Solomon Wreath (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
peacefullywreathed) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tushanshu_logs2015-04-13 02:41 pm
peacefullywreathed) wrote in tushanshu_logs2015-04-13 02:41 pm
Kneel in silence alone / my spirit bears me
Characters: Solomon Wreath, Raine Sage, OPEN
Date: Month of April, ‘2016’.
Location: Primarily the Midnight Hotel, but potentially elsewhere as well.
Situation: Solomon’s adjusting to new circumstances, like the fact he’s now blind and a part of his soul has detached to act as a filter for his highly addictive magic. Fun.
Warnings/Rating: References to addiction--specifically an addiction to magic--and subsequent withdrawal.
The first five days after the accident, Solomon didn’t leave his room. Not only was there no point, but he was virtually incapable of it; he’d gone into the attempt to filter his magic knowing that he’d come out of it either insane or in withdrawal, and that hadn’t changed just because it hadn’t quite worked. He spent that time alternately too sick to leave the bed and too restless to bear it. It wasn’t until several days into the month of April that he dared to leave, and that was mostly to escape the feeling of being caged.
From the 3rd of April onwards the Hotel patrons will start seeing a tall, dark-haired man about the place. Not exactly an ordinary sight, either—these days Solomon had silver scars scattered around his eyes and face, thin in themselves but in large enough quantity to be clearly visible. They looked exactly as if something had blown up in his face, because something had; if anyone managed to catch him with his sleeves rolled up, they’d see similar laceration scars on his hands and wrists.
The really odd thing about him was that the shadows flocked toward him. Anywhere within ten feet of him, shadows would detached from their owners and gather around his feet like eager puppies, or caressing his fingers whenever he touched the wall. Which was often; the way he moved, the way he walked, it was clear Solomon couldn’t see a thing. Every now and then the shadows would spread out around him, as if scouting the terrain ahead, but even then Solomon’s progress was slow.
The observant would notice that the shadows, having touched Solomon once, would develop an underscoring blue mist which acted, in many ways, like a shadow for the shadows.
Though Solomon had been at the Hotel for months, he was so reclusive that ten to one most of the patrons wouldn’t recognise him, and frankly that was something Solomon was relying on. This was going to be hard enough without people gawking. Luckily he wouldn’t be able to see people gawking—but he’d know it, if only out of paranoia.
For the most part he tried to avoid areas with high traffic, or at least during hours of high traffic; but even still Solomon was potentially visible in the halls, on the balcony over the reception, and in the kitchen or the common-room in particular, drawing shadows around and, occasionally, cursing over a stubbed toe or banged knee. He didn’t seem to be striving to do anything in particular, aside from exploring his surroundings and staunchly ignoring anyone nearby. In the kitchen he was particularly interested in the tea area and finding the blasted fridge.
Regardless of where he was, the kedan gave him a wide berth; the only risk to his public seclusion was, therefore, the Foreigners.
[ooc: As a necromancer, Solomon has a death-sense—he can sense whether or not a person has died before. Due to progress in-game he’s also able to extend that to a sense of a person’s soul, though at the time of this log he isn’t able to tell anything more than whether or not there are large pieces missing (so your character’s emotional secrets are safe!). Please let me know if your character fits into this category through PM or a short ooc note.]
Date: Month of April, ‘2016’.
Location: Primarily the Midnight Hotel, but potentially elsewhere as well.
Situation: Solomon’s adjusting to new circumstances, like the fact he’s now blind and a part of his soul has detached to act as a filter for his highly addictive magic. Fun.
Warnings/Rating: References to addiction--specifically an addiction to magic--and subsequent withdrawal.
The first five days after the accident, Solomon didn’t leave his room. Not only was there no point, but he was virtually incapable of it; he’d gone into the attempt to filter his magic knowing that he’d come out of it either insane or in withdrawal, and that hadn’t changed just because it hadn’t quite worked. He spent that time alternately too sick to leave the bed and too restless to bear it. It wasn’t until several days into the month of April that he dared to leave, and that was mostly to escape the feeling of being caged.
From the 3rd of April onwards the Hotel patrons will start seeing a tall, dark-haired man about the place. Not exactly an ordinary sight, either—these days Solomon had silver scars scattered around his eyes and face, thin in themselves but in large enough quantity to be clearly visible. They looked exactly as if something had blown up in his face, because something had; if anyone managed to catch him with his sleeves rolled up, they’d see similar laceration scars on his hands and wrists.
The really odd thing about him was that the shadows flocked toward him. Anywhere within ten feet of him, shadows would detached from their owners and gather around his feet like eager puppies, or caressing his fingers whenever he touched the wall. Which was often; the way he moved, the way he walked, it was clear Solomon couldn’t see a thing. Every now and then the shadows would spread out around him, as if scouting the terrain ahead, but even then Solomon’s progress was slow.
The observant would notice that the shadows, having touched Solomon once, would develop an underscoring blue mist which acted, in many ways, like a shadow for the shadows.
Though Solomon had been at the Hotel for months, he was so reclusive that ten to one most of the patrons wouldn’t recognise him, and frankly that was something Solomon was relying on. This was going to be hard enough without people gawking. Luckily he wouldn’t be able to see people gawking—but he’d know it, if only out of paranoia.
For the most part he tried to avoid areas with high traffic, or at least during hours of high traffic; but even still Solomon was potentially visible in the halls, on the balcony over the reception, and in the kitchen or the common-room in particular, drawing shadows around and, occasionally, cursing over a stubbed toe or banged knee. He didn’t seem to be striving to do anything in particular, aside from exploring his surroundings and staunchly ignoring anyone nearby. In the kitchen he was particularly interested in the tea area and finding the blasted fridge.
Regardless of where he was, the kedan gave him a wide berth; the only risk to his public seclusion was, therefore, the Foreigners.
[ooc: As a necromancer, Solomon has a death-sense—he can sense whether or not a person has died before. Due to progress in-game he’s also able to extend that to a sense of a person’s soul, though at the time of this log he isn’t able to tell anything more than whether or not there are large pieces missing (so your character’s emotional secrets are safe!). Please let me know if your character fits into this category through PM or a short ooc note.]
later April!
It was a nice day for a walk, at least, and for once Raine wasn't needed at the Guild, though she was sure she'd hear about it in short order if any other Foreigners took it into their heads to nearly die.
"Shall I assume your goal will make itself plain eventually?" she asked at one point, a little dryly.
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Finding apartments to buy, for Foreigners, was apparently somewhat more difficult than finding them simply to rent. Renting gave a kedanese landlord power over a Foreigner, which was exactly why Solomon had suggested avoiding that eventuality.
It hadn't occurred to him until much later what else it could indicate, but Raine hadn't said anything in that vein, so Solomon didn't either.
Right now, he was aiming for one of Wood Sector's more specific market streets, counting steps under his breath. Sometimes he still got lost, and even though Raine was there to direct him if they did there was no reason not to direct their route himself. By his count, they should be just about--ah. This intersection. He could hear the crowd.
Smiling to himself now, more in pleasure at a path figured right than anything else, Solomon led Raine around corner toward the shop-fronts he couldn't see, but knew were there. "Here we are."
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The permanency that the arrangement suggested had occurred to her only later. Raine hadn't brought it up yet, didn't know how much Solomon had meant by it or if it really had been just the most practical thing. She wasn't sure if she wantedto outright question it; the thought would keep.
So she held his arm, and her peace, and waited for his intentions in the here and now to become clear. Which were-- "Instruments?" she said with some surprise, looking up to him. That made a strange sort of sense, actually; she was surprised it hadn't occurred to her sooner.
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"At least I won't specifically need eyes to play anything," he said dryly, "but buying one is going to be difficult without them." He had weeded out all the stores from which he was willing to buy, and had done so before the accident, but this was a store which still hand-made everything. He couldn't simply point out a brand and assume its quality.
"You're back," said the girl behind the counter, sounding surprised and annoyed and intrigued all at once. Annoyed, because she was a young kedan who was predisposed toward belligerence toward the Foreigners if only because all her peers were as well, and intrigued because, Solomon knew, she found him attractive. "I thought you'd given up."
"Not quite," he said, and gave her a smile.
"Well, are you going to buy something this time?" Probably blushing. Her tone had jumped an unusual few stages of 'brusque'.
"Indeed I am."
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It did also explain specifically why he'd needed her to look at something. What he might play by touch alone might still require sight to see potential flaws in. "You've been planning this for a while," she murmured. Since before the accident, even. "...I don't exactly know what I'm looking at; you'll have to direct me if there's something specific you're looking for." Which in itself was some kind of irony, and there was faint amusement in her voice.
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He hadn't said anything because, well, there hadn't been a need to do so. Theatre back in the day had been something of a joke, an idle past-time for the less wealthy, but opera and orchestras had been something else entirely, at least for him. When he had still been younger--grown, but younger--chafing under Temple rules and growing more resigned in his bitterness over Skulduggery's abandonment, there had been any number of things Solomon had taken to as hobbies. Shakespeare had been, in some way, to annoy Skulduggery's memory.
The violin was something no one else had touched, encouraged, or even knew about. Until now. It was something Solomon never talked about, never mentioned, lest all the magic went away. People didn't expect necromancers to have passions beyond the Temple. Necromancers didn't expect necromancers to have passions beyond the Temple.
Solomon hadn't expected for it to be one. He just hadn't really stopped it.
"The three we had the last time you were here are sold," the young kedan informed him, and he heard footsteps and the creak of wood as she retrieved the instruments.
"I thought they might have."
"So you get one try on each of these. Not for long." They were put on the stall's counter, Solomon heard with the light thud, and presumably opened. Solomon put out his hands to find the first, but gently, and turned his head in Raine's direction.
"Before I do so," he said, "if you'll indulge me, Raine?" Raine might not know what she was looking for, but Solomon had done this a number of times, and would direct her as to how to examine each instrument.
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"Of course," she said when he asked, because really, there was little with which she would not indulge him and this was the reason he'd asked her presence. Or one of the reasons.
Only then did she let go his arm and turn her focus solely to the instruments laid out on the counter. She might not know violins, or, indeed, musical instruments at all, but she could certainly follow directions, and the eye for detail she'd picked up examining artifact after artifact was a definite help. Each question she answered as precisely as she could, with only little hesitation, and in that manner Raine began to perceive the differences between the instruments she would not have initially. "I take it your next aim is to judge the quality of sound?"
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"It is," he agreed.
"Not for long," said the girl pedantically, but Solomon declined to answer. He'd done this before at this very store, and the girl was only being belligerent to remind him. At least she hadn't asked about why he needed the help to look.
Instead he chose one of the instruments and raising it into position. The fact there were only two made things in some ways easier; he wouldn't have to dither over the choice if either one of them was unsuitable for some reason. The worst that might happen was that neither would be right enough--while Solomon was willing to accept an inferior instrument to the one he had in his own world (because, in his opinion, nothing existed that was better), he wasn't willing to settle for one that wasn't at least comfortable.
He only played a few chords on each, quick and slow to test both measures, and the ease with which he handled them should tell Raine that 'some time ago' was long enough to be close to second nature. Both violins played well, but one sounded and felt lacklustre in his hands, as if it was an engine unenthusiastic about starting. Solomon closed the case of the other and slid it across the stall-counter. "This one, please."
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Most of her questions had already answered themselves. No need to ask why he'd suddenly been driven to pick this up now, though evidently he'd been considering before. Certainly he had the experience to hear something in the quality of the instruments she wasn't quite catching. Hm. "Have you ever composed?" she wondered aloud, curious. One didn't necessarily follow from the other, but it was possible-- she remembered his satisfaction back when he'd been constructing the Dreaming portal, a certain pleasure at using his gifts to create something useful and beautiful.
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Not that most of them were terrible; the fact they had survived when their lesser peers hadn't said that. In fact Solomon had learned to play the biggest classical composers in history. But the modern propensity to think of them as god-like in the arena of music, much like many classical authors in literature, amused him. It was as if people centuries down the road assumed all music 'back in the good old days' was the same, and it didn't occur to them that there must have been many more pieces equally or better-liked which had been lost over the years.
It was one of the reasons most sorcerers didn't think too much of the 'classics', actually, at least not the way purists thought of them. For sorcerers, what mortals called 'classics' were often a briefly amusing serial in last week's magazine. Some sorcerers' personal libraries contained music or literature anthropologists would have paid their right arms to read, because it didn't exist anywhere else except in the hands of people who thought of them as 'that trashy book about the orphan boy with the unrealistic happy ending'. Some of Solomon's oldest sheet music were by composers whose names the world wouldn't recognise.
Solomon finished counting and pushed it across the counter, trusting in Raine's presence to keep the girl from attempting some trick--though he doubted it would occur to the kedan anyway. "Modern music is frivolous and short-lived," he said, "but there's something enjoyable about it nevertheless. It doesn't try to outlast the centuries--it simply exists as pleasure in the moment. Sometimes that's preferable to the alternative."
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The point of view on the passing of time was a more interesting matter to her, anyway. She watched the exchange of coins with a sharp eye as a matter of course, turning the thought over as she did. "It's somehow always been the larger issues that occurred to me, when I considered my projected lifespan," she said eventually. "Leaving my students behind; the freedom to study all the ruins Aselia has; trying to ensure those who live several centuries on don't undo or forget everything we fought for. Not what stories or tunes will carry on."
Perhaps it was a reflection of the way she'd lived in Sylvarant, always feeling the dearth of mana and the knowledge that one of her students would have to give up her life to save the world. There had always been smaller considerations, of course, books and laughter and trying to impart higher mathematics to the rough equivalent of a block of wood, but the shadows of larger future issues hanging over her had never quite gone away. "I wonder. Was it usually the pieces you thought would last, that persisted in modern culture?"
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"Sometimes," Solomon admitted, turning to offer Raine his arm and let her lead him through the crowd. A part of his mind tried to sort through that implied timeline; he'd never actually asked Raine her age. "But not always. The most popular, contrary to belief, didn't always last; there are a number of composers whose works I thought would be forgotten until a century or more later. A great deal of the time it was simply a matter of fortuitous association. The only one I wasn't surprised by at all was actually the luthier from whom I commissioned my violin. He wasn't popular until much later; at that time violinists favoured subtlety over power, and the latter was more his style."
The only reason Solomon had initially gone to Stradivari because he was cheaper than his master, but in the end he'd preferred the sound. Shadows had been subtle enough for him, without mimicking it with music as well.
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When Solomon offered his arm she took it once more; what had once seemed an oddly formal gesture now simply fit with him, and had a practical purpose besides. She navigated the crowds of people with him in mind, gently altering the pressure in her grip rather than outright interrupt the conversation to indicate a shift if it looked like someone in the path would not give way.
"I suppose I'll have to keep notes," she murmured, half to herself. She'd never considered that particular dynamic before, and it would certainly be interesting to watch evolve. There wasn't much else she could meaningfully contribute yet on the subject of watching time pass, and it was likely evident from the way she spoke that she hadn't quite gotten to the outliving humans part of her lifespan yet. Louder, properly directed at Solomon: "And among sorcerers, do some things persist differently? Given a community, or something like it, of people who can all reasonably expect to live quite a long time..." A brief pause, and then she added, by way of explanation, "Heimdall -- the village of elves -- barely suffers half-elves, and is somewhat cut off from human society in any case. I had the impression sorcerers are generally a little better integrated, in your world."
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It had taken sorcerers a couple of extra decades to accept plane-flight and televisions as reliable and permanent utilities. The mortal world had changed so quickly over the past couple of centuries; it had taken sorcerers, not the best at changing circumstances, quite by surprise.
"Integrated, yes," said Solomon, "but perhaps not as much as you're thinking. A sorcerer can live side by side with mortals and not know them, and still be in hiding. Most sorcerers view mortals as an inconvenience which obliges them to remain circumspect. Others either view them as pests to be enslaved or the opposite--young and in need of protection."
Both perspectives were rather condescending, if Solomon thought about it, but he didn't particularly care. For him, it just wasn't worth making those bonds. Mortals died all too quickly for that. His life had revolved too long around the magical community to consider changing that habit.
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"I suspect the progression will be somewhat different in my world," she said instead, choosing to focus on the more academic option. "Given how heavily technology has been intertwined with magic. Then again, the elves have always avoided magitechnology..." Raine trailed off, thinking, shook her head. "I don't have enough data to reasonably project. Were there other stops you wanted to make today?"
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He changed subjects easily, with hardly a breath, in light of the tension in Raine's voice; but then he continued less surely. "But ... if you would like ... I can play something for you? Somewhere of your choosing?"
It's a question, though Solomon didn't mean for it to be. He'd just never played anything for anyone before. Ever. Let alone potentially in public.
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Solomon presented a much more pleasing set of things to consider. Though he was unsure, she realized with a start, and she wasn't wholly certain why. Perhaps music was not something he shared often, if at all? That thought made her heart light for a moment, and she smiled. "I'd like that," she agreed. "Very much. Perhaps our room?" It seemed more appropriate than a park, or some place on the street, and something about the way he questioned made Raine more inclined to privacy, at least initially.
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Actually, he was surprised by the impatience as they walked back to the Hotel and up to the room, and made themselves comfortable. Or at least Raine made herself comfortable; Solomon occupied himself with taking off his coat and then attending the violin. It was a new instrument. It had foibles he didn't know yet, so he opted to take things slow, but still testing.
In a way, he found, not being able to see made things easier. He couldn't rely on sheet music he didn't have anyway; but without being able to see Raine he could well accept he was alone as he ought to be. And at first he did stop and start, testing, reminding himself what it felt like after a year without; but, in the end, the song he chose came without any fumble that Raine would be able to tell--any technical missteps Solomon made, he covered without halting, gliding along on experience.
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Raine turned her footsteps back to the Hotel, keeping her pace with Solomon's, and when they returned she shrugged out of her jacket and settled on one arm of the armchair. She was torn, temporarily, over whether to close her eyes and listen simply for the sound, or to watch Solomon closely all the while. It was the latter that won out, and Raine tracked every movement with careful focus, remaining perfectly still herself.
He certainly knew what he was doing, and the realization of silence when he had finished the piece he had in mind was almost a shock, the breaking of a reverie. Raine let out a breath she hadn't quite realized she'd been holding. "You play beautifully," she said into the quiet, her voice low, and she meant it as much for the music itself as the way he handled the instrument.
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Solomon exhaled slowly, and relaxed, and smiled almost without being consciously aware. "Thank you." He'd known he was good. He didn't need the vindication of others to know that; he never had. It still meant more than he thought it would, to hear it from Raine. "It's one of the few 'classics' I still enjoy--it was written by an Irishman who isn't quite as popular as some of the other composers considered to be geniuses."
He lifted the bow, and this time he smile was mischievous. "But, to be honest, I actually prefer something like this ..."
And he played, and there was a subtle difference in his demeanour; while he'd certainly enjoyed the first song and that showed through, its aching slowness was still regard, chosen because it did make Solomon think of the night and the shadows, and their cool workings. But the next was full of life, and somehow oddly suited to a man who, in spite of his fear of death, had put himself in harm's way over and over for the sake of the world's freedom. For the first he was still and controlled as the facade he commonly wore; for the second, impassioned, thrown into his playing in a manner he hadn't quite been previously.
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And, more to the point, Solomon seemed to be enjoying himself more with the latter. There was a sort of joy in it, Raine thought; it was the sort of music that did not lend itself well to stillness. "I can see why you would," she said, after, still smiling. It suited him, though she wouldn't have initially expected it to. "Something a little more recent, I take it?"
jumping in with all the permission. so much permission.
He stopped when he heard the sounds of violin music drifting down the stairs. The sound was rare enough in Keeliai that it would have given him pause even if he'd heard it in the streets; but the thing that made him pause here was that he was fairly sure the music was strong enough to be coming from Solomon's room right next to the top of the staircase.
He hadn't known Solomon played. There wasn't any reason for him to, of course, but something about the knowledge still rang...
... was that...?
Almost like he was being guided by something other than his own consciousness, Skulduggery climbed the stairs and knocked on Solomon's door.
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He wasn't the only one who put pop songs to violin, but he was one of those who'd done it first, even to the point of converting sheet music himself. Before the internet, unconventional sheet music was more difficult to distribute.
"Of course, if anyone from the modern era heard it--" Solomon felt Skulduggery's presence moving up the stairs and stopped, head turning slightly toward the door and hoping beyond hope the detective wouldn't--damn! He sighed. "--they would be surprised, amused, and never let me live it down. It's Skulduggery; do you think if we pretend we didn't hear, he'll go away?"
His tone was resigned. Not much chance of that at all.
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She tipped her head a little as if listening when he sighed, paying attention to mana rather than music for a moment; Skulduggery's mana signature was fairly distinctive. "Doubtful," she said when he asked. Her tone turned speculative. "Though I suppose we could find an excuse to be otherwise engaged."
Skulduggery was already there, however, which made it a poor time to be taking anything else up, as much as Raine might prefer the continued privacy. "Why wouldn't they let you live it down?" she wondered aloud, crossing to open the door as she did. "Hello, Skulduggery."
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It was a bit of an exaggeration, but if their places had been reversed, Solomon would be doing the exact same thing. As far as excuses went, yes, it was a weak one. Skulduggery didn't particularly care.
"Can I come in?" he asked, every part the polite gentleman.
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