GOATS

[blackgoat]

"Do you have children?"

The voice seemed to come before the lady, as if the question summoned her, rather than was actually spoken.

Small, demure in appearance, lovely in a way that quickly extended itself into the realm of disquieting. She seemed doll like, unliving and not quite made of flesh.

Little hands resting on a heavily pregnant belly, the woman draped in heavy Victorian dresses of stone grays, off whites and dull sky blues, with that porcelain skin and wild snow white hair, she'd almost look like she was trying to blend into the snow.

"If you do not, do you want them?"

Ah, so it was her speaking, the voice soft and sweet, if... off, in an odd way. A tone that crept up the spine and settled into the neck and base of the skull, like cold fingers pressed against the nape.

Comments

[lovesuwithknives]

Azwel does realise he's going to have to clean up those chips and the spilt vinegar, but he'll get to that in a moment. He's fascinated by how his own magickal senses try to simultaneously recoil from and reach out to this being. How her presence pulls at the sense that usually tells him where astral fissures will appear and twists it. He knows he should flee. But he doesn't. Not even when she draws closer.

He does, at least, stand.

"I don't really know, now," he says, fighting to keep his mind focussed. "I'm... displaced from my homeworld. My former life didn't.... leave much of a possibility for it."

[blackgoat]

She doesn't seem to care too much about the mess, looking slowly to the gauntlets for a fraction of a moment.

"What kept you from it, before you arrived here? If given the chance, would you take it?"

Closer now, obviously not deterred at all by the height difference, it would almost seem reminiscent of a beast moving closer to it's prey, pausing just barely too close for what some might deem comfortable.

[lovesuwithknives]

The gauntlets are an interesting sight, and an interesting concept. One holds a shard of something that is literally the essence of Chaos, and the other one that is literally the essence of Order. They swirl and ebb against each other, yet one never overpowers the other because they're filtered through Azwel, himself. He's the catalyst in an eternally balanced reaction between the two.

He's quite the individual, his every cell permeated with this energy. And yet, right now, he's simply staring, entranced, breathless, his speech hesitant.

"I... my life's work for the last ten years was... consuming, to say the least." He finds himself rambling truths. "I had lovers but never did the idea of a family... occur to us. And the Aval Organisation was no environment in which to raise children." His gaze snaps back to the present and then all the way through it. "But now, I...." He shakes his head. "I would make a dreadful father," he finishes.

[blackgoat]

Of course, it is the Chaos that attracts her more, lingering on that for a moment as he answered her.

"Lovers, but no children from the unions?" It was phrased as if it were an alien concept to her, the idea of taking mates, with no children to show from it, was just... strange.

What then would be the point of it?

"Your kind has.... such an odd concept, of fatherhood. But then, human mothers can only carry so few of them. It is not surprising to see so much importance placed upon a father."

[lovesuwithknives]

"I suppose fortune was either with us or against us depending on one's point of view. It is not uncommon among alchemists, though." He is, if she can sense it, quite sterile.

"Fathers are expected to... aid in teaching the young, as mine did. I expect I'd only end up teaching any children of mine the wrong things." You know, like a lack of ethics in human experimentation.

[blackgoat]

Oh she can feel it. There's really no thoughts for those who were sterile. Offering the chance to create was always on the table, let it never be said she was without power, after all.

"Ah... your young are born... blank, as I recall." Not much inside a human infants head, it had to be taught. "It requires shaping, you are not born formed." Unlike her own children, all born with unfathomable intelligence and incredible size.

"My own do not require such tutelage. I am curious, however, as to what 'wrong things' may be, for your kind."

[lovesuwithknives]

Azwel sets the chair upright, dusts the chips off it, and sits, thinking. He's suddenly tired, as though all this delving into his own emotions instead of others' has taxed his energy.

His usual manic smile and theatrical tone are gone and in their place is... a kind of melancholy.

"Oh, so many things most of society would object to, at least where I'm from. To value knowledge instead of religion, thought instead of belief. To always question authority, to do what is right instead of what is nice, to work toward the greater good regardless of present societal whims." A beat where he gives a half-smile. "And to always tread carefully around astral fissures."

[blackgoat]

"You speak as if they are not wrong." Simple, short.

"I ask again: were you given the chance and ability, would you take it? Or does the morality of society direct your choices?"

[lovesuwithknives]

Azwel pauses in a whirl of thought. He knows he walks a delicate line with a being this powerful. He knows she's leading his thoughts in a specific direction. He knows those words were deliberately chosen.

And yet... those words do cause the rebel in him to stir. And they bring up visions of his work continuing, of another generation of brilliance or, at least, diligence in the fight to save humanity from itself. He can actually imagine himself a father.

"I..." He swallows, hard. "Yes," he breathes. "I would."

[blackgoat]

A smile crosses her face, though it seems not to warm her at all. It never reaches the eyes, the expression almost artificial.

"Then, so I shall bless you.

Give me time, child. I will restore you in time."

[lovesuwithknives]

Child. He hasn't been called that in a long, long time. A tiny stab of nostalgia prods him.

Moreover, that tense sensation leaves him and the blood is no longer rushing in his ears.

"Time," he murmurs, still entranced. "Of course." A beat. "What can I do to thank you?"

A dangerous question, to be sure.