xavier_institute_logs | A Belated Delivery and Perhaps a Chat (CLOSED)

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A Belated Delivery and Perhaps a Chat (CLOSED)

WHO: Alric and Tiamaris
WHAT: Alric has a rather late Christmas present to deliver, and a talk to have about a certain recent event.
WHERE: Tiamaris' room (at least for starters)
WHEN: After the Hellfire Club event, in the evening
WARNING(S): None anticipated

Alric stepped up to Tiamaris' door and knocked--although he couldn't be sure that was the place to find him, he'd seemed somewhat reclusive bordering on antisocial, so it seemed like a good first guess. He carried with him a parcel with a somewhat nebulous shape, but fairly large, and likely a bit heavy by the way he supported it. Perhaps it was two relatively large flat-screen monitors bundled together with a bottle of soda? ...probably not.

Of course, it would be a bit awkward to deliver something on the heavy and bulky side if Tiamaris wasn't actually in his room, but judging by their first encounter, awkwardness was likely to figure heavily anyway.

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(OOC: I would have happily put this after the scene he was in with the other fire/flying mutant, but we're still waiting on a teacher to end that, so not sure how he would be after that, lol)

A very good guess. Tiamaris had his window wide open and had been stretched out on the bed when the knock came. Confused, wondering if it was someone was looking for Koshi, he almost ignored it, but finally he got up and opened the door.

He blinked, surprised when he saw Alric. His eyes shifted to brown (OOC: I think that was shock for a Dragon, anyhow)rapidly. He... had not expected that. Um... what did one do or say in this situation?

"......Hi....." That... was right... right?

[OOC: However you prefer! ...I'm assuming neither of them will be crippled long-term, but I guess we'll see how the intercession goes!]

Alric smiled politely but affably, albeit just a bit lopsided at that greeting, and nodded his head in return.

"Tiamaris. I hope I'm not interrupting. If you have a moment, though..."

He slightly shifted the parcel, demonstratively.

(OOC: no but he could be on some sort of probation or something that would affect his mood, and we know how easily he looses control of his emotions. x.x)

He had no clue what the package was, why Alric was holding it, or why it was being shifted like that. He did think that from the wording that maybe the other wanted something from him?

"I have time," he said slowly, cautiously, his eyes shifting to a dull bronze, confused, but not hyper emotional at the moment. He stayed in the doorway, unsure what needed to be done or said beyond that. So... yeah. But he said he had time, that was the right answer, he hoped...

Alric grinned slightly, half smirk, and chuckled a little under his breath as he answered.

"Well, I'm glad. If I'm not intruding, do you mind if I step inside and set this down? It's not terribly heavy, but standing around with it is a touch awkward."

"Oh, come in," he said, stepping aside. "I'm sorry, I did not understand. Feel free to set it down wherever," he said. He still did not know what it was or why he was holding it. But...

"Ah, thank you. It's quite all right."

Alric shook his head and stepped inside, smiling casually, and set the parcel down on a table so it stood up on one end.

"You've been well, I hope? I know this is... rather shamefully late--it took me a while to finish it, I'm afraid--but it's meant to be a Christmas present."

He smiled a touch sheepishly, glancing at the parcel, then back to Tiamaris.

"...hopefully one you'll like, although I trust you'll at least understand there's no offense intended, if you don't."

And that brown to his eyes again. Christmas... present... That made no sense... Christmas presents were part of fantasy, of fiction. That didn't really happen, right? Especially not... not to him.

"I... do not understand," he admitted finally.

Alric paused--glanced aside, then back to Tiamaris--and although he smiled, still, it was a somewhat more puzzled expression. What about that wasn't clear?

"...ah. Well. Christmas was just over a month ago, after all. ...I suppose perhaps shirts would have been a more practical gift, but I thought that might have been rather too presumptuous, on my part..."

He smiled and scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

"...or... are you accustomed to some... other sort of Christmas traditions, perhaps? I know the tendency to conflate Christmas and Saint Nicholas Day isn't universal."

"Isn't giving presents... fantasy?" he asked. He walked over to a stack of books the library let him check out and pulled out one where he remembered the characters gave each other gifts. "Like magic," he said slowly. "Something that only happens in books?"

Like turning into a dragon? he pushed that thought aside. His fantasy reality border took a regular pummeling since he got here and he was loosing control of his awareness of what was real, and what wasn't.

Here... people... seemed to actually CARE... about HIM. Here he turned into a dragon and sometimes that was a good thing. Here people gave without asking. Here people walked or flew or swam under ice without dying. Here... there was no pain at the end of the day, here his father never burst in on him... He was beginning to wonder if maybe he had died after all... or was in a coma or something... and this was all some weird elaborate dream....

Another pause, there, eyebrows raised. He couldn't help looking at least a bit amused, but he keeps his smile polite and just a bit formal.

"..ah.. I-.. no, I assure you, it is quite real. ...in fact, nearly every part of the world has some tradition of gift-giving, either on certain days, or to celebrate personal anniversaries, or to show appreciation or offer hospitality. I confess, I'd thought it would be rather hard to avoid, particularly given the American obsession with excuses for buying things."

A thought dawned on him, when the other took it as so... obvious... so common place. "Was...I supposed to get gifts for you?" he asked, his eyes shading closer to a dull red at the thought that he had somehow...again... messed up...

Alric shook his hand and held a hand up with a casual smile.

"It's quite all right, Tiamaris. It's a tradition, not an obligation--a tradition, I might add, which is obviously new to you--and I was at home at the time, anyway. It's nothing to worry about, I assure you."

He pauses a moment.

"...besides which, I felt I... owed you, after a fashion, following our... ah... rocky first meeting."

Now he was really confused as his eyes settled back towards dull bronze. "I broke your window, you gave me your shirt. I lost my temper. How...do you owe me?" his face was as impassive as ever, but for once emotion could heard in his voice. He was so far past confused...

Alric paused a moment at that, glancing off slightly as he contemplated briefly before answering in a deliberate tone as though choosing his words carefully.

"I suppose the best I can explain it is... that, at home, I am expected to be a leader. It's something for which I've been raised and educated, and have, until now, lacked only hands-on experience."

He smiled a touch ironically. He's outwardly at peace with the matter, although how much of that is practiced self-control is of course hard to gauge without at least an empath on hand.

"And one of my first ventures in leadership, here, resulted in my colleague being rather terribly out of sorts. It would be a disservice on my part to deny you responsibility for your actions, of course, but it was... not the sort of effect a worthy leader ought to have. That was a failure on my part, as well. And having lived with a... temper, and a natural talent for causing harm, I know all too well the..."

He trails off a moment, changing tack slightly; he doesn't need to use particularly evocative language with Tiamaris, after all.

"...that is... how very unpleasant it can be for one's control to slip. Whatever you may have done, I'm confident you suffered more from it than I did, and by all rights I should have handled it better."

He listened while Alric spoke, absorbing the words, but perhaps not enterily as they were intended. And some part of his attention did stray enough for him to note that Alric... Spoke like a book. Like one of the ones Tiamaris would read over and over again. Something bout it... The mix of word choice and cadence...

Tiamaris had never thought to try reading anything out loud. He hadn't read aloud since he was five and had to prove to his uncle that he actually could read the words on the page; now he wondered of he had been missing out...

When Alric finished speaking, Tiamaris gave one of his almost unreadable shrugs. "You had no way to know that I'm a monster," he said simply.

Alric shook his head at that answer.

"I can only dream of what experiences might have lead you to say such a thing, but if you'll forgive me, I must say that I fail to see its truth or its use to you or anyone else. You, like all of us here, have certain... abilities which set us apart, yes; those abilities can, at times, be destructive, yes; and you have difficulty controlling them, at times, fair enough. But if that is the definition of a monster, then it seems to me it is a far weaker word, and a far less damning one, than it seems to be in common use."

He pauses a moment, rhetorically, to let that sink in.

"If you are a monster, and the expression has any real meaning besides expressing a desire to denigrate your humanity, then I, too, am a monster. So far as I've seen, the differences between you and I, Tiamaris, are cosmetic or merely matters of degree. So. If you call yourself a monster merely to be disparaging toward yourself, I kindly ask that you consider how it reflects upon the rest of us who share in a measure of your plight."

He listened, and he chose his words carefully. It was not an easy thing to talk about, but he felt that at this point it... had to be understood. For some reason the thought that his words might insult, might hurt, this other person felt... wrong. Off. Bad. For some reason he didn't want to hurt him. Not his usual feeling of not wanting to hurt anyone but something more immediate, more specific, and harder to understand.

So he didn't speak at first, and when he finally did, his eyes were a dull red, and his words carefully spoken, carefully chosen. These were not words he wanted to say, but words the other needed to understand, to understand why he and Tiamaris were not alike, why Timaris was a monster, while the other was a man. The dragon... was a manifestation of the monster. Not the core of it. That was a good way to start, he decided.

"That I can turn into... that..." he said slowly. "These abilities, as you call them... That is not what makes me a monster. I as a monster before they developed. The dragon is simply the outer manifestation of the monster."

Then the words he really did not wish to ever say, the thing he hated thinking of... and here.... here there had been moments where it had not been shoved in his face every waking moment. Here he could have almost pretended to forget. He took a breath and then said very softly.

"I killed my mother. Long before I had any abilities of this sort."

Alric was clearly somewhat taken aback at that revelation--although he didn't recoil in horror as Tiamaris might have expected. He did scowl, but rather than a look of disgust, it was one more of intense contemplation, or perhaps confusion. He was quiet for a few seconds before speaking.

"Tiamaris. ...I hate to ask that you discuss at length something so obviously--and understandably--troubling... but I'm afraid such a statement demands clarification."

He shook his head slightly.

"You say 'long before,' but neither of us is old enough to have had much meaningful agency long before our abilities manifested. Even if yours only appeared the day before you arrived here. Further, I submit that the man who commits the sort of act you attribute to yourself and who is indeed a monster does not, as a rule, describe himself as a monster."

Alric turned partially to lean his hip against the desk on which he'd set down the parcel, crossing his arms.

"I can't, of course, force you to speak about it... and I regret dwelling on a painful subject, of course, but I cannot in good conscience simply drop the matter, hearing the way you speak about yourself."

"My first act in this world," he said, eyes a dull dark red, "was to comit the evil of killing my mother, and by that act, I turned my father into an evil man." He pushed his hands against his face, feeling anger and self lothing rise in him. The latter was safe, was his life. The anger made himself a threat to all who were around him.

"I have always known I was a monster," he said quietly. A simple truth, one ha had long since learned to accept. It was why he never could blame his father for the pains of his childhood.

He knew he deserved it. Deservered worse.

Alric was quiet a moment--then sighed, raising a hand to press to his forehead. He'd had an inkling this might have been what Tiamaris meant, but to think he'd taken the idea so far...

"...forgive me for... interjecting my interpretation, but... setting the rest aside, for the moment, it sounds as though you're saying your mother died in childbirth. Is that correct?"

He nodded, eyes still a dark dull red, his face otherwise impassive. "My father told me that I was so evil that her body could not handle it, and bringing me into the world destroyed her," he said softly. "She was a good woman, and my evil killed her," he said, looking away.

Alric let out a breath, shaking his head slowly, the hand pressed to his forehead clenching into a fist.

"...I certainly have faith that she was a good woman, Tiamaris."

He paused again, obviously somewhat tense.

"......but to literally accuse a newborn infant of-..."

He trailed off, paused again, and shook his head once more, speaking more slowly when he continued, his tone deliberate and formal.

"...I... do not wish to speak ill of your family. It would be a disservice to you to test your patience, and it would be... crass... on my part, as it is not really my place. So. I ask that you forgive me when I must say, as your colleague and your friend and a person of conscience that to hold you responsible is either madness or wickedness, though I know not which. But certainly none for which you can be held responsible."

"I murdered a good woman," he said softly. "I killed her. If you take a life, you should be held responsible." He sat down and closed his eyes. "I earned everything that came after, and worse. I do not deserve to be here. I have killed people. I am here to try and control that so it does not happen again. Because I am too much a coward to end myself." His voice was quiet but even as he spoke. This was not self pity. To him this was truth. It was more truth to him than the color of his eyes or the look of his face. This was what he knew of himself. This was what he knew to be true.

"...at the risk of stoking your ire..."

Alric stared at Tiamaris for a long few seconds.

"Is every infant whose mother dies in childbirth to be regarded as a murderer, by your reasoning? Consider, for a moment, a newborn infant's frailty, lack of a concept of right and wrong--lack even of a concept of its ability to affect its environment, or the lives of those around it. If such a child can be held responsible for murder, then should not everyone who causes a death, even unwillingly, unwittingly, and indirectly, be at least as condemned? Indeed, if an event over which you had as little control as your own birth is to be held against you, we had best condemn all recipients of organs--after all, there surely is someone farther down the list, and by receiving a transplant before someone else, each of those recipients may well cause the death of the one who goes without. Shall we say that seeking an organ transplant is tantamount to attempted murder, then, and deny all such requests--but then in causing the deaths of those denied their transplants, I suppose everyone throughout society becomes complicit."

He crossed his arms. He spoke even and coolly, but with a degree of tension in his voice.

"If that sounds preposterous to you, as I can only pray that it does, then I hope you begin to see the utter impossibility of what you seem to suggest. To the contrary. I would suggest, if you would pardon my overstepping once again, that the only evil I have heard in this tragic story is the evil that whispered continually to a child that he was to blame for the mournful complications accompanying his birth."

As Alric spoke, the words made less and less sense. The words slammed at him like blows, until he felt the tone of voice, felt the weight of the memories they stirred viscerally.

He had been stupid to think that things were different here. Could be different anywhere. He was stupid.

Once again that was being hammered home, as it had been every day of his life until he fled the barrel of his father's shotgun.

What he thought was wrong. What he knew was wrong. What he felt was wrong. He was not allowed to have these thoughts, these feelings. He was wrong.

And the one person he had started to think, in the whole world, might actually like him... was like his father.

His eyes darkened and darkened until the red was almost black. He swallowed hard and fled for the closet. He climbed in and closed the door, curling into a ball on the floor of the closet, clutching his knees tightly.

The closet was always the closest thing he had to a safe space.

He couldn't cry any more. Ever since the mutation... the tears, the shuddering sobs, the shaking breaths that rocked his frame.... they never came. Which meant there was no physical release for the pain. It just built and built. He pressed his mouth into his knee to stop himself from keening.

Noise always made his father angrier. He didn't have a right to sound when his father was like this.

He killed his mother. He didn't have a right to anything. Anything.

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Replying from iPad, appologies for brevity/errors

No problem, my own apologies for slowness as usual x.x

Re: No problem, my own apologies for slowness as usual x.x

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Posting from iPad, please excuse brevity/errors

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