonely, but it is gone quickly enough.

Good. [her lips allow a small smile. It is kind - almost obliviously so.] No one should be alone. We were not made that way.

[humans and angels alike. She did fall because she longed to be with another, after all.]

And none of us ever truly are. You have said it better than I, there is life.

[Which... makes her think for a moment.]

Is there isolation in death?

Oh, no.

[ Fela tells her this with a certainty that she cannot possibly have. ]

We are always together, even in spirit.

I have heard once before, that we all die alone. I wouldn't want to leave by myself.

[It happened before. She fell from the Divine Realm all by herself, with only unsuspecting humans to aid her on this Earth. She fed on them and fled, alone once again.]

It is not so easy to leave, we shed parts of ourselves as we walk. There are remembrances.

[ For others, not for herself, and Fela does not think about how remembering can be pain. She would not know. ]

Only if there are others to remember us by.

It is yours to ensure, with your kindness.

People will remember atrocities just as well.

[They focused so much on the bad.]

[ Fela stares at her with a momentary blankness that suggests she understands that for a reason she can't remember. ]

No, they will not remember you. Only the pain. Your name and your face will fade.

[ There's a chill in her voice. ]

[Whereas Mary's expression loses a bit of its already dim spark, thoughts fading away to a future she doesn't want. She doesn't want to disappear. She doesn't want to be forgotten.]

Why is that?

Pain creates a rut, a scar. A reminder we see always. We see the infliction day after day, not so for our tormentor.

[ There are scars on her. The worst is the long wound up one of her legs. She had gotten caught in barbed wiring, fleeing from the Prents. She does not remember. But she sees her scar, day after day. ]

My tormentor would not live to remember me.

[ She does not quiet understand the comment, and that at least breaks her out of the tempest that had begun to swirl in her mind. She did not always remember the atrocities committed against herself and her family, but her body knew. Her soul revolted. ]

That lessens no one's pain, querida.

Doesn't it?

It is human to seek revenge.

[Her argument is sound, but she has no real experience to use it with. So it makes her curious.]

No. The wound remains, and you will mourn for what you have done.

[ If you are human. ]

[Mary has never mourned. Not even for her fall. The sentiment is darkness; a stranger in a blur.]

I would have thought people found happiness is harming those who had harmed them. It brings balance to the world.

An eye for an eye.

[... will make the whole world blind. Something she doesn't realize.]

What follows when you have your revenge? Emptiness.

[ Fela does not know it, but she has exacted her rage and her revenge. While she recalled it, it haunted her. A splinter of ice in her soul. ]

It is meaningless.

[She stares, unblinking. Trying to understand what Fela's words fully entail, without success. What is emptiness, after all? Mary will never know death. Only the agony of slowly dying.]

This conversation saddens me.

Yes. And you wipe away that sadness with kindness.

Would you be kind to me, if I were sad?

Of course.

[She likes that. It isn't hard to cheer Mary up.]

What's your name?

Fela. And who are you, darling?

My name is Mary.

It's very nice to meet you, Fela.

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on apping at veloxia;

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sob i suck at dear mun i'm so sorry

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nONSENSE

sobbing

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