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

[priorly]

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.

Comments

[priorly]

It's sex. [A little frown.] Is all yours elegant?

[vorrutyer]

Well, think about who I am, Prior. Do you think I have ever not been elegant?

[priorly]

God, I hope so. I think I'd like to see. [More slips in the facade, not specifically - well. Prior's unsure of the impression left by these stories, though, a little wrongfooted.] I'm sorry if it's terribly unromantic. It's just how things are done. A lot of people aren't - can't - look for relationships, but you can always find something anonymous and quick. It's not how I met Louis. Though, when he and I finally fell into monogamy we were quite the novelty among our friends.

[vorrutyer]

[ A little reflectively: ]

Perhaps the issue. When you're High Vor, nothing you do can ever be anonymous.

[ Ah, well. He shakes his head just a bit, then says: ]

I can understand why they were shocked, though. Monogamy, eh? Heavens, what a curse.

[priorly]

You'd be surprised at how anonymous some people could be. [A little quieter.] When everyone's ashamed, no one talks. That's the whole trick.

[A ny way, before the subject depresses him-]

I'd thought maybe when I was old and grey I'd settle down with someone. Wear matching leisurewear. Own plants. I had relationships, but never - it takes time, to let something like that happen, and it's hard to give one person time when there's always someone else. If I'd ever felt tied down I don't think I'd have stayed. But he... kept me up all night. Talking. And we had incredible, totally inelegant sex. And after a while we just. I don't know, stopped bothering with the rest. The rest became a bother, more than an attraction. Maybe that was it.

[vorrutyer]

[ By makes a put-upon groaning noise. ]

Dear God, that was not an invitation to start getting all sentimental over your monogamy. I want salacious details, not quotidian ones.

[priorly]

Well I gave you those and you clutched for your pearls, what's a girl to do?

[And it wasn't quotidian for him. Or, if it was, there was something wonderful about that being quotidian, for a time. He can't help if the better memories aren't fully destroyed by their bad end.]

Anyway, it scarcely matters. Monogamy is dead.

[A fingertip slices across his throat only to confirm.]

Nothing so sentimental as examining a corpse.

[vorrutyer]

Examining a corpse can be exceedingly sentimental, dear Prior.

[priorly]

As I said. But. [Murderous finger now raised.] The mourning period's over. I'm done. That little shitbag doesn't deserve my sentimentality.

[vorrutyer]

[ Hm. The look he darts over isn't entirely convinced, but his voice is mild and light. ]

I'll refrain from burning a death-offering, then.

[priorly]

[For his part Prior can convince himself perfectly well until he's alone.]

Offering to who?

[vorrutyer]

To the relationship, of course. And to your sentimentality, dead and buried.

[priorly]

Oh, a ceremonial scattering to the winds? Nothing to burn. He took his clothes while I was in hospital, along with everything else his and things he'd forgotten were mine. I don't have love letters, or a lock of his hair.

[vorrutyer]

No, no.

[ He waves his fingers. ]

That's not how death-offerings work. It'd hardly be an offering if it already belonged to them, would it? You sacrifice something of your own.

[priorly]

[Oh. That doesn't make any sense.]

But I like my own things.

[vorrutyer]

[ Dryly: ]

It'd be a piss-poor sacrifice if you didn't.

[priorly]

I gave him the better part of my glorious youth. You'd think it would be enough. [Yes, haughty, yes an act. Yes, he's watching Byerly with a little more intent now.] Then what should it be?

[vorrutyer]

[ With a frown and a shrug - ]

Well, that answer is one that must come from your own heart. Hair is traditionally part of it. And with that - oh - widows often burn a little corner of a particularly fine piece of embroidery, or soldiers will burn their letters of commendation in tribute to their comrades. A spray of flowers that reminds you of them. Their favorite food. A splash of brandy - though be careful with that one, of course - I saw a fellow light himself on fire by accident, once, trying to pour out spirits for his late father.

[priorly]

And that's terrible. [Certainly nothing to smile about, and Prior's trying.] Something similar happened at a party I arranged catering for. The chef was attempting crepes suzette en mass, when in one second his whites had charred to blacks. He wasn't hurt, thankfully. We even served the dish as the crepes of wrath.

[All of which is a distraction, of course, from the point. He pushes a hand back through his hair - certainly thick enough to be spared, though it would seem disingenuous.]

I'm not sure. The relationship may be dead, but - most of the time - I don't wish the same on him. I think it might make for a bad omen?

[vorrutyer]

[ With a lift of his eyebrows - ]

If you're looking for me to try to push you into it, you'll be sorely disappointed. I think death-offerings are horseshit. One of the stupider aspects of Barrayaran culture. But if you talk yourself into it, I can give you instructions on how to go about it.

[priorly]

[No, no he really isn't, quite the reverse, and there's a thin seam of tension that breaks with that.]

Death does have a way of making one... stupid and desperate. But then, no. Louis is alive, the relationship, elle est mort. Neither one deserve gifts for the fact.

[vorrutyer]

[ With a wave of his hand - ]

Well, that and death is a convenient little lever on the people around you. It's all about social control, you see. Forcing all those poor trapped land-bound barbarians to go forth and fuck and breed so that you'll leave behind someone to do you a death-offering. Like all religions - all about control. But very well, dear fellow; keep your lovely hair.

[priorly]

That's a very bleak take. Not necessarily inaccurate. Bleak. [His eyebrows raise at the vehemence of it.] I'd certainly prefer presents while I'm living. Still. Should you try dying on me, I'll now know-

[Which is the strand Byerly keeps toying with? Ah.]

exactly what to burn to spite you for it.

[vorrutyer]

Oh, don't do that.

[ He sighs, shaking his head, tugging that strand away from Prior to play with it. ]

Stay beautiful. As beautiful as you possibly can.

[priorly]

[There's only the slightest wince to show for the impossibility of that. Too late, alas, too late.]

And if I can't? [If fading is a process that doesn't reverse and he's already lost more than can be imagined? Too big a question to ask someone's who's been sweet to him beyond all reason. So: an out. A touch leant into more than he should.] I do like that. Maybe I won't cut it for the fire just yet.