netherese: (66)
ɢᴀʟᴇ, ʀɪᴢᴢᴀʀᴅ ᴏғ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀᴅᴇᴇᴘ 🔮 ([personal profile] netherese) wrote2023-09-28 05:09 pm
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gwilym: (14)

[personal profile] gwilym 2024-05-03 03:58 am (UTC)(link)
[ Forgive him if he wears just what he thinks of Gale's method of leaving "as much space" between Godfrey and vampires as possible on his face.

Laughable on its face. Gale had done no such thing. The both of them knew it. The space left between the two of them had been something which never gave him a moment's peace. How it was ever closed, and how he had never known, and all of the things that Gale had done to cultivate his foolish cluelessness had danced in Godfrey's thoughts every night that had passed since the Society had first approached him. He found fresh agonies each time he revisited the distance that Gale now claimed to so painstakingly maintain.

Gale thinks him that same foolish child, clearly. He thinks him pliable and stupid, a harmless lamb. He hadn't expected a lion to understand the power a lamb could hold, of course - but this flagrant patronization makes his hands pull tight behind him. Gale could truly not imagine him as anything but a fool to be toyed with - never something that could stand on its own two feet, taller and brighter than he ever had.

Another slow, seething exhale.
]

Your broodmates confiscated my rucksack. It's made of rugged black leather.

[ Perhaps this would convince him, if he could look past the name on his fake ID. ]

You usurpers seem an organized sort. [ And yes, that edge is placed with intent - sharpened into the title, so that Gale might see that he is no clueless child any longer, that he has now seen more than his share of nights and forbidden literature. ] Surely it is stored somewhere nearby, and surely you have access to it. Find it. Tell me what is inside.
gwilym: (84)

[personal profile] gwilym 2024-05-03 11:31 pm (UTC)(link)
[ He would have neutralized this contempt all those years ago; poured something into the very base of his chest to take away its bite. Reminder after reminder paraded into that bubbling cauldron until it calmed - reminders to check himself, to reconsider, to be kind. The picture of his distress would reappear in his mind's eye, and Godfrey would have believed it to be genuine. Temper yourself, Godfrey. Bitterness would be no victory; it would only beget more unhappiness. Be kind.

Not here.

Instead, Godfrey asks himself how long his mind was not his own. He tries to count how many times Gale must have capitalized on that very softness to keep him in line and runs out of fingers. He cannot neutralize it. Its boiling begin to overtake his ribs. His face grows hot beneath the muzzle as Godfrey's head cants, sharply, dropping toward one shoulder.
]

Just so. [ He feels his voice's calm tone broken, rising in his throat - something unfamiliar, as though the anger and indignity had no choice but to surge beneath it. ] Astonishing, the things one may learn when they are not being blindfolded.
Edited 2024-05-03 23:43 (UTC)
gwilym: (30)

[personal profile] gwilym 2024-05-10 12:31 am (UTC)(link)
[ Honestly, he's surprised that Gale even realizes he could read.

Godfrey would say as much. He feels the urge rise giddily in him - the urge to grab any sharp word he could point at him. He would tell him all that he had ruined. He would recount in agonizing detail the therapy sessions, the dead marriage, the long nights of pained twisting in his gut as the stain on his integrity weighed on him. The dawning horror which accompanied the predation he'd endured, rearing in his thoughts with the slow dread of a cold tide. Each new piece of learning a new stone in his gut, each step in his journey a fresh horror clawing at his back. The convictions. The smooth, clean room, where he was granted the honour of a few hours with his stepchild and an appointed worker every week.

He would have fashioned them all into a cat and beat him with it. He would have turned each bubbling stream of anger into a new leather tail.

If only he could.

But his anger is not the only factor in this conversation. Whatever he divulged would wind up in the ears of the Tremere, and Godfrey would not afford him the satisfaction of compromising himself and the Society for his own gratification. Their past hardly mattered; he knows what Gale is. It's high time Godfrey began to treat him accordingly.

He lifts his head, eyes flattening, and he stares at Gale for a moment.
]

By now, I know a great many things that I once did not.

[ He can surely imagine what those things might be without Godfrey's help. ]
Edited 2024-05-10 00:35 (UTC)
gwilym: (32)

[personal profile] gwilym 2024-05-20 04:29 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Godfrey releases a breath he hadn't known was held when Gale finally turns away from him and opens that door. Foolishly, he had thought him deterred for the moment - that he might have a moment's reprieve from this creature, this shadow from his past. Godfrey bows his head, the chin of his muzzle touching his chest and the strap straining against the back of his head, and continues murmuring his prayer.

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and perpetual light shine upon them, and may they rest in peace fogs against the oppressive padding pressing in against his lips. He pulls his thick arms against their restraints. The blood-witchery had begun edging back into the room over the course of their conversation. He would push it back again.

Would have; the door clicks shut again, the lock slides into place, and Gale's back is still waiting for him when he opens his eyes. His voice falls quiet.

Tertiary Gwilym lets him have his sorcery for the time being. Godfrey watches the magic rite in silence, and receives him much the same. Godfrey watches him through champagne-gold strands, face still turned down in genuflection. Eyes upturned in restrained, understated anger.
]

I'm sure you believe that.

[ Perhaps it was even true, to the sick extent that everything else about them had been.

Clan Tremere certainly had far less reason to take interest in him when Godfrey vacated the priesthood.
]
Edited 2024-05-20 17:05 (UTC)
gwilym: (77)

[personal profile] gwilym 2024-05-21 04:29 am (UTC)(link)
[ There was a time when he hungered to feel his touch against the very rim of his ear - just where he heard it, nearly more than felt. He once thought there would be a lifetime of it.

Godfrey stiffens against the warm shiver running down his spine, spreading into the hollows of his shoulders. His jaw pulls tight. Never again. Gale had already found this crack once before - he wouldn't manipulate him so easily again. It's healed now - and it's much easier to feel him trying to nose into a bruise than it was to slip into that crack, to worm his way beneath his skin seamlessly. Like a parasite. Never again. He couldn't do it again.

The buckle at the base of his skull flops against the back of his neck, jingles faintly. His tied hair flaps over the strap as it's pulled from his head, the cool air plush against his face. Godfrey's shoulders rise with a reflexive, immediate breath of fresh air. Though he tries to hide it, he hardly needs to give away to Gale just what a relief he's provided; the padding is thick and unrelenting within the shell of the muzzle, damp and hot with condensed breath and prayer.

It even shows on his face. The muzzle has left faint, blushing red pits on his skin; running across each cheekbone, turning straight into his blond hair, cutting two parallel ditches around each side of his noble nose. Flaring at his nostrils, irritated by the chafing movement of his stream of prayer.

Godfrey watches him in silence, exhaling his first unrestricted breath. And he says nothing.

Perhaps Gale wouldn't speak while he had that thing on.

Godfrey resolves not to speak regardless.
]
gwilym: (6)

[personal profile] gwilym 2024-05-22 12:20 am (UTC)(link)
[ Indeed it wouldn't.

Heartening though it is to hear Gale acknowledge this fact, he will not grant him the satisfaction of hearing Godfrey agree aloud with him. If all of these grand showings of remorse were genuine, then Godfrey needs to do nothing to affirm his position - he knows his failings already.

This is not what Godfrey thinks he sees. Kindred are not a creature prone to debasing themselves in such shameless shows of self-flagellation, and nor are they a creature particularly disposed to any action which does not have some calculated benefit to themselves. Gale's purpose in encasing his wrongdoing in glass isn't fueled by a genuine sense of guilt; he's already learned what devastating consequence wrought by applying a mortal framing to a kindred subject. This is manipulation. Gale anticipates that Godfrey will ascribe warm blood and see blushing life where there is none.

He anticipates wrongly.

Godfrey stares flatly at Gale and his deathly pallor.
]

The distinction is meaningless to me.

[ There he goes again, showing where his lifeless allegiances truly lie; his pride has been bruised by this fresh embarrassment some other vampire has inflicted upon him. His thoughts turn to the eternal machinations of the vampiric court.

Godfrey cares little for what petty corpse set him up for this shallow fall.
]
Edited 2024-05-22 04:42 (UTC)
gwilym: (8)

[personal profile] gwilym 2024-05-22 11:12 pm (UTC)(link)
[ That he does, unkind words and severe questions both.

None burn more hotly in his brain than the incredulous demand to know by what right Gale thinks he can offer him anything.

Godfrey makes no effort to hide his distaste; his knotted brow pulls just a little tighter, his shoulders fall in a slow and silent exhalation, something distasteful twisting his mouth into a brief ripple of a frown. Biceps swell in his sleeves as his hands pull into cutting fists behind his back. You must have questions - as though Gale had left him with anything else. As if this empty room to scream in were a grand gift to Godfrey, some final and redemptive gesture of love from a reticent adulterer. As though they could reflect away what Gale had done.

Questions without answer were all he'd had for the better part of these ten years. He'd abandoned his life and all he had ever loved for questions he could not answer, for ashes in his mouth and a man who had only ever sought his ruination. Each breath heaves his shoulders, hollows his collarbones. There was no answer Gale could provide to him that Godfrey had not already sought - but predictably, Gale cannot help himself. He must find some pedestal to stand on, even now, even if he must invent one.

He ought maintain his silence, of course. But he feels that heat setting in against the back of his eyes, and he feels the distance between himself and his own advice grow further and further. The words drop from him like stones.
]

How many times?
Edited 2024-05-22 23:21 (UTC)
gwilym: (54)

[personal profile] gwilym 2024-05-23 02:05 am (UTC)(link)
[ He might actually have believed this performance, had Godfrey not known any better.

But he does. Even if he has to remind himself he knows better - he does know better. Even as it boils him alive to think of how alike this is to the man he'd been tricked into knowing-- the chair groans beneath his weight as it pitches forward, the firm corners of the chair's backboard digging bruises into his strong arms.
]

You know what I ask you.

[ These words do not drop from him, for they are not stones. They seethe from him. They are something sizzling, the squealing crunch of frost forming on glass. Acid boiling from some cold and deep part of his chest through a tight-clenched jaw.

Pathetic, the way Gale cannot put to rest this act to afford even a moment of respect. That he must march this costumery of humankind before him even now, as he taunts him with this moment of recompense. Just as everything was in kindred society - something for a price. He would have his answers when he walked the two of them through his disgracing, step by agonizing step.

Pathetic also that Godfrey feels his feet carry him down this wretched path before he can stop himself.
]

How many times did I taste my own blood on your tongue?
gwilym: (14)

[personal profile] gwilym 2024-05-23 07:14 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Would it have mattered, what answer Gale gave?

This is a question Godfrey has never thought to ask himself before this very moment - before Gale had taken a seat across that table, pale and drained at the mere sight of him, and tried to put a band-aid on the sucking bullet wound he'd left him with.

Is there any answer that would not have left him feeling hollow? Could he have said anything that would have alleviated the pain, even a little?

Godfrey stares at him. He studies his face, the conviction with which he gives an answer that, reasonably, he knows should provide some measure of relief. It is hardly a cure for the years of pain, of loneliness, of doubt and terror and slow-dawning victimhood echoing in his chest, emptied and pitted. But it should be a balm, something to lift a small sliver of pain from him.

He stares at him, and he feels nothing. There is no relief from the slow rise in temperature at the back of his neck, the liquid heat welling behind his eyes.
]

I suppose that I'm meant to simply take the word of the man who can change my thoughts and memories at will.

[ The thin, tiny tremor in his throat, even as he fights to keep it stiff. ]
gwilym: (84)

[personal profile] gwilym 2024-05-29 03:53 am (UTC)(link)
Of course you don't.

[ Of course he doesn't care what Godfrey thinks of him. Had he ever? What reason had the kindred to care what their cattle thought of them?

But this was the way of this undead scourge. The aesthetics of caring without commitment. Not even he had it in his cold heart to be moved by one beneath him; even if they could muster up such feelings, certainly their pride would not allow kine to be its source.

Which really only made this conversation a more thorough waste of everybody's time. It mattered very little what words he found. He would never find the magical combination that would make Gale care. He hadn't any left in him.

He feels his blood boil as he watches him, retracting that hollow aesthetic he'd extended in a fit as soon as Godfrey disbelieves him for it. The artifice in him, the mockery he makes as he tries to emulate what he once has - it's almost saddening. It may have been, were he looking at anybody else.

Not from him, though. Godfrey's head hangs low, his eyes bright and furious behind golden strands.
]

I can see your predicament. You had no problem leashing and collaring me when I was soft and pliable. You even taught me tricks.

[ The disgust on that word, tricks, is palpable. He hopes he knows just what he means. All that closeness, all the unguarded skinship Gale had been perfectly comfortable with, back when he had the promise of a good dog.

Godfrey leans forward again, straining against the groaning back of his chair, and pitches his voice low;
]

You'll have a harder time now that I know the power I have held.
Edited 2024-05-29 03:55 (UTC)
gwilym: (54)

[personal profile] gwilym 2024-06-03 02:48 am (UTC)(link)
[ And how glad he is now, to see Gale reduced to that most desperate of vampire tricks.

He leans on the cold artifice of love. He had loved him, Gale implores. His approximation of the one thing he can no longer hold in his own hands; a warm and beating heart. Emotion. Attachment. Core pieces of the human condition. Veins that have long since run dry for Gale and all like him. Perhaps he had once understood these things; perhaps these moments of long-ago warmth echoed back to him now.

This changed nothing. He could not understand what he once did. This was simply one of the many things one must shed when passing into unlife.

Perhaps, charitably, Gale thought that he felt love for him. Godfrey knows better. It is his nature; to invert something as selfless and beautiful as love into something so malicious and self-serving. To turn such emotion into a leash or a cudgel, to use it to pull lesser beings into subordination. At best, Gale thought him no better than a particularly attractive dog.

At worst, he sought to press the soft spots in his heart which no longer existed. Certainly.

Godfrey's gaze drops, and he lets the declaration sit in the room a moment.

Then, he takes a breath.
]

You loved that I loved you.

[ This is the kindest rationalization he can offer.

More sternly;
]

You will not pretend it is the same.
gwilym: (74)

[personal profile] gwilym 2024-06-03 10:21 pm (UTC)(link)
[ All told, this should hardly come as a surprise.

For the small sliver of his unlife during which Godfrey had attempted to coexist with him, he had known Gale to have a sort of pride about him. This hadn't bothered Godfrey at the time - indeed, it had seemed well-earned that Gale should consider himself clever, for he was so, and had worked to be so. Back then, in those early days of a correspondence, when one can turn the human flesh of one beloved to gold with a gaze, it had certainly seemed to him that Gale was often the most clever, most brilliant, most charming in any room he entered.

So it would always seem, for unknowing kine laying eyes on the impossibility of kindred splendor for the first time.

He seethes to think on it now - and to see that pride rear before him now. To see Gale, embarrassed and scrambling, trying to retain his poor impression of a man who had loved in this lifetime. Godfrey does not lay eyes on him; his attention does not lift when Gale slams his hand against the table, rails against Godfrey's assessment even as it tightens around his ankle.

But his face hardens. His nose screws like the snout of a wolf biding his time.
]

Had you not succeeded, I would not be before you.

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