al_shairan

Several years ago, when Flavius Sulpicius Allectus is a young man returning from serving as tribunus laticlavius in Parthia. Having been away from Excolo for three years, tonight he visits the house of his patron and friend, Potitus Icilius Tetricus Crassipes...

I stand in the atrium of Tetricus' house. It feels strange, almost stranger than my return to my own home. I spent so many evenings here that it was more a home to me in my late boyhood and early manhood than my own house, but it has been years since I have been here. It looks the same, and different, and I find I am nervous.

It is not a very manly thing, to feel this way, especially not for a returning soldier. I am in uniform - I have not been decommissioned yet, officially, and I also had the idea that Tetricus might like to see it before I put it away and seek out my next position as a quaestor. I think I am done with the army, but Tetricus got me there, and it might please him to see the cuirass and striped tunic I wore as tribune. And I have the sense that I look well in it, which should not really matter to me but somehow seems to. I am quite certain Tetricus and I have put our former relationship behind us. No man of his standing would want to continue - being with a man of my age in that way, and now I am no longer so very young I should not want it. The first few months in Parthia I found I did miss being in bed with him, but that faded as it should, as my own tastes changed and grew into manhood. I am not delighted now by the idea of lying back on a couch with a man on top of me. I had - other experiences in Parthia that showed me that. Those experiences were not altogether what one expects of an Excolan man, but I think I am in all other regards manly enough for people to turn a blind eye to it. What I found was that I missed him. Our friendship has grown in our absence from one another, which is strange. Perhaps it was easier to talk when he was not distracted by my beauty and I was not so shy of his status. It is easier, often, to be honest on the page. Or so I have found. We are friends now truly, I think, more than we were before. I hope that translates into everyday life. That alone must explain my nerves, surely.

Adjusting my helmet under my arm, I wait for the slave to return with Tetricus.

It's a dull, dreary sort of January day, the kind where you walk briskly across the quad instead of loitering and where no one seems to be in a particularly good mood. I'm not in a bad mood myself, because I'm still so relieved to be back in Cambridge even two weeks into the new term. Christmas was pretty dreadful, and of course I couldn't see Tez the whole time. After last Christmas it was made quite clear that my parents have no wish to have him as a house guest again. I had to spend the whole vac with them, but I'm already thinking ahead to Easter and how I can get out of spending five weeks - five! These Cambridge terms are so short and the vacs so long - at home. I won't do it. After the eight happy weeks of the Michaelmas term, I realised just how cold home is. I felt suffocated the whole time.

So coming back I threw myself into everything with even more enthusiasm than before. I've found quite a few friends since we've been here - mostly from Hellenic Soc, but not all. Some queer, some not, and it's strange to be able to say that with a reasonable degree of certainty. We - meaning Tez and I - we still haven't said we're together, but amongst a very few people it's more or less known, just as we more or less know who is with whom, like Darling and Blackwood (not that Darling has ever been at all discreet), and that one of our fellow freshers Wilkinson has a terrible pash for the president of Hellenic Soc, which is sort of awful since he's one of the few senior members who doesn't go for chaps, but Gough-Calthorpe's been very kind about the whole thing, which I didn't really expect. Though maybe I should have, seeing that his best friend is Marchmain, and even if Marchmain isn't - obvious the way Darling is, he doesn't exactly hide his interests, at least when he's with us. Outside of Hellenic Soc he's as straight a chap as you could imagine in the way he behaves.

I feel sort of funny when I think about Marchmain. We've become quite good chums over the past few weeks. There's a hardness to him I both like and don't like. He can be quite unkind to people, and it reminds me of how I've been in the past. But then sometimes he's perfectly decent, and he's always, always very sharp. Talking to him is a bit like fencing, and it's invigorating. And it's flattering, the way he seems interested in me. I didn't expect any of the older chaps to really pay us much mind, but he and Cal - it's what we call Charles, he says Gough-Calthorpe's too much for everyday conversation - are always inviting me to their set for tea. It's...comforting, to belong with other people.

The only problem, really, is Tez. At first I thought I was imagining it, but now I'm quite sure he's not happy about - I don't know precisely what, but it's to do with my friends. And they are mine, rather than ours, which does make me feel a bit guilty. We do have our friends too, like Tom Waters, but he's never quite connected with some of the Hellenic Soc chaps the way I have, and after bringing him to tea with them a few times and seeing him sit there mostly quiet and gloomy I decided it was best I saw them without him. There's no point making him suffer through things he doesn't like. But that doesn't seem to have improved matters altogether, and I'm a bit exasperated.

Thinking on all this, I give up on my translation for a bit and throw myself into a chair in our living room. I wonder how Tez is getting on with his German class.

King's College, Cambridge
October 1953; the start of the Michaelmas Term

I'm really here. I still couldn't quite believe it when we swept up to the Front Court, lawn perfect under the bright blue October sky. Mother and Father came to inspect my new rooms. I was glad Tez hadn't arrived yet, because I know how they feel about him, and I haven't told them that we would be sharing a set. Then we went off to have lunch with Tammy, who is to be at Girton. I can't help being glad that Girton is a little way out of town; not very far, but it means I'm less likely to just run into Tammy in the street. Or rather, Tez and I are less likely to. I thought she might prefer Newnham, but Mother seemed to think Girton's more respectable - she doesn't like Virginia Woolf - and Tammy is enjoying playing the good child since I am rather in disgrace, despite my excellent A Levels and impeccable behaviour over the summer. I was reduced to lying about why I'd gone into town because the family had got so sniffy about me going to the post office, and I took to getting up even earlier than usual so I could get to the post before anyone could see letters from Tez - ink splattered, and either pages and pages long or short hardwritten missives - or Syl - written on onionskin-thin paper, words cramped together to save space. As for me, I'd have written to Tez every day if his family wouldn't have found it queer. Actually, I did write every day; I just didn't send everything I wrote. I dutifully sent one thick envelope a week, and then I burned the rest in my fireplace. Syl I wrote to once a week, too. Writing to her was almost a relief, after the feverish outpourings of my letters to Tez. With her I'd just talk about the books I was reading, or the walks I'd taken. There's only so much heart I can spill at once.

And now Tammy's gone to settle in at Girton - Mother's helping her unpack, because they certainly don't allow men into the bedrooms there, not even brothers - and Father and I took an awkward walk around the grounds where he tried to give me advice which was all essentially code for ditching Tez and making friends with more appropriate people. And then he raised a point about sex and how I should be "careful" if I wanted to get into that sort of thing "as young men do", because one never knows what the type of girls who wouldn't mind doing that might be carrying, and oh God, it was all just dreadful, and I almost laughed thinking about what he would say if he knew what I'd done with Tez.

Finally he dropped me back off at King's, and went back to fetch Mother and go home. I turn back and pass through the Gatehouse, then around the Front Court and around to the Wilkins Building, where my room is. Where our set is. I nod at various chaps who are obviously just moving in, too, and I put my hand in my pocket and jangle my key. I wonder if Tez is here yet. I should think he'd have arrived when I was out. I haven't seen him since we did our exams for this back in August. Too bloody long - but hopefully, now, we won't have to be apart like that again. At least not until our National Service, but I'm not thinking of that now. Who knows, by the time we're done here conscription might have ended. And in the meantime we've got three years.

When I get to our staircase I jump up three steps at once, because whooping in the courtyard probably wouldn't be dignified.

July 1953; more than an hour past Inverness

I glance at Tez as we reach the end of the road and turn onto a track.

"I do hope this is right," I say, "because otherwise I don't have the faintest idea where we are meant to go." It has to be this path, surely, because - well, the road has run out. As we rattle down over the track I'm glad we're in the Landrover, even if driving it has taken some getting used to and it is fearfully draughty. But bless the Frazers for providing it when we got off the train at Inverness. And for the house, of course. After Tez and I had our week together at Easter and I returned home for the rest of the vac, I got started thinking about how we could have summer hols together. I happened to mention ever so casually to the Frazers when they were at dinner with us that I'd like to see more of Scotland, and it would be jolly if a friend and I could have a bit of an adventure. Of course Mother and Father had to agree when they offered up their hunting cottage. It hardly gets any use out of season, so we weren't inconveniencing anyone, and besides, the Frazers are the kind of people my parents like to keep on good terms. So they had to accept a holiday for me and Tez come July.

And now here we are. I can hardly believe it. A train to London, and then a sleeper up to Inverness, and now we're driving through the most staggeringly beautiful valley to our home for the next couple of weeks. The dour-faced chap who brought us the 4x4 told us he'd been in yesterday and stocked up the larder and the wood pile, so we should be alright for a few days without having to go anywhere at all. I feel such a sense of relief as we bump along the track that I start laughing. Away and done with school - except for the Cambridge prep next month - and away from family and... everything, really. It's marvellous.

Early February; a few days after these events.

Days like this dawn don't break so much as slouch in at a sluggish pace, thin trickle of light at the soot-smeared window. Finding it hard to get out of bed lately. No one much cares, because my work's done at night, and the house is so full of people coming and going that whether I'm up for breakfast or not isn't a matter of much consequence. I look up at the ceiling. There's a thin web of cracks, and sometimes I wonder if it'll just cave in one day. It's held up so far, but I suppose there's always a tipping point.

"And what price would you put on your son's...honour?"

I can't stop thinking about the expression on his face as he held the door open for us, and I feel sick, a tight feeling of dread all through me. Except dread's the wrong word, isn't it? Because it's already happened. I have to stop dwelling on it. I should think about what Mr E said - "I'd lay good money he'll be back down on the docks before a month passes, what do you say?" - and about the things Theo did that annoyed me, his nervous fussing, the way he assumed he was better because he's got a fancy house and he knows his family back ten generations. I think about the way he hung his shirt on the doorknob in the library, the way he stuttered over people like them and people like us - but then I'm thinking about -

("I have never wanted this before," he said and I unbuttoned his shirt -

"Please. Oh, Alex. Please." How hard it made me to hear him say that, and then the feel of him when I put my cock in him, oh -

and at the Whitechapel - "God help me," he said, and he pinned me down, oh lord, his weight on me, the feel of him, my prick pressed between us -

"I love you, I love you.")

It's more pain than pleasure when I come, and I feel faintly disgusted by the come on my hand. I wipe it off and rinse my hand off with water in the jug - at least I don't have to break ice now - and get dressed, and at least wanking has stopped me thinking too much about Theo. I can do this, I think. It'll take a while, but eventually I won't keep thinking about all of it, and I won't -

I won't see him again.

It's easier, when I'm crying, to lie back down on the bed, and I draw my knees up because it hurts, it hurts, my stomach and my chest, and I curl in on myself like that could do anything.

"Alex?"

"Go away," I shout, and I turn my face into the pillow.

Dear Syl.

February 1953

Syl, old chap -

We bought you this postcard in town today. I hope WT isn't too dreary over half term. Tez's parents have been decent and it's nice to see where he grew up. We wish you could be here too. I'm still working on my parents - you know how they've been since Christmas. I'd best leave some space for Tez to write, so goodbye for now,

Al

( through the years )

An early February evening; the Head Boy's study

Non dicam, licet usque me rogetis,
qui sit Postumus in meo libello,
non dicam: quid enim mihi necesse est
has offendere basiationes,
quae se tam bene uindicare possunt?

I read the page set down in front of me and then look up at Wilkes. His fingers are knotted together.

"Acceptable," I say coolly, surveying the Martial epigram set down fifty times in two columns across both sides of the sheet. "You can go." He bobs his head gratefully and leaves, and the next pleb comes in. I glance at the clock. Almost eight o'clock already; I'll be here all night, and not doing anything fun.

"Jones," I say. "Are there many more out there?"

He shakes his head and swallows.

"No, just me and - Ipoca," he says, and I can tell he's surprised about that even though he tries not to show it. Sixth formers don't usually get detentions, and certainly not from me. My mouth feels quite dry suddenly. Yes, I definitely wish to hurry this along.

"Look, Jones," I say frankly, "you know running in the halls is stupid. Now I'm giving you a choice - you can write Latin lines, or you can have a bibbling. The latter will sting like mad, of course, but at least it's over quickly." I shrug with one shoulder.

Of course he chooses to get smacked across the palms with my ruler. I know Jones - he's a lazy sort, and his penmanship is rotten. So I give him ten hard strokes, and to his credit he doesn't make a sound. I drop my ruler on the desk and sit back down.

"You can go," I say, and add carelessly: "send Ipoca in."

It's sort of a curious thing to do, giving a detention to one's - lover - but desperate times and all that... I'm getting sick of the only time I can close a door when I'm in a room with Tez is when it's bedtime and we have to whisper (and touch) in the dark. At least I know no one will bother us when I'm giving detentions. It's an excuse just to be able to talk freely.

I glance at the ruler on my desk and then away, feeling my cheeks flush. No, no thinking about that at all.

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent, starving I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disquiets me,
I search the liquid sound of your steps all day.
Anhelo Su Boca, Su Voz, Su Pelo - Pablo Neruda

For years I pulled my own existence out of emptiness.
Then one swoop, one swing of the arm,
that work is over.
Free of who I was, free of presence, free of dangerous fear, hope,
free of mountainous wanting.
The here-and-now mountain is a tiny piece of a piece of straw
blown off into emptiness.
The World Which Is Made Of Our Love For Emptiness - Rumi

The heat is less intense, now, than it has been. They say that this has been the hottest summer in Andalucia in a decade, the kind of heat that beats down like a fist, a dry heat that leaches moisture from your gasping skin. It seems fitting, somehow, that I must pass through an exceptional time as I wait here. And there is something purifying in the dazzle of the sun, in the parching of the earth. In the weeks that I have been here I have let so much fall away.

And now the temperature has dipped to something kinder as fall approaches. All things have their seasons, and this strange hot summer, heat both familiar and alien, is ending, and I wonder - is today the day he will arrive?

I cannot let myself dwell on it or I will run mad. Already I feel nervous energy course through me all day and night. I sent him the address at last a few days ago by courier, an envelope in the hand of a twentysomething delivered to his door. Only the address, and underneath it Come as soon as you can. I will be waiting.

And I have been, these two months, though I have kept myself busy. I found the house before I left; I nearly put the glossy brochure aside, but then I saw the location and I felt my heart stop. I wanted that hill, that view to the mountains and down to the sea. And so I left the modern art installation of a house that had previously captured my interest - Tez may never know what a narrow escape he had - and I bought the villa. I asked for the interior to be stripped and painted white so that when I arrived I had a blank slate, and since I have been here I have done much to turn it into a home. Though really I spend little time inside; always I want to be looking out, up to the mountains and down to the sea, and sometimes turning myself in the direction of Excolo. My foolish heart.

It was both hard and easy to leave, in the end. The accident took some coordination, but in the end a small plane went down off the coast a couple of hours from Excolo, and I was missing, and then presumed dead. The ocean swallowed most of the wreckage. I took up my new passport and calmly boarded a flight to Madrid. Alexander Elliot, the passport says, as do the documents in which I hold this house. I was uncomfortable - I still am uncomfortable - at this anglo name, but as the broker of these documents remarked, now is not the best time to be an Iranian abroad. Better people think I am your mere rich American expat, and forget about me as soon as I am gone.

My name is not my only sacrifice, of course. I have managed to speak to Fiona once a week, on a secure line, calling a cell phone that I procured for her for this purpose alone. There is a dull ache behind my ribs because of this parting, and because I know that I have deprived her of a father. She starts a new school in the fall; I have suggested to Lily that Fiona take her maiden name as surname. It may make things easier for her, though I hope by then the intense local media interest will have died away. I think Lily will do it. I think she will think it is rubbing another part of me away. But it is a gift of love.

I have spoken with Tez even less than Fiona. I waited three days after I left Excolo before I called him - from a payphone nowhere near where I now live. I didn't say his name, or mine. I spoke in Spanish, and after I ended the call I cradled the receiver to my chest for a long moment. There have been brief phone calls since then, and at the end of the first month I sent him a postcard. Aside from his address I could think of nothing to write; as I wrote his name I felt his absence too keenly to be articulate. And so I borrowed someone else's words.
No estés lejos de mí un solo día, porque cómo,
porque, no sé decirlo, es largo el día,
y te estaré esperando como en las estaciones
cuando en alguna parte se durmieron los trenes.

The pain of separation has not been terrible every day, of course. I am aware of it every day in the back of my mind, but at times it is almost comforting, that familiar ache a companion in a strange land. Sometimes, however, the way I miss him has been terrible. I have drunk sometimes to will it away, but more often I have run. I am in the best shape of my life this side of thirty. I run ten miles at a stretch now, dust kicking up under my feet and the rising sun at my back or the setting sun in my eyes. I swim, too, an hour each morning, and my day is occupied with making the house look as I want it, or organising my library, or playing the stock market, more to keep my business skills alive than for any need for money. I have read dozens of books, hundreds of newspapers. I try not to think obsessively about him, although it is hard. Hard often being an apt word. For some reason, in all my planning, it had not struck me that the only time in my adult life I have gone so long without sex was when I was in hospital. There have been times I have felt I could chew through my own arm with frustration.

All of which has not left me feeling particularly relaxed since I sent him that letter. I do not know how long it will take him to come. I would have booked a ticket for him, but I thought he might prefer to make his own way here, in his own time. But the frustration chafes at me.

The afternoon is lengthening now, shadows longer. The sunlight on the hillsides is a brilliant gold, and I stand on the terrace looking out. No matter how I feel, this view seems to bring me peace. Wide bright skies and in the distance the dazzle of sun on the sea.

Three months later.

The sky is white and low today, the trees like iron. A cold hard day to start the year, which seems fitting, all things considered.

It is strange how quickly something a decade old can unravel. Eight months ago I thought Lily and I were indefatigable, and last night at our traditional New Year's Eve party we did not even kiss at midnight. She went to bed early, which is understandable for a woman who is seven months pregnant. But I believe partly it was so that she could avoid having to touch me. It is hard to admit to myself that it is a relief. We feel like strangers - no. It is worse than that.

I am not fool enough to throw away ten years of marriage just because we have had a few months of coolness between us. I understand that marriages have times of difficulty. I saw that with my own parents. But last night after the party I stood out in the garden, drinking whisky, and I made myself face some inescapable truths.

And I think I know now what I should do. I did not sleep last night, after deciding this, and now in the steel-bright light of New Year's Day I find I need to see Tez, to tell him what I want. And besides, I have a gift for him. He understood that as it was Christmas, I needed to spend the week with Fiona, so I have not seen him for - longer than we have been apart in some time. I am too restless to wait until tonight, and so I decide to go to his apartment. Jenkins and I get a cab - my cars are far too conspicuous - and whilst he loiters in what I suppose passes for a foyer, I go to Tez's door. I have barely been here in all this time.

I knock the door, and I wait.

Three weeks later. En route to Puerto Angel. Currently at Oaxaca Airport. It's the thin hours before dawn.

I have been at the airport for a couple of hours now, and it is one of the dreariest places I have spent time in recent years. I am waiting for Tez's flight to come in, since we thought it prudent not to travel together. I have a light aircraft chartered to take us to the coast, because I know what the roads here are like. The night is humid, and the airconditioning is broken, which would not be a problem if the windows were open. I feel sweat start to bead on my forehead, my shirt cling to my back.

I am, I think, terrified. I feel it almost abstractly, the anxiety as I wait for him to arrive. We will be alone together for a few days; surely that should not worry me? I have dealt with far more frightening things, more difficult things. But - if we are together for this much time, I fear I will translate man asheqet hastam for him. And who knows what will follow?

After that long night and day together three weeks ago, things have been different between us. I have still not seen a great deal of him, but things have shifted. Lily is angry with me and I find I do not much care. I go to sleep thinking of his face against my neck. Everything about this is not what I expected. I thought Tez was part of why the centre would not hold, but at the moment being with him is the most steadying thing in my life. I do not understand it at all. And I know that once I go back to Excolo after this that Lily is going to question me about my business trip, and that the things that are bad between us will probably get worse. And that what Tez and I have cannot last, because of who we each are. And...

And I hear a crackly announcement in Spanish that I believe is Tez's flight number. And sitting here in my linen shirt and trousers, watching the door, my heart lifts with excitement and fear.

[open for Tez]

The late morning of New Year's Day.

I wake up thick headed, and automatically throw my arm across Tez... Except he's not in bed with me. I blink my eyes open, and remember that bloody Donner is here, and he and Tez are both on camp beds. It's strange how quickly I got used to having Tez sleep next to me. The first night was strange - I kept waking up, and was worried about moving too much in case I woke him - but after that, I slept better than I have done in a long time. And soon we'll be back to school and separate beds, and I can't help hating Donner a little for taking away some of these precious nights from us.

Tez is asleep on the camp bed nearest me. Donner's bed is empty. I glance at the clock; it's ten. It is late to rise, but I am fairly sure most of the other house guests will only just be stirring. Breakfast on New Year's Day involves a buffet left out for those not taking part in the hunt. Hopefully Donner has joined them, though he might be skulking about. He's good at that. I did my duty on Boxing Day, and so managed to get out of putting on my hunting pinks today. Not that I mind hunting; I enjoy the chase. But I doubt Syl and Tez want to hack around the countryside.

Syl and Tez. That gets me remembering last night, and I feel a wave of nerves overcome me, a sick-excited sort of feeling. It wasn't at all how I expected to see in the new year, and whilst I can't say I'm sorry, I also can't quite say how I feel about it all.

I lean out of bed and brush Tez's cheek with my hand.

"Hullo," I say softly when he opens his eyes.

About two weeks after this scene.

I felt kind of nervous about his evening, which is dumb really. It ain't like going to the movies with a friend is something to get nervous about. I guess it's the friend part that got me worried a bit, because I think John and I are becoming friends and - I don't know, I worry I'll mess it up or something. I've never been real good at making friends. I always try too hard, I think. It's funny how people seem to prefer it if you don't try.

So far with John it's been real easy, though. A couple of days after I saw Tess in the cafe, I saw John there again while I was finishing up my essay. We had a real nice talk, and he gave me a ride to the library so I could check a reference. It was good of him. We ended up swapping numbers, in that awkward way you do when you're not sure if the other person actually wants your number or not. And then I went home and I finished my essay and I handed it in, and then... I guess a lot of things hit me that I'd managed to hold off for a little while. I went to bed for a couple of days, and I didn't bother getting up until Tez asked if he could drop round. So I made myself have a shower and get dressed and pretend like I was okay. And the whole time I felt like I was going to be sick. When he left I didn't know what to do with myself. There's this thing I do sometimes when I'm upset, and I don't want to start it up again if I'm going to be a mom. It's not responsible. So to distract myself I texted John and said I was going over to the Miskatonic for a late night snack and if he was on his break he should come over. We shared some pie again. It was nice.

So we were talking, and one of us mentioned this movie that had just come out, and John said he'd like to see it and I said why don't we go together, just like that. It surprised me that I just came out with it. And then I started worrying maybe he thought I was asking him on a date. But he didn't look like he thought that. So I guess that's a relief. Though I still spent a while working out what to wear tonight. It's not a date, but it's not too vain not to want to look bad in front of a guy, right? I don't think my stomach sticks out really yet, but I still wore a a smock dress with leggings and a chunky cardigan, and my hair looks quite nice today, I think, all wavy. I just put on mascara, because I didn't want to look like I was trying too hard, you know?

We met at the cinema and bought some popcorn, and the movie was really funny, though I felt kind of awkward during the sex scene in the middle. I ain't prudish or nothing. Maybe it's because the guy looks kind of like John. I bet people tell him that all the time, though, so I don't mention it when we come out of the movie. I like leaving the cinema with the crowd who've just seen the movie, everyone chatting about how much they liked it. It's sort of a warm feeling.

"That was real fun," I say with a smile as we head out onto the street. I hope he'll want to get some food or go for a drink or something.

[open to Johnny]

Evening of the 31st December

I fasten my bow tie in front of the mirror. I look well, I think, in full white tie, but this evening I am not in high spirits. I thought Syl and Tez's visit had been going well, insofar as my parents and their friends paid little attention to either of them. Tammy made some catty remarks to Syl, but nothing out of the ordinary, and I thought, Syl in her new clothes and trying hard, I could tell, to speak well at the table, that my parents thought her respectable enough to ignore.

But after luncheon my father drew me into his study and asked me what I was playing at. I had no idea what he meant, and politely said as much. So he enlightened me. He was glad, he said, that I was showing an interest in girls - he had been a touch concerned, haha!, about my lack of attention to the opposite sex - but men like us do not marry girls like Syl. He could see her appeal, though she is a skinny thing, but she has a wicked look to her, eh son? I got quite furious then and said she was nothing of the sort, that she was bright and decent and if I loved her I wouldn't think it shameful. And he struck me across the face and said I should leave her to my spic friend, who clearly had an eye for her.

I sent word to Tez and Syl that Father had told me to go to the Post Office. I walked for an hour through the grounds instead until I felt like I could face them. Am I his son? I must be, for I look so like him. I don't think I've ever been repulsed by my own blood before. I know Tez and Syl can tell something is wrong, but I'm ashamed to tell them. And still, for all my father's a bastard, I find myself reluctant to name him so to others.

I comb my hair and turn away from the mirror.

I feel calmer today, which seems strange when the conversation has brought up so much confusion within me. But - I think I can deal with it alright, because I know he loves me, and I him. It's... it's like finding a rock to cling to in a turbulent sea.

The rest of the day, after our reunion, passed very quickly, apart from the interminable hours of dinner and after-dinner-but-before-bedtime. I was so nervous about what my parents would think about Tez... Only to discover they simply don't care. They were polite, of course - they are always polite - but they paid him no more attention than courtesy required. I can't help feeling outraged, like I want to shout don't you know I love him? But of course they don't, and they probably never can.

Including Tez and myself there were a dozen of us at dinner last night. Sitting in the drawing room afterward and answering the same old questions about school and laughing at the same stuffy jokes about my prospects was even duller than usual, because I knew that if Tez and I went upstairs -

Well, we did, in the end. And it was good.

This morning we were almost late for breakfast, one of the few sins in this house - my parents hate tardiness at mealtimes - and now the guests are all lounging about reading the papers and chatting inconsequentially. Tez and I, meanwhile, are going to the station to meet Syl. I hope she got her train alright.

[open to Tez and Syl]

Afternoon of the 27th of December; the Shairan residence, a substantial but not enormous Victorian country pile built by Al's great-great grandfather on the grounds of an early mansion that had fallen into disrepair. It looks something like this. It is a gloomy sort of December day, the kind where the sun never rises properly and the air is damp and drizzly. Al is sitting in the windowseat of the library, a book open on his lap. He has not looked at it.

I don't know that I've ever been so nervous in my life. I keep looking at my watch. Tez will be here soon. Tez will be in my house. The thought makes me want to grin like a lunatic and to stride anxiously around the room all at once. I have no idea what my parents will make of him, or he of them, and I'm sure Tammy will find a way to be horrid, and Mother and Father's ghastly friends will quiz him... And I hope he doesn't look at them and wonder about me. I clench and unclench my fingers anxiously.

The last couple of months have been - really good. It got harder and harder to slip out at the weekends because of how dreary and dark and wet it's been, so Tez and I haven't been able to get away together as much as I'd like. It has meant we haven't had another afternoon in the woods with Syl, and I'm sort of relieved about that, because I still don't know how to think about it even two months later. It's easier when we all just go to the pictures or have lunch at the Miskatonic Cafe. I admit I feel a bit nervous about her coming, because these things might come up again, and I don't know what to do about that.

But she is arriving tomorrow. It's probably selfish of me, but I wanted a few hours with Tez. Especially when I asked Mother if he could say and she said yes, dear, but he'll have to room with you - all the guest bedrooms will be used by our friends. You don't mind, do you? It was hard to keep a blank expression at that. There's a camp bed in my bedroom now, but I hope he won't want to use it. But I feel shy when I think about it.

I was worried for a while Mother would expect Syl to room with Tammy - I can't imagine how awful that would be - but Tammy invited Parras to visit for the New Year's Eve Ball, so Syl has been relegated to one of the old servants' rooms in the attic. I was quite furious about that, since I'm sure Mother did it deliberately after Tammy complained to her about Syl being common. But never mind. Syl will have her own room. And it's sort of nice up there in the eaves, and I made sure it was properly aired for her.

I glance down at my book and then out of the window again. My stomach roils a bit, and I can't tell if I'm excited or scared.

[open to Tez]

Posts in reverse chronological order... Continuing posts included when they include a scene change.
( Read more... )

THE MANY FACES OF IBLIS
Alexander Morningstar Other info 6' imposing blond	Brant Other info 5'8" pale youth	Conley Other info brown haired teen	Danika Other info blonde farm girl
Kent Other info 40-something with piercing eyes	Sugaar Other info 7' tattooed god	Svetlana Other info statuesque redhead	Tanwen/Tamwen Other info petite and pale
Uri other info 60-something peddlar	djinn	Esther other info little girl	Caldwell other info androgynous woman, 5'9"

MORNINGSTAR

Kent, on vocals

Raphael, lead guitar

Conley, bass

Tanwen, drums

Iblis' scriptural background.

Iblis is al-Shairan, He Who Brings Despairs, and has many other names. Characters within the game have referred to Iblis as Lucifer and the Devil; Iblis has not called himself by these names. His background references both stories of Iblis and of Lucifer. Iblis is not necessarily analogous with Satan. The Iblis of this game like Iblis of the Qu'ran or Lucifer of the Old Testament did fall for refusing to prostrate himself before Adam; however, Iblis does not seem to have the same role in the afterlife, though he has indicated at times that he has some jurisdiction over the dead. For the most part, however, he is earthbound and fixed within time, which is extremely frustrating for him.

Iblis lives in the water tower to the north of town. He has come to Excolo for reasons known only to him in order to bring about the End of Days. When this will be he is not letting on. He has indicated that Excolo has a specific role to play in the end of the world. His presence has called a range of supernatural beings to Excolo.

Iblis is far and away the strongest being in Excolo (though Azrael may come close if he ever comes out of hiding). He has a wide range of powers, including the ability to assume a wide range of forms, which he enjoys doing a great deal. The bodies he has worn in-game thus far are included here. Iblis hates human beings, but he has been spending a great deal of time lately wearing human bodies. Make of that what you will. The degree to which Iblis can be recognised largely depends on how well he decides to conceal himself. Some of his bodies cause reactions from those with psychic sensitivities; some do not.

Iblis has managed to interact with a great many people in town. Karina, then-owner of the brothel, made an agreement with him that she would provide him with information on customers if he would remove her nightmares. When Karina stopped making her reports, Iblis punished her (warning: extremely strong and disturbing adult content). Karina has since managed to get out of her contract by selling Follow Me Boy, and her dreams have accordingly returned.

As this suggests, Iblis will punish those who annoy him (see also his punishment of Djinn, and also his offscreen pre-game punishing of the demon Marbas by placing him in Lucien's body), but generally he prefers a subtler path. Iblis enjoys corrupting, demeaning, diminishing and intimidating, and rarely resorts to out-and-out violence. His ideal situation is one in which he encourages human beings to kill each other, rather than killing them himself. He makes use of a number of people in town by building relationships with them in the guise of different people. His most successful manipulation is as Danika with Genny, as seen here.

Iblis largely dislikes and despises most of the people and beings in Excolo, but there are exceptions. He and Lilith have a long history. They often hate each other, but they have a curious bond. Iblis is not able to destroy Lilith, for mostly inexplicable reasons but that may be related to the similarity of her form to his - they are essentially made of the same stuff. Iblis and Gaueko have a relationship of master and retainer that is characterised by a surprising amount of mutual affection. Iblis played a game that demonstrates his sense of humour with Gaueko - in the guise of a girl he allowed Gaueko to chase and rape him before revealing his identity (adult content warning, of course). Iblis is very fond of Gaueko's priestess Anushka, recognising her as something greater-than-human, and helped Anushka break her own mind in order to gain access to greater psychic powers. (This is another disturbing scene, folks!)

The biggest person in Iblis' life currently, however, is Tez. Iblis met Tez at the brothel and became instantly fascinated by him. Tez resisted for some time, despite having sex with Iblis in an alleyway, but Tez gave in (adult content again!). Iblis is trying to make Tez become more of a god and less of a man. He is not impressed with Tez's continuing relationship with Syl, but he has decided to accept it for the time being. This is probably not from the goodness of his heart.

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al_shairan

October 2010

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fortis cadere, cedere non potest

It's always ourselves we find in the sea.

Veritas et Utilitas; Cantabrigiae

O tarry yet a while, just another day or twa

"I have no pain that calls for patience, no"

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(the heart's filthy lesson with her hundred miles to hell)

I remembered you with my soul clenched

yeah we’re coming through the rye

Este es el mundo, amigo.

"We learn geology the morning after the earthquake."

True friendship consists not in the multitude of friends, but in their worth and value.

"Your behaviour hath struck her into wonder and astonishment."

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Have yourself a merry Shairan Christmas

Copying Frances...

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Quick notes on Iblis

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October 2010

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