Hymms For Shadows

((This thread initiated in chat and was transferred here. For all intents and purposes, it is complete.))

Thrall!Wellam:Little one, have you seen a boy about your age? Dark hair? Gentle eyes? -he looks about the room, looking beyond her, brows furrowed-

Gladys: well this one was odd. Odder than that scowling man in the funny hat that Gloria always had around her. "No, I'm sorry. Can you tell me more about him?"

Thrall!Wellam: I don't...-the priest looked about, for a moment, growing quiet as his thoughts seemed to drift away, his expression somber and worried. He seemed to have forgotten about Gladys in that time, fingers pressed against his chin- W-where…

Gladys was trying not to freak out and run away, even though every instinct was telling her to. Here was a priest, or someone who used to be a priest, living right in the Villa. She should study him. Yes. She poked his chest.


Thrall!Wellam smiles sadly, not understanding her as he looks down at himself, trying to see what it was that she was referring to. "Broken?" he asks, though the moment she takes his hand, he flinches and withdraws his hand, looking at her with worry. "I...Do not understand you."

Gladys "Shhhh, don't worry, you'll be cared for," she tried patting his arm instead. So very weird. "What is that thing on your face?" She pointed at his glasses.

The priest continued his look of sheer confusion at the lass, shying even still from the pat against his arm, though not as much as he did when she had taken his hand. He puts one hand to his face, feeling about for the glasses that were left upon his nose, seemingly having forgotten that they were there too. He took them off and stared at them for a time, seemingly distracted by a thought that he just couldn't seem to snag hold of. "These...Uhm....These..."

Gladys nodded and persisted, "Yes, these are...?" What had they done to this one? She knew the enthralling process was rough but... he'd been stripped of near everything.

Father Wellam thought for a moment, staring at the glasses, remembering something that he just couldn't quite grasp. It seemed to be a sad memory, for his mouth pulled downwards into a frown. The prod, however, was enough to jostle him from his thoughts, and he looked up to her, remembering her this time. "...Glasses...Did you..." He paused, lips pursing in thought, "...Do you need them? Can you see?"

Gladys smiled, touched by his concern, "No, I'm fine. I can see perfectly." Her attention shifted to his collar. That weird white patch at his throat unsettled her. She tried to poke it.

The priest seemed to look at her with doubt, not sure whether or not she was telling him the truth. He made motion to check her eyes, to lift her chin enough so that he could see, but he was interrupted by a poke against his neck. He paused, and looked down at her hand

Gladys was starting to be underwhelmed by how not dangerous this priest was. Maybe Asher thought it would be funny to dress a thrall up like a priest... "Hm? You were going to do something?"
"I was..." started the priest, but he was distracted by the prod against his neck, the sensitive skin. "...My clerical collar," he said, distracted as he straightened up and adjusted his collar, making sure that it was prim and clean.

Gladys murmurs "Clerical collar..." to herself, not really sure what those words mean. "But what's it for?"

Father Wellam screwed his mouth into a thoughtful shape, trying to remember, trying to think. He had explained it once before. What had he said? He struggled to think, "....It's...It's a symbol...Purity. A promise."

Gladys unconsciously mirrored his confused expression. "Purity of what? a promise to whom?"

--This is when ama derails the awesome RP--

Gladys: gathers a bunch of thralls and puts them in her bed and she just snuggles down among them owo

Wellam: -is in the thrall pile, pretty confused- o <o

Gladys: hugs Wellam ´w`

Wellam: Hello little one. ; <;

Gladys: I like you a lot, you're nice, not scary like I thought all priests were

Grandma eyes Gladys from the pile of Thralls and sighs.

Grandma: Rolls into Gladys and stares at her for another moment. Her finger flicks out and pokes her
between the eyes. "Don't bite too hard, kit."

Gladys: utters a soft "Ow," even though it didn't hurt. "I'm not going to bite any of them, I just like being warm." :c

Grandma: shakes her head and curls her head downwards against Gladys chest. Her fingers curl around her shoulders. The yonger vampire would hear a soft hiss.

Gladys: is just a LITTLE ALARMED "G-grandma are you ok?"

Grandma: drags a finger to Glady's neck and across her pale flesh. Her head curls upwars so her mouth is nearly touching her ear. "Don't," she hisses, " flicker so. My wings no longer flutter. Burn the world instead."

Gladys hugs Eydis close, scared, for the first time, of her. "What's wrong? Are you in danger?"

Grandma laughs heartily. "Never, no. Once," she sings as she pinches Gladys cheeks. "But," her laughter dies away, "what a terrible gift he's given me."

Gladys searched Eydis' face for meaning, "Who? Your master?"

Grandma's eyes narrow further and she remains silent.

Gladys' brow furrows a bit in thought. "... My master?"

Eydis sighs "his taste in clothing is questionable at best." She pulls away effortlessly and casts her
eyes on the ceiling."

Gladys waits half a moment before nuzzling against Eydis' arm, "Are you mad at me because of him? I know he's horrible but I love you."

It's okay, Wellam is currently wondering where he is, so he's fine. He's plenty distracted.

Grandma's eyes close as Gladys finishes speak. Her hand comes to rest on Gladys hand. "Him," she corrects her. "him." Her free hand snakes over and tossed Wellam on top of Gladys.

Gladys gasped as a sudden, warm weight fell on top of her. She had instinctively held up her hands and this had prevented their heads from cracking together painfully. For half a moment she could only stare up at him. That kind priest thrall. He looked very different when he was laying on top of her. Pulling her mind from this distraction she cast about for Eydis. "Oma? Are you still there? Oma?"

Eydis snakes through the bodies and props herself up at corner. She looks back briefly before standing up.

Wellam: -gasps as he's shoved onto Gladys and then tries to lift himself up so he doesn't crush her.- Sorry, little one.

Gladys tries to smash herself into the mattress away from him, suddenly feeling vey awkward, "It'sok." She turned into a bat to extricate herself and dropped down onto the floor next to the bed, careful not to position herself between Eydis and the door. Back in her normal form she clasped her hands together, "Oma, if, if you ever want to talk..." she smiled, a little sad, trying to look reassuring.

Wellam: -pushes himself up into a sitting position on the edge of the bed and looks around in a daze, confused and wondering- <8C

Eydis looks back over her shoulder past Eydis and to the pile of bodies. Her hand swings around slowly and is offered, but not to anyone in particular. "I have no stars" she says, "But the planets move blithely through you sky." She takes a slow step backwards. "Divine what you can from them."

Gladys rushed to catch Eydis, though she knew a fall from the corner of a bed would barely register to the ancient vampire. Still... Still. Even seeing the semblance of harm to her beloved matriarch was distressing.

Eydis hopped down in spite of Gladys efforts, as if to demonstrate she was beyond the need for anyone's help. Her expression was blank as internally her mind jumped from thought to thought and lifetime to lifetime like someone flipping through thousands of channels. Her thoughts settle on a previous, paranoid notion. Space was better. She didn't know it, but he was her trump. "Tch," she clicked her tongue, " Wrinkles... everywhere."

Gladys bit her lower lip in confusion and worry. She looked back at the bed. The bedclothes? ... the... people? "Oma, if you prefer, you could sleep with me for the day in my coffin," she offered, still trying to smile in a submissive, appealing way.

The channel clicked and Eydis took another step away. She had never slept in a coffin. It was gauche. Nobody sleeps in burning ship. Why would they? These soft fleshy things and their poetic notions. She opened her mouth to express this sentiment, "I sink to the bottom. Few join me there." Her thoughts turned to the morose abandoned blonde, wherever he might be. "He might," she mused.

Gladys sighed a bit, her body relaxing not with relief, but with surrender. There was just too wide of an information gap between them sometimes. Most times. She instinctively looked towards the window, but of course it was shuttered and curtained and locked against the daylight that would be cresting the eastern mountains soon. No time to get to her small house in the woods, to build a warming fire, to nest in the comforting, protective earth. "Wherever you rest today, please be safe, know that you are always welcome with me."
Welcome. What an odd phrase. As if there some place Eydis could be kept from. As if there was somewehre she needed to be. She went where she pleased when she pleased. The channel clicked and Eydis turned once more towards Gladys. There was an aspect of their encounter that felt familiar. A story she had heard 1000 times, although her own story  had been lost. Burnt away. She went and sat once more at the edge of the bed, but with her back to those present. This was the safest and worst place she could be.

Gladys sat next to her, trying to read any information off her face that she could. Finally, "... do you not like the thralls?"

Thralls. Click. There were the beautiful Roman boys who ran her Villa. Or the aristocratic man who thought he had acquired a lovely child for his collection of women. There was the woman with the kind eyes she had pretend to be mother. They  all had names. She had forgotten them, had struggled to remember, and then forgotten to struggle. They were a part of this game. Some kept them, others didn't- give a century or two and tastes changes. How do you sum up these whirling cenutries of moth-eaten thoughts. "I am colorblind," she said, "no, that's not right." Her legs swung about childishly and her heals tapped against the bedframe.

Gladys sighed and curled up on the bed, rubbed a hand on Eydis' back, comforting circles. She didn't know how to respond to these non-answers, confusing groups of words that felt like they meant something, should mean something, but in the end were meaningless to all but Eydis. Maybe even to Eydis as well. This thought only deepened her growing melancholy. She sat up and looked at the thralls, many of them asleep. Good. And the priest. "Sleep if you can," she gently commanded him, and any who were still awake, "Or leave if you can't. I won't hold you here."

Father Wellam stared for a bit, not sure if he was being referred to, but the stare at his head meant as much. He picked himself up from the bed and started looking around the room, hands folded before him as he calmly and gently resumed his search about the premises, seeking something that could not be remembered, something that could never be found. Soft mutters of thought followed him as he moved about the room, eventually drifting towards the door.

Eydis closed her eyes and began to hum a lilting tune far too old to be remembered by anyone in the villa. It reminded her of fields of little white wildflowers tossed about in a gentle breeze. It was the only thought nowadays that kept her calm. For sleep had also all but left her. Then came the priests noisy little thoughts, completely incompatible with her song. Her pacing faltered and she cracked open an eye. "There are far too many a gate to scale to reach your castle," she called to him. She leaned back into Gladys's hand in response to her touch. "The thin ice is better than a icey bath."

Gladys continued her matronly gestures of comfort. "Will you teach me that song?" she attempted again to make contact.

The wandering priest glanced towards Eydis, studying her in mute silence. He had heard her words, but he was processing them.

That song. It was gone now. Back in the recesses. Like a mishelved library book. "Ah, not for someone your age," she teased as if it would reassure the both of them. Her eyes stayed trained on the priest. "But you know a good song, yes," her head cocked to one side. Little strings were tied around his hands, fell to the floor, and trailed their way underneath the door. Clever little priest. Her eyes drifted to the silver one around his neck. How sloppy her little mouse had been.

Father Wellam looked to Eydis even still, his eyes empty, his expression vague and forlorn. His mind was elsewhere, gone, distant. He glanced away, as if noticing something that no one could ever see, something invisible, and he smiled. He began to hum, singing underneath his breath.

Gladys chuckled easily, relaxing and growing sleepy even as she knew the sky was lightening, "Oh? is it a naughty song?" she teased Eydis back.


But then came the humming. It was beautiful, but it caused her body to tense, like a cramping in her muscles. She tried to tell him to stop, but her throat was tightening as well. Only small, strangled whimper escaped her as her body tensed, curled, went stiff with paralysis.

Eydis's scalp tingled, which felt slightly pleasurable in the same way an itch does until it doesn't go away. She hopped of the bed , humming along, and danced her away across the room to the priest. Her finger shot up, just short of his mouth, as if to say continue until I deam otherwise. Great plans boiled around in her head as memories of swift justice, cunning plots, and backhanded deals breached like bits of a stew. How  delightful it would be to shake things up at the Villa. "Keep this key close to your heart," she whispered, her eyes darting back over to the bed, "it is my gift to you on your wedding day." With that her finger lightly tapped his lips.

Father Wellam continued humming, and when the small finger of the elder vampire touched his lips, he blinked and looked to her, his song coming to a stop. He looked at her as if just noticing her, and gave her a tender smile, "Hello, princess, did you like the song? It's a favorite of mine, and of my ward."

Gladys regained control of her body with the end of the song, and she gasped a deep, shuddering breath of air into lungs that did not need it. She shivered as an annoying dullness worked itself out of her muscles, the prickling of sensation returning as it does after a limb falls asleep. "It was very beautiful, but please do not do that again in my presence," she gasped, trying to remain polite, but insistently drawing the line of authority in front of him that he ought not to cross. She sat up to face them, looking haggard and worn. Something wet... She pressed a hand to her face, a thin line of blood had trickled out of her nose. She sighed and stood, hand still pressed to her face, and hurried out of the room to attend to the nosebleed.

Eydis stared deep into the priests eyes for a moment as if appreciating a work of art rather than a person. Her hands reached out and took up his. "Ah, a sparrow singing for a sparrow," she offered him a smile. "I am not worthy of the notes." So many possibilities were laid out before her. The easiest and most indulgent was to see if in breaking him free, he could break her. There wer so few that tried anymore. Her hands carried his and set them about her neck after Gladys left. "Warble when you like to me."d

The priest looked confused, a soft expression of puzzlement passing over his face as he stared at her and tried to decipher her words. He had known how to speak in metaphors before, but it all seemed so...so distant now. His hands were soft as they cuped around Eydis' neck and he tilted his head to once side. "...You would like to hear more of his song? It is a rather beautiful one, isn't it? Always so melancholy, his choices. So severe. But touching."

As Eydis closed her eyes priest may have noted the slightest change in them. She was sinking into moment when the past just dropped away. For the living, it was like taking a deep breath after holding it for far too long. The weight about her neck caused her no worry, but felt comforting like a piece of familiar jewelry. She nodded gently. "Sounds like a sweet child," she whispered. "Sing what you'd like, dear priest. May you have some respite."

"I am hoping he might hear. I can't seem to find him anywhere I look...Such a shy child....Ever so good at hiding. But if I sing, he might...He always came before..." Father Wellam sighed, letting the deep motion flow throughout his body and through the soft grip he had about Eydis' neck. He let his hands slip from her neck onto her shoulders, a comforting motion and with a deep breath, he began singing gently. It was again the song of before, that sad and sweet tune.

There was a slight twinge of disappointment as the priest's hand slipped from her neck. So many of the clergy, especially those who inhabited the area, were filled with bloodlust that would make some vampires blush. No, this was a good man. Lost and searching fruitlessly in the dark, not unlike herself. Maybe that was the root of her sympathetic gesture. Her skin began to itch once more as he sang. Was she torturing him too, find ways to provide hope when there potentially was none? Well, she'd suffer through the remainder of the hym as punishment.

The priest's hymn was gentle and sweet, with the heaviness of a fog through the moors. As he sang, he closed his eyes and held Eydis gently, not pulling her to him, nor pushing her away, just a supportive hold, as if he had sung like this to someone so many times before. He moved one hand up to her hair and stroked his fingers through, tucking it behind her ear before tapping his finger beneath her chin, raising her face just enough to make sure she saw him smile. He nodded as the song came to a close, and tapped her nose. "Better?" he asked, a familiar question, expecting a familiar answer.

The music swept through her fragmented memories like the wind, at times a gentle whistle and others a rattling howl. She let thoughts ebb and concetrated on the music, although it certainly did itch. The little tap on the nose brought the moment to a close. Her eyes fluttered open, a deep crimson few would ever see. In turn, Eydis saw a priest desperately looking for the right answer. "See and hear what you'd expect," she commanded softly. A blink, a gesture she often forgot to do, and her eyes returned to their pale, almost colorless state. A fog rolled heavily once more through her thoughts, leaving her smilingly childishly at the priest.

.See and hear what you'd expect.

Those words, that command, rung true in the old priest's head, his smile warming as if they were the spark of a flame. He chuckled again and brought both hands to Eydis' hair, cupping the back of her head as he dipped her head forward and pressed a kiss to her crown. "You will be alright, little one. Worry not. You are not an angel. You will not be judged so fiercely, so resolutely. You cannot fall from Heaven. You are perfect as you are," he said gently, smoothing his hand again upon her hair and then laying his callused hands to her shoulders. "Fear is his weapon,true, and it is effective, but love is mine. Love is fiercer, little one. Remember that always, and remember also that your heart is great. It has the capacity for a many great things, little one. Fill it with love, not his fear, and you will overflow."

Eydis did what she had done for lifetimes. She stood still and observed. Life moved by with relative speed. The humans hummed and vibrated with quick, fantastic flashes of life and love. The wolves and otherfolk sauntered forward with the same determination but less speed. Her kind had no such beautiful consistancy. They flashed and flickered, persisted and perished. Then there were the others, tied the heavens and the earth. Moving to a slow, steady beat that went unnoticed yet emerged in the hymns and prayeres of the living and dead. She listened intently to the words not meant for her. What a unfathomable gift and lie faith was. It was meant to be protected...and destroyed. Yet she found she could do neither.

"I know you are scared."

The priest tilted his head to the side, a somber and understanding worry passing over his brow. He held Eydis' shoulders more firmly then, slowly dropping himself onto one knee, so that he might share the same eye-level. He kept himself balanced with his hands on her shoulders, keeping their eyes connected, his gaze grey and dull, her eyes sharp, intent. He gave a heavy sigh, "Courage is not born from nothing, however. It comes from that fear, and you will learn to convert it at a second's notice, like fuel into flame. It comes with practice, little one. And it's okay to be afraid. I am scared too. You will have to worry not, however. I'll be back before next Advent, and we may lift and light the candles, decorate the awnings and doorways."

Was this a memory? Or merely a dream? Her eyes refused to leave the priest as he continued. Was this guilt? Had he left the child and never fought hard enough to return? These were the words men wanted to say, tried to say. Now he never would, trapped in this trap in yet another trap. In a way, Asher has saved him, extracted him from worry, fear, and guilt by breaking the priest. But those were also the sweet lies her kind offered up to humans. This one had fought that gift tremedously and it seemed there was still fight left. The ending to his story intrigued her. Her teeth clamped down upon her lips, as if to keep herself from spoiling the scene.

Father Wellam listened to the silence for a moment, his warm smile faltering a little, his brows deepening with guilt that he pinned back behind practiced masks and manicured faces. He chuckled to disguise the grief, and he squeezed gently at Eydis' arms, before pulling her into his arms, holding her head to his shoulder in a tight fearful embrace. "Shh....shh...Little one, it will be alright, please don't cry. I won't be gone long, I promise. I'll be back. I can tell you of my adventures, yes? You've always liked stories, and I'll have so many to tell when I return from the hunt. Until then, focus on your studies. Practice with your light, but be careful not to overdo it. If you practice diligently and you can hold your bow by the time I come back, I can take you with me the next time I must go on a hunt. We'll run away, together, mm? Wouldn't that be nice, to get away from that bitter old crow? Oh, little one...You'll exhaust yourself with those tears. Shh, shh....Do not fear, Armand...I'll be back."

For a time, Father Wellam held Eydis, cooing gently to her, patting her hair and doing whatever he could to soothe that imaginary weeping. At length, however, he sat back on his legs and mustered a smile to Eydis again, releasing her from his arms. He reached up, straightened invisible glasses on Eydis' face, and chuckled sadly. "You can help me pack. Run and fetch my rapier would you? There's a good lad."

And that was the end. Father Wellam's eyes followed Eydis at first but then drifted away as the child of memory whisked away. A moment more and his face fell blank, resetting the priest into that strange place of loss, of confusion. His eyes filled again with that somber worry, and he looked around from where he sat on his legs, hands on his lap, unable to find what he was looking for.

Eydis found herself pressed against the priest’s body. To the living, it was cold. But to her it was still warm. The heart still beat. It pounded in her ears, thick with sorrow and so many other delicious emotions. Yet this scene caused a deep stir as if it was threatening to impose false stories or, even worse, shards of the truth. But there were no more memories left of being human, or so she believed. Just as she could no longer remember being made or the face of her sire. There was nothing but darkness. And it was that same darkness to which the priest’s thoughts retired. She held on to him longer than he did her. They were a pair, anchored together in a fog of confusion.  Finally, she pulled away and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sleep well,” Eydis finally spoke as her hands straightened his collar. “And attend my sheep, for their bleating makes it hard to hear much else. Or so I have found.”

As quickly as she had pulled away she leaned back in, her lips grazed his ear while she played with the invisible silver chain around his neck. “But if the phone ever rings,” she whispered, “be sure to ask for me.” She nipped at his ear for good measure, but not enough to do any damage, before pulling away with a grin. Her one hand was now extended at him. “Let’s get you out of the storm and somewhere dry."

The priest, distant and lost as he was, his mind spinning, tumbling into vast swathes of unreachable memories, barely reacted to the words, to the touch, as Eydis straightened his collar, comforted him and toyed with him. When she nipped his ear, he instinctively craned his head to one side, just as he had been taught, as he had been conditioned, baring his neck. But she pulled away, extending her hand, and he finally noticed. His eyes focused on her fingers, and he looked up to her, glasses sliding down to the edge of his nose. He pushed them back up to the bridge, pressed them to his brows, and smiled at her in gentle greeting. Taking her hand and carefully convincing his old bones to lift, to stand, the priest raised himself before her, reclaiming the position that he had held before, attentive, sad, and wondering. He pat her hand gently and dipped his head in greeting, vacantly and gingerly smoothing his callused fingers over hers, sighing gently as he reformed the gentle expression on his face.

"Hello, little one."