tushanshu_logs | ghost by my side, so perfectly clear. [ catch-all ]

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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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Anton didn't look up immediately, but waited until he was at a point he could pause and know where he was at. "I see a piece of paper," he said, "but would I be correct in assuming you're talking about what's on the paper?"

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.

His fingers curled, almost ready to keep the note from Anton, to keep whatever truly lie inside the folds hidden. If it wasn't what he thought, then Cain was in too deep and would probably need to call for help among the very few he trust enough to offer it. If it was what he thought, then... he wasn't sure what to do with that information. Not even fifteen words on a scrap of paper and he was flipped inside out.

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."

"No," said Anton, still regarding Cain thoughtfully. He held the note out, having not missed Cain's reticence to hand it over in the first place. "And I imagine you didn't write it yourself, or don't remember writing it, so I would think the Dreaming may be at fault here."

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.

After only a moment of stillness, Cain took the note back and began folding it along the creases until it was back to the small square it had been to start. Despite the contents of the note, there was some sort of anxiousness in its sending. There was a lot Cain didn't understand about the circumstances surrounding the letter, but at the very least, the contents were clear.

"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.

"No," Anton admitted. Cain had already experienced the Dreaming--being inside it, at least. But he hadn't stuck around the last time long enough to witness the effects the Dreaming had started having on the city. "A few months ago there was a period when the Dreaming caused things to become real. That's how I got the never-ending coffee jar."

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?"

"Just things?" When one started being able to influence the laws of reality just by thinking about it, conscious or subconsciously, it was definitely something to worry about. If the extent of it only went to a lifetime supply of coffee, then they had gotten away lucky. Cain figured Anton likely knew all that already.

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."

That left aside the Dreaming creations. Anton hadn't been sure how well Cain would take the question, but he answered it honestly enough, if in a circuitous way. More like a man who hadn't spoken of this in a while, or didn't enjoy speaking of it--understandably.

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.

Those questions were important, and Cain could see what distinction Anton was hoping to make. When it came to Cain's psyche, however, he just couldn't make the same allowance for himself that he would for anyone else. It wasn't the same. Twenty-four years of knowing, of watching and waiting and fear getting in the way, all leading up to that terrible moment, followed by thousands of years of regret all tended to twist a person around when it came to something so close and dear to their hearts, their entire world warping to accommodate.

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."

As Anton thought. "Would it be worth pointing out to you," he said, "that knowing when he would die is different to knowing how, and that deliberately leading him to a place with the intention that he would be killed is entirely different to knowing he would, in some manner, be so?"

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.

Cain tilted his head, a quick bob of understanding to the difference that Anton was pointing out. There were pieces missing to this puzzle that he didn't have, things only Cain had the opportunity to do, plenty of extenuating circumstances in either direction. There was no simple way to work through the events that had transpired, not when they had been so close and Cain had been so scared.

"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?"

A pack of dogs. That little detail tagged Anton's mind. A pack of dogs tearing apart Cain's brother would undoubtedly be a source of trauma. He ought to make sure Valdis didn't use her hound form in public. She hadn't on the regular, of late, but still. Until he knew more.

"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.

It was a good, focusing question. Cain took a deep breath as he cast his mind toward the note and what it meant all over again. For their conversation just now, his inability to let everything go, that short missive ran counter to all of it. Returning to his old name with his brother said more than anything else ever could, and the encouraging words only further twisted him up. Was he truly doing the right thing as he was? Following his heart had always been easy, but with Abel there was always room for doubt if that would be good enough.

"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."

"Possibly," said Anton, "but possibly not. Visions and evidences of the future are so difficult to pin down." He reached out to tap the edge of the page. "I wouldn't say to be rid of it. But don't make your choices based on the little this implies. You can't know the future until you're there. Trying to manipulate it is likely to only turn out wrong."

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ghost by my side, so perfectly clear. [ catch-all ]

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*much how MUCH

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