It's Who I Am

[Sin - Busy during weekdays.]

Regular Speech Thoughts Other

I needed answers, I needed guidance, so naturally I needed Him. It was almost like I had blinked and appeared in the ever changing landscape of Chaos. Only steps before I had been in the Ancient Ruins and I hadn't realized how close to the Fate's land I'd been. I suppose it was meant to be that way, innocents blindly stumbling into some twisted nightmare of a place. I was innocent yes, but not blind. I stood cautiously, taking a moment to attempt to find my bearings. I had half expected to see my mothers skeleton near, but it was long gone. I had fled this land shortly after meeting my father and Artemis, the mare who couldn't make up her mind as to whether to kill me or use me against Apollo. I had needed time to think, contemplated suicide actually, it sounded much better than what waited for me here. I was young though, still am. Fully grown, all legs and still had much more room to fill out. I hadn't been gone long it seemed but I had managed to answer some of my questions I had before, when I had found out that I was the son of a Fate.

I found out that I could bleed but seemed to heal rapidly, causing me to question my mortality. I sadly realized I would not be able to change the color of my surroundings like the Fates did here. Probably a good thing. I also couldn't control the will of others, force them to do things they otherwise wouldn't. I remembered staring for quite some time at some foals, urging one of them to jump into a river. It wouldn't have hurt the foal at all as the river was shallow, but I was just testing my abilities. The foal I had stared at did the opposite and laid beside its mother. I did know that I was warmer than others. I had steam steadily rising off my body in cool mornings, or I could make a natural spring quite comfortably warm just by entering. I once traveled to the edges of the far north, wondering if I could make it all melt. I decided that it looked to damn cold to continue and I backed down.

I still had questions, and I still had no control. I always felt the emotions of others, but this was not always good. If a fight was about to break out, instead of me just feeling those emotions, I became those emotions. It was hard to keep self control when all you wanted to do was step on everything smaller than myself and hope they break. I managed to stay out of everybodys way, to survive, and to learn. I was unable to learn about myself but I knew I was the only one of my kind, or if there were others, the normal equines had no idea. It was quite possible there were others since I was born. The normal equines didn't even know I existed even though I was right in their face. They told stories about the Fate's land making others insane by just going there. They explained the rumored balance that Artemis and Apollo had made. A lot of things I heard were suspected rumors but then again, anything could happen now.

I continued forth still letting my eyes try to take everything in. I refrained from shouting out something along the lines of 'daddy I'm home' just because I knew that he knew I was here. Still, it was fun to be obnoxious. Instead I moved slowly and steadily further into Chaos, keeping quiet all the while. Shadows danced from the sun in their battle to take each other over. My dark markings shown brightly in this land. I had kept them hidden mostly. Bathing in the mud seemed to work quite well. It served many purposes you know, keeping the flies off and others from asking about birthmarks.

I was getting rather bored. Surely it normally didn't take this long for someone to make an appearance here. Perhaps they were distracted? I raised my head and called out in a voice between conversational and shouting.
Anyone home?

OOC: Takes place after Aristaios falls for Shurrai and is conflicted on what to do about it, where he fits in, and life in general.

[S p e c t r a]

This is how I show my love
I made it in my mind because
I blame it on my A.D.D. baby

The earth undulates beneath my hooves, rolling and bucking like a rogue sea. I surge across the changing terrain, racing my imagination, throwing out variables at a moment's thought and scrambling to compensate. I rise to meet each obstacle, surprised at my subconscious and breathless with the thrill of trying to keep up with it. Each time I keep thinking maybe, just maybe, this time I might outdo myself. Maybe this time I'll stumble and fall. But not even the great Apollo can fell himself, it seems. Not even a mind like mine can beat out natural affinity, my talent and ease of construction built over millennia of practice. I suspect it wasn't always this easy, manipulating the fabric of earth and sky, but it is as much a part of me as breathing now. I can't so much as flick an ear without absently setting something on fire or throwing a new constellation into the atmosphere. Destruction, creation, it's all the same, all quite meaningless. There's nothing but the next challenge, the next twist of the knife. Some might say I take my power lightly, but that's not it at all. I take the world lightly. All the bland living and dying and screaming and crying that happens down there, it doesn't hold my interest like it once did. I've seen pawns drag through these moves before. Mortals are so predictable; all I can do is rattle their world a little and watch them knock dizzily together. Sometimes I hate them for not knowing how trivial they are, for not knowing how unremarkable and unmemorable their trysts, villainy and heroism turn out to be time and time again. But it is agreed between Artemis and I that the mortal realm remain largely untampered with, since an excess of meddling tends to break things and ruin the action. So here is my playground, the sandbox I can tear apart and rebuild a hundred billion times over. And tear I do, chaining myself to the physicality of my constructed surroundings and shredding my fake little world to pieces. My frustration speaks itself in every hateful gash rent open in the ever-changing scene. This is my private armageddon, a doomsday brought on by boredom.

Grass pulls apart like snapping threads, a great chasm yawning beneath my running feet filled with nothing but more sky reaching into the great beyond. I blocked the instinct to fly; that was cheating, to forgo gravity and skim over the fitful earth. I spun these wild equations and I'm damn well going to ride them out. Something lurches in my gut, averse to falling, and I leap from what frayed ground I have left, reaching for the other side. The edge unravels away from me, too far for the flightless parameters I have set for myself, and I conjure stepping stones at random. Hooves clack and clatter on slate, barely finding purchase before momentum and lack of space demand that I leap one way or the other to the next set of plate-sized stones. On and on, leaping and landing in frantic timing with my breaths. I do not like the reaching sky below me only because it is more of the same. I hate sameness, predictability, repetition. I hate everything that strikes that discordant chord of boredom in my gut, that buzzing disengagement in my mind. What mortals would sacrifice legions for, I am plagued by. Power. Everything is easy with this kind of power, which means nothing is rewarding. All I can do is butt my head against Artemis's through the ages and try, try to rouse something other than mild annoyance from her. Sometimes it almost looks like pity. I can't stand her; the one being who ought to understand what I'm going through and she just sits back like nothing bothers her, like all she wants to do is prod and poke and make things better. Well if order is her way, then chaos is mine. I can't take the natural world well, so bound up with rules that everything is obvious before it happens. I want to wreck every piece of it just to watch it break. But that would require starting from scratch again, and so much waiting. Time is tedium, and I've got too much of that already. I'm burning up. I need to destroy something before this restlessness destroys me.

I nearly slip over the edge a few times, and the tightening of my stomach at the sensation is cathartic even though there is no real danger. I have complete control and it's awful. Nothing will ever really surprise me, though that doesn't stop me from being as hasty as I can manage in the hopes of overlooking something and surprising myself. I just need to feel something to chase the crazy away. I hit the grass on the other side and find it a sticky sort of quicksand instead. Oh hell, this wasn't what I wanted at all. But at least it was interesting, different. I raise a tortured tree from the depths, bringing it up under my hooves to stretch my fetlocks partly free of the spiky glue. Oh, not enough then. I slam a pile of rocks over the source of the goo. Still caught in this alien substance. But then, a twinge at the edge of my awareness alerts me that Chaos, fickle bubble that it is, has opened a portal. I recognize the vague pulling sensation. The green-blue sludge unwinds itself from my legs as my concentration breaks and dismisses the constructs. Who on earth could possibly be important enough to find their way here?! Chaos didn't open itself without good reason. Hell, it hardly ever did. What was going on? I dematerialize, reappearing by the rogue portal's mouth as it closes. Striding out across glossy black stone is Aristaios, my first son. My only son, at present. A childish resentment that I can't quite place wells in me for a moment before I realize that this might just be the distraction I need. Noiselessly, I trail behind him as nothing more than a cold front of air. He looks lost, but this place does that to everyone. It seems like more than that, but I throw up mental barriers to keep myself from reading his mind. Knowing everything kills the mystery. Knowing everything rips the joy out of life. When he speaks, I feel what would be a devilish smirk if I presently had a mouth with which to do so. My voice resounds over his shoulder, disembodied. You didn't knock, I tell him. Then, after a moment's pause for effect, I build myself into a palomino once more, glowing warmly against the stark scene.

This is how an angel cries
I blame it on my own sick pride
Blame it on my A.D.D. baby
Sail!
-- Sail, AWOLNATION

[Sin - Busy during weekdays.]

Regular Speech Thoughts Other

I continued into the depths of Chaos, the land that literally meant what it was named. I tried to once more remember when I had entered and how far I had traveled into my sire's home but I couldn't recall exact times. Landmarks weren't really much use since the scenery was changing while time and distance seemed like just factors that weren't important here. I continued to look around while keeping my casual pace. I realized that it wasn't as quiet as I had thought it would be, but the noises weren't something I could recognize. I was not able to pinpoint any exact location of the sounds as they seemed to be everywhere at once, like being in a cave and shouting, minus the echo. A loud noise erupted from somewhere in Chaos. It reminded me of what an earthquake might sound like, or even a meteor smashing into earth. Then again, was I even on earth anymore? Was this in some separate dimension, a flaw in reality? Could Chaos just be reached by fraying the edges of possible and impossible? My mind couldn't cope with the details that wanted to form and a dull headache made itself known as I changed my train of thoughts. The noise I had heard sounded like it had come from everywhere at once, but I assumed that one of the Fates residing here had been the cause. I figured any direction was better than none and choose at random, trying to walk in a relatively straight path but like I stated before, landmarks cannot be trusted. For all I knew I was wondering about in a silly circle while my father laughed at me from somewhere nearby. A cold breeze brushed past me and I remembered my fathers warmth and Artemis's cold words. I shivered on reflex, hoping I wouldn't have to meet that particular God again. There is something utterly disturbing about having my fate in their hands. What if Apollo realized that I wasn't worth the trouble? Would he just kill me? How would he do it? With a thought? Or with something like a battle to amuse himself? Probably whatever he found more satisfying to his boredom. How could someone be bored with so much they can control? Or destroy... I decided that I didn't like where my thoughts were leading. I was here to know why I was Here. If that makes much sense at all. I needed to know my purpose, and I needed to know my limits.

Just as I was getting used to the breeze my father's voice sounded by my ear. I jumped slightly and turned to confront him. Nothing was there. Typical, my father would like to play mind games. I don't know what was more disturbing though, a voice without a body, or a body appearing out of nowhere. Apollo simply was there, right where he wasn't moments before. His comment sounded rhetorical so I ignored it. I did wonder if that was a good idea or not. I decided I didn't want to be blinked out of existence so I dropped my head in a short bow of respect, never taking my eyes off of him. There wasn't much that I could do against him, if anything, but I don't like surprises. "Hello sire." I raised my head back to it's regular position. It was hard not to stare at Apollo, but it was also hard to stare at him. He was bright and unnatural, but he was powerful and dangerous. He was like those storms that will water the crops, but take down the barn. His presence nearly demanded respect, his voice full of authority. I refused to look impressed though, it could be a sign of weakness that I didn't want him to see. "It has been awhile." I kept my voice calm as I tried not to remember our first and only meeting. I didn't want him to know how frightened I had been. My thoughts skipped around, moving from one event of my life to another. My life was rather dull so far as I had kept to myself, testing the waters of my nature. I was a freak, and I didn't belong anywhere. I didn't even belong here in my fathers home. My thoughts finally rested on Shurrai, the beautiful mare I had found. The one who lost her first foal, the dam who had been under a brutal stallions control. Technically she probably still was considering I hadn't met the devil. Or so he thought she was. We'd have some words when it came to that, but first I had to know if it was within my limits to love. I found myself always thinking about Shurrai, always wanting to be in her presence. I was drawn to her, and I didn't want to let it go. I knew that if I couldn't be with her, it'd be best to cut ties sooner rather than later, but was I too late for that even now? I try to tell myself that I can fulfill a purpose and raise a family at the same time, but was that realistic? Would I choose purpose over love? Or would Apollo choose for me and decide if I didn't do as he wished, he'd just destroy me and try again? Could I even hide if I wanted to? Doubtful.

The seconds seemed like hours as my thoughts rushed away, leaving my head rather clear. I sighed and looked back to my sire. "Sorry I haven't visited, time just flies." I figured he didn't care, but I was trying to get on his good side. I searched his features for any emotion that might help me out but failed miserably. I wasn't all that great on reading others, instinct can only take you so far and mine was calling me some names that shouldn't have been necessary, just for walking in here. It wasn't like I had really tried. I had just been wondering along, and bam Chaos had thrown itself over me, ripping the fabrics of reality and bringing me here. It was kind of like waking up one morning and realizing that what you knew was all lies and what was actually the world you lived in, was filled with monsters and angels, filled with chaos. I had to wonder how the Fates remained sane after living here so long. Then again, sanity might just be something for mortals. I looked directly at my father, speaking carefully. "I have some questions... About me. I hoped you could answer some?" I was rather disappointed in the fact that my voice sounded a hell of a lot more uncertain than I had wanted it to.

.

[S p e c t r a]

Maybe I should cry for help
Maybe I should kill myself
Blame it on my A.D.D. baby

If I'd ever had a grip on reality, it has long since slackened. When you can warp the fabric of the universe with a thought, the line between imagination and reality is a dotted one at best. There is only what is and what isn't yet. There is only what all can see, and what only I can see. What exactly these perceptions are shaped from is irrelevant. Thought and stone are one and the same to me. As a craftsman, I can make kingdoms of both. Only Time eludes my hammer and my chisel, and woe that it is such a crucial element in building mortals into something worthwhile. I can speed their growth but not their development. And what use is a race of adults with the minds of children? Their interaction, their internalization, their learned rules haunt and guide them in ways I cannot. Ways that demand more of my hours than I am willing to spend in toil and tweaking. I once held appreciation for innocence and aimless play, the nonsensical, gleeful gallivanting of foals. But it is years of living, of experiences and attachments and lessons learned, that bring about the brand of intrigue I crave. I must let Time run her course, and corrupt the joyous babes into twisted players. I have raised and struck down empires, and it was not enough. For it to be a play worth watching, I must not direct too strongly. I am but the producer, and require no progress reports. I have given Imbros a shadow of a script, and now I leave it to Time to rend and interpret it fittingly. But that does not stop me from coaching an actor here or there, or dropping the occasional great whopping footnote into the mix. This is, after all, my show. Bearing myself with a kingly air, I walk forward and draw up black walls to frame my direction. I tire of horizons and boundlessness. It is too open, seeming public and exposed, and I would have a semblance of privacy to speak with my son.

I have not seen Artemis in some time. I hold no illusions as to whether or not this is deliberate. Does she think she can wear me down by depriving me of the satisfaction of her reactions? Cloaked to my sight, it is possible that she is off coupling with mortals to raise herself a dark little army to oppose my shining one. Oh, it may be fledgling days yet, and not much of an army to speak of, but I do so enjoy knowing I have my own little monsters out there to call on, should I need them. I no longer worry that my sister might sway them to her side. My son stands with me and that is testimony enough. He has the makings of an influencer. And I have my honeyed tongue and warming aura. I thrill to think what poison she may have to raise against me. Artemis, beloved sister-made-rival, my only worthy opponent in a world empty and dull. I will make your days a misery to lessen my own. Nothing personal, dear. Some have gone so far as to call me power-mad, but their small minds cannot fathom what it is to have eternity stretch before you and so few limitations that it becomes possible to grow bored with possibility. No matter how much I exercise my imagination, it is never enough. A momentary thrill of beauty may grace the desert of my heart, but it is but a stab of wonder in a dull expanse, and woefully fleeting. Neither the agreed-upon solidity of Imbros nor the undulating shifts of Chaos can pull enthusiasm from this fogged mind. I remember laughing brightly with the sunrise, chasing across the sky. I remember taking joy in the shards of light dancing on water. I remember the feeling that things were new even when they weren't, even when nothing could possibly be new. But now we stand in a strict hall of mirrored black stone, and there is light but no joy. I wonder if I have gotten old.

Gleaming water-like blackness characterizes the obsidian stone all around us, rising above us in looming great walls. There are some natural things I take a liking to, and this material is one of them. It has an unparalleled elegance to it, though I prefer to hew it in straight angles rather than let it fracture in swoops and swirls. Chaotic, unpredictable unless I delve myself into its volcanic pressure points and find the lines of least resistance. I love both chaos and order, the first a personal favourite and the second a useful contrast with which to make the disorder stand out all the better. That is what I have wrought here. Order in which we can forge the unpredictable. The light above us seems so far away now, like being buried alive, and we two dwarfed by the magnificence of a world that reaches impossibly far over our heads. Down here, colourless reflections matching our steps, we are small and alone. The brightness of my son's coat, a veritable glow, is visible against all this blackness, though outshone by the warm light of my own aura. I am, naturally, unsurpassable. Patron of the Sun. I hold all the roiling, nuclear power of a bright-hot star inside me, churning and aflame. I am a chain of violent reactions, a war of chemicals strapped to a single consciousness. I am not the sort one comes to for small talk. And yet here stands the flesh of my corruption, smart-talking me like I am as forgettable and ordinary as any mortal sire would be. A noble effort, dear boy, but a foolish one. You did not neglect to visit so much as you were unable to get here. And you fear me too greatly for disregard. But Chaos must favour you, to keep bringing you to me, and I am not one to turn away opportunity. I suppose I should be honoured that your mind has not yet turned to putty from being here. Whether that is my blood or something else entirely is irrelevant.

I had forgotten the feeling of triumph until the feeble, indignant hooves of my son had graced this plane for the first time. I had forgotten what the unexpected could feel like, what it was like to not know. And I had not known whether my son would choose my guidance over my sister's, whether he would like me. Well, I still don't know the second one. And it shouldn't matter, but it could be useful to have him like me. All I need is his allegiance, and I have it. These things that pass between us are no longer matters of need. Niceties are not something I often stretch for, but I am as eager as he to learn about him, and so I will do the courtesy of acting like this is more than some ploy for political gain. I am, of course, rapt with fascination as he speaks, studying the shifts of muscle in his face and the throb of pulse at his throat. Questions. That is what brings him here, breaks his collected composure to reveal a meek pup. Ah, he feels his otherness then. Perhaps they do too. Does he lament that they cannot understand him? That he can tell them nothing without opening himself to superstition and hatred? Though perhaps it shouldn't, it pleases me that my son will suffer. It is something more potent than blood to share. And through his new eyes, perhaps I will see something I have forgotten in these countless dead years. As you are the first, it is possible that I may not have answers, I say, dry tones deepened to convey wisdom over trickery. But my statement, in itself, is a lie. Answer or no, I would always have something to say. And I could have the answer if I wanted it. But I would not pull apart the last mystery left to me in this world. Not for my son or any mortal. Speak, flesh of my flesh, and I may relieve some of your ignorance, I add, sounding almost friendly. We walk, and our light becomes an infinity of stars in the surrounding blackness.

Maybe I'm a different breed
Maybe I'm not listening
So blame it on my A.D.D. baby
Sail!


OOC: Holy balls this boy is complicated to write!

[S p e c t r a]

OOC: Leaving this thread here for reference. Normal archiving rules don't apply here due to the thread restrictions.