Jacob Kane [ Cain ] (
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tushanshu_logs2015-09-01 10:46 pm
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ghost by my side, so perfectly clear. [ catch-all ]
Who | "Jacob Kane" (Cain) & You |
When | Month of September, barring plot explosions |
Where | All around Keeliai and various establishments |
What | Just one of those catch-all things |
Warn | Will update as necessary. Please consider filling this permissions post! |
Things were tense around the city. The breezy weather had subsided, and with it went some of the feeling of just waiting for something to happen. Now the air was humid and people were scrambling to collect what they could, prepare not only in case the air dried again but for whatever was to come when the Justicar appeared. No one had any idea what to expect. Cain certainly didn't, but he was more or less okay with that; he didn't need to borrow trouble rather than make sure his own interests would be all right should push come to shove.
To those ends, Cain was being a little more directed in his wanderings of the city. Places where the natives seemed more steeled than frantic, still appreciated foreigners or at least was willing to let individuals prove themselves, anything where he could make himself appear more solid. His carefree attitude was great and genuine, but if things went to hell, Cain wanted to make sure people would look at him and not question if he had to take some kind of control. All hail Romulus, father of the Holy Roman Empire. Ha, yeah right. Not that it would even mean anything to most people here.
He went about his business. There were places to be, people to bother, and plenty of things to keep up on.
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He reached out to take it, only actually doing so if Cain let him. Either way, he could read the note. "'You're doing just fine. He's still in there. Remy says hi.' It's signed, 'Roman'."
Anton paused, and then looked up at Cain. "Who gave you this?"
It was Cain's handwriting. Anton hadn't seen much of it, but he'd seen enough, when Cain was making notes about the patron headcount and a timetable for the rotations.
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Blinking a few times in rapid succession to keep himself from tearing up again at hearing the confirmation, it was real, Cain answered, "It was slipped under my door. That's... not me imagining it, then."
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It wasn't exactly unusual, though this was the first overt manifestation Anton had seen since that month with the appearing and disappearing objects which had created his bottomless jar of coffee-beans.
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"The Dreaming," Cain repeated slowly, considering. "Somehow I don't think you're implying I wrote this in my sleep, or in a dream, and it just manifested in reality."
That wasn't possible. Even in his dreams, Cain never came to such an optimistic outcome.
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It still hadn't gone away. Which was fortunate, given how many hungry engineers he often housed.
"It's possible your note came from a similar source," Anton continued without pausing. But then he did, only to ponder the words of the note. The last time they'd spoken about names and identities, Cain had admitted to identifying as ... well, Cain. It wasn't a story Anton had heard in a long time. The name he'd heard recently, yes, and wondered whether Skulduggery's young protegee really knew whether she'd named herself after a killer; but the Cain here was unlikely not to have chosen it cavalierly.
And he was old. Very old. Very old, with a note in his handwriting, signed 'Roman'. An undying man who called himself Cain, whose brother had died 'a very long time ago'. Anton tilted his head. "How did history get right about your brother's death?"
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It occurred to Cain at Anton's continued questioning that he had just given his identity away. Not that it was a secret, it simply wasn't something he spoke about. That part of him was his core, deep down and protected and something he was proud to be but no longer had place in his life. Romulus, first king of Rome, had gone away when his brother had reappeared as Abel: the murdered brother. It hit home in too many ways, and Cain had not gone by their original names since. He looked away for a moment to allow his emotions to settle, considering what he cared to reveal.
At this point? There wasn't much left to hide. Anton had asked something deeply important and personal of Cain and there was a trust to it that he couldn't deny. Something like family, left over from the Dreaming. Maybe that had been made real just like the coffee, that connection fathomed straight into reality. "It didn't happen in a fight over where to build Rome, if that's what you're asking," Cain said, "but I was the one who killed him."
*much how MUCH
Anton rested his chin on his hand. "And when you say 'you' killed him, do you mean you held the weapon, or you ordered his death, or you feel responsible?"
All of which were important things ... more so than most people considered. Anton doubted that Cain would see much difference, which was interesting, given Cain's age. He was more than wise enough to know the differences between culpability and responsibility.
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It wasn't as if he hadn't heard any of it before. It wasn't his fault, he had been just a kid, he didn't understand what it all meant, there was nothing he could have done anyway, keeping the balance was more important. Back then, there had been none of that. Simply whether Remus would live or die and Romulus had been the only one who could decide. He'd killed his brother through decisive inaction. Still, Anton's question deserved an answer; a kinslayer was nothing to treat lightly.
"I knew he was going to die," Cain said slowly, almost hesitantly. He still didn't like talking about it even if it was the truth. "I knew the exact moment he would die and I led him right to the slaughter."
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Probably not. Cain was very old; so old that there was an element of indulgence in the way he interacted with most people. Too set in his ways to be simply accept changing, despite the changing nature of eras. He'd taken the name Cain, after all; the entirely of his identity was based around his brother's death.
It wasn't precisely healthy.
Then again, Anton hadn't done much differently, save that he had more than one brother. It still struck him as more like Skulduggery than not--clinging uselessly to guilt instead of growing through it.
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"I mentioned he died when we were running from out master," Cain said slowly, talking through the events once more, thoughts drifting back. "It was a pack of dogs that he had sent after us. I'd known we would be trying to leave that night, known he would die in the attempt. If I'd called it off, considered how it might happen or thought of a different plan, he would have survived."
That part was spoken with surety. Of course, the Reapers would have tried to come for Abel. They always would have been following them, looking for ways to claim that lost soul. However, Abel had been the first Enforcer, the first one with the power to track down and personally kill anyone who escaped their time running out. It would have been a paradox, a break of the balance before anyone knew it could happen... but it had been possible, completely possible, and Cain hadn't even made motion to try.
"Bit late to be arguing semantics, though," he added with something of a wry smile. "I do know what you're saying. Believe me, I've thought about it myself. My head knows what you're saying but my heart says it's wrong and there's no one else who was ever there to tell me they saw different with their own eyes. All I have is what I know, you know?"
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"That's usually all one has," Anton murmured. At least Cain was aware of it, which meant he was unlikely to let it control him if it came to that--or so Anton hoped. Sometimes, what one knew was a lot broader than just what was in the heart. Sometimes it wasn't.
Anton looked back at Cain, his gaze even. "What are you going to do with the note?"
It wasn't precisely a call to action, that note ... but still. Cain had been rattled.
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"Wish I could say I would burn it," Cain said with no small trace of sardonic amusement, "but for now I'll probably keep it... as a reminder. If it really is true, then there's likely a lot I need to rethink."
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