nysalogs | [open] channeling angels in a new age, now.

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[open] channeling angels in a new age, now.

Who: Prior Walter (

priorly) & you??
What: Catch all logs for October!
When: October!
Where: various
Warning(s): language, likely mention of terminal illness (AIDS). Adult themes?
Notes: Please PM me if you'd like a starter, or feel free to wildcard me anytime.

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[Pity sex, to someone accustomed to being wanted would be one certain way to make him feel less. And it's true, he does feel like a shadow of someone he used to be so - not for lack of appeal - he pushes back against any further fading.]

Oh, a little from column A and B. More columns than that, even. I'm a veritable spreadsheet.

So should I feel destabilized?

[ He resists the obvious dirty jokes based on spreading and sheets. ]

[Shame, if anything the timing would make it more appreciated. Thank for god for jokes on awkward occasions. (he worries about causing offense - it's all him).]

You don't have to show it.

Edited 2017-11-01 15:06 (UTC)

But I do have to feel it.

[One eyebrow pulls a come on arch.]

If you did.

Hm.

[ He presses a finger to the center of Prior's chest. ]

I simply think you might, perhaps, be overstating things. A bit. Crisis doesn't destroy who you are.

No. But it shifts somewhat. Perhaps I'm still trying to catch up to that sidestep.

Shifts. So then you do know some truths about yourself, perhaps?

Which truths are you looking for, Byerly?

[At this point it seems easiest just to ask.]

Oh, I don't know.

[ He relents slightly. ]

Just something true and wonderful about your heart.

Ah. [He makes a fist purely to bang against his chest.] Pure, untarnished crystal, writ through with cubic carbon virtue.

[Just a muscle, one left pumping polluted blood.

He dots the lightest kiss to Byerly's forehead.]

It still beats, which is all I can ask of it: a surprisingly tough little beast. And is, I hope, as good as yours.

[ By presses a finger to his own chest. ]

Cheap tin, remember?

So what's a truth about your soul?

Well, you find all sorts of things in tins. And good god it's like having a conversation with the cryptic crossword.

[Frustrating in that it feels like there's a right answer somewhere - at least, a wanted answer, but these are the kind of existential questions Louis tortured himself with. Not Prior.]

I try to avoid twisting myself into knots of self analysis, it's so bad for the spine. If such a thing exists? [He sets his jaw, quiet a moment.]

It's lonely. And... maybe... not sick?

[Though hes scared, sometimes that the disease touches every part. But no, no.]

Clean. My soul is clean, if any part of me can be.

[ Byerly is quiet a moment, looking at Prior, his expression altogether unreadable. Then he asks: ]

Do you think of yourself as dirty?

[Byerly, everybody does. Prior meets that unreadable gaze and tries to match it: let down by his mouth, lip dragged in against his teeth, jaw held too tight.

A breath.]

You've asked all the questions. Your turn. Something true of your soul.

[ He's watchful a moment, wondering if he ought to push - but what's the point? That's confirmation enough. What a foul thing to be convinced of. That you're unclean.

He looks away, and tries to think of a good one - one that matches Prior's confession. He finally settles on: ]

It feels at times as though I've been given the wrong soul entirely. It never quite seems to be in harmony with either my head or my heart.

Where's the disconnect? [Prior settles his hands over where Byerly' had tapped his chest, and rests his chin there.] Are all three out of step?

I think my head and my heart generally agree well enough. That the world - all worlds - are quite empty of good things. Cynical little creatures, they are.

And your soul?

[He almost asks a different question - draws breath for it - but saves it instead.]

Rings discordantly, like an ill-tuned bell. Though if I'm to be honest, I'm not certain of the root of the discord. Perhaps it's dissatisfied by the softness of the rest of me. Perhaps it's a true Vorrutyer soul, wants me to be more like my family. No real way to tell.

Oh, so your head and heart think there's no good in the world, and your soul expects you to be more of a dick about it. Forgive me, I don't mean to be rude about your internal affairs, but it sounds like bullshit to me.

No - my soul wants me to be more proactive about it.

[ He smiles humorlessly, then shakes his head. ]

But when has someone ever had their aspects properly aligned? Even you - a heart and a soul in some harmony, but betrayal by the body.

Well, I didn't get a say in that. But bullshit, Byerly. No one who thought there was no good in the world would try so hard to protect it.

Is that what you think I'm doing?

Do you think I've been humming showtunes while you talk? Yes. And what kind of world would have no good? Even deserts push through the odd green shoot.

(no subject)

vorrutyer - 2017-11-05 16:40 (UTC) - Expand

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