Aspasia - Africa (Part IV) - 6/7/2009
"It is not for me to tell you the way, only to point out the path. To tell you directly would be as if to try to dictate to Fate, change history... or the future."
Zagreus sounds enthralled by what is going to happen, "The first thing you must do is close your eyes and focus on the knife....focus on what it is and what it represents. Concentrate as hard as you can on those two concepts and then concentrate your thoughts on the idea of striking the two ideas down with the knife. When you have that, when you can picture the killing the concepts with the knife, expend that which is of Man and that which is of Kindred. That will crystallize those two concepts into physical form."
Ritual then. Vitae and will. Doable.
Asapsia nods to show she has understood his words.
"Then...you do what you do best and murder the hell out of them before they can flee back into the potential storm swirling around us."
No Magics required of me, Hecate bless. As to what remains?
‘What I do best’ - Yes. This must be true, in this place. If I am not the best, I will not be able to kill her when the time comes, as shortly it will.
And killing her is the only way to release the souls trapped within. So, a Warrior I will be. And leave the rest for the Gods to decide.
Jack mutters something about supervillains under his breath. It draws her back from musing to the reality of the moment. There will be an eternity to face soon enough.
This is moment belongs not to ghosts, it is almost to small enough thing to give Apollo’s Priest, but it is what she has, this breath of time for the last living of those the Amazon has called partner and companion.
Aspasia crosses to Jack's side, reaching out to rest her left hand on his lower arm as she leans in towards him, pressing her cheek to his, lips near his ear as she closes her eyes for a moment.
The comfort of his presence has helped make the turning year bearable. They have not bedded down in the way of mortals. Nor, because of the limitations of her blood have they shared that bond either. They remain celibate of both customs even now, even despite the thoughts she entertained of once more taking him to her bed during festival - but that in custom observance would be the last ever.
Still, Jack’s calmed her anger, and been one to express it when Aspasia needed to be centered and clear of thought. So for this handful of moments, she puts all other agendas aside.
Instead she concentrates only on the awareness of his body next to hers. She can sense how he favors one foot with the bulk of his weight, each night hampered with the injury from his transition from mortal life. It’s a vulnerability, but one that can be solved only with the use of vitae. There is the press of his cheek against her own. The surprising softness of loose strands of his hair laying along her skin. The strange smell of sweat that gives him a scent where kindred have none. It creates has the tang of food.
The temptation is here. Wondering if he will taste as a mortal or if the kindred vitae remains in his veins. But, as the poets say, that way lays madness. In her case, a certainty. So she turns from that train of dangerous thought.
His form stirs with the intake and exhale needed to speak. "If'n y'all are done talking about me in the third person, perhaps we can get back to the situation at hand? I mean, if'n it ain't an inconvenience," Jack says, laying on his drawl with a trowel.
Aspasia allows a soft chuckle, basking in the second of comic relief, but she does not move. Her daughter speaks, but she remains centered on the sensation of touch and scent. Again her beast stirs, speaks - so reasonably.
*He smells like prey. And you should be at full strength before beginning this labor.*
The pressure of Inali’s hand on her shoulder is again a calming, distracting effect. The imagined taste of blood in her mouth and down her throat fades as she is pulled away from the edge again.
If ever there as a sign my is limited, this is it. To assault and drain Jack, or another of my caring?
What I do here, this night is right.
Almost immediately, Inali takes her hand away. She moves off to the side, sitting on the ground with her knees tucked up to her chest, watching her two companions.
Aspasia murmurs, not so low as to pretend that the others won't hear, but intimate, intended for the man at her side. "Be what you will...Jack...." His name comes from her lips like a prayer, the same intonation that Raven used in speaking to her. "Let the world deal with it because whatever you choose will be good for this world because that is your true nature."
Jack nods, by his body language ill-at-ease.
Aspasia pauses, trying to find the right words. Words he will heed and words that will not provoke a fight or questions she cannot answer.
Her inflection remains soft, a whispered murmur against the skin of his cheek. "While it is reassuring that Zagreus thinks so well our chances that he'd take a boon for payment, you need to keep distance - you and my daughter both, in case this goes awry."
The flat of Aspasia’s free hand comes to rest on his chest, over Jack’s still heart. "I knew coming on this trip there would be risk. I don't plan to fail now, but..."
*Your definition of failure, in this Amazon, no doubt will not be the same as his in this matter.*
*Do you think he’ll forgive you when you no longer care? Or are dead? And do not forget, your plan should things go as you would.*
Abruptly, she tugs on the leather strap which is habitually hanging about her neck. It snaps and she pulls out from under her shirt an old fashioned key, dangling next to a wooden carved figure in the shape of a wolf. "...tucked in the visor of your Winnebago over the passenger seat, there is an address. This key opens the door."
Aspasia extends her hand, palm upward, with the items outlined as dark objects against her white skin.
"Just hold this for me, until we are done here. I know it will be safe in your hands." She stares at his face, willing, pleading with him to ask no questions. Not to force the issue.
Xeneia’s son looks at her for a moment, and slowly takes the key. "I'll just hold on to this until you come back, cher," he says to her quietly.
Aspasia nods. There is a strained moment where it looks as if she wants kiss Jack, but does not quite cross the invisible line between them.
When the Amazon turns away from the Cajun Gangrel, her grey-green eyes come to rest on the form of Inali. She nods once in acknowledgement, somber. "Cut, dampen and contain the bond of blood between us daughter. Distance now is not only physical."
And I pray I erred not in allowing your companionship here. And that you will understand if fate twists the threads.
Then the Amazon moves away from the small crowd, towards the very center of this calm oasis in the hurricane of sand. With her back to the observers, she reaches into the small pouch, pulling out a different bag than the last. It is purple silk, and she upends it, spilling ground powder onto the sand, the dark red color making a clear contrast. From particles swirling in the air, a spicy scent wafts. She inhales deeply, murmuring to herself, as eyes slowly fall shut.
Malpei. Home. If this the last time I will be myself, then I will go with the scent in my soul.
Aspasia falls still, hands steepled before her, pointing towards the ground, while the woman’s face is upturned to the sky. She remains that way for several minutes, marshalling all her thought and will to the task, seeking peace before performing ritual.
One of the great philosophers, a Greek, said a truth my love - that mortals recorded and remember even today, “Whatsoever that be within us that feels, thinks, desires, and animates, is something celestial, divine, and, consequently, imperishable.”
I cannot rescue you. I cannot join you, but I can send you on.
*Enough. Impatience.*
Abruptly the Amazon tugs first at the clothing seams on one shoulder, then on the other, until the remains of her shirt fall hanging about her waist and she is bare-chested, her shoulders back, stance upright, body language proud.
The woman proclaims to the sky and the night air. "Athena Alea, there is no temple here, no candles, no priests, but I beseech you to hear my plea. An awful trial is nigh. It is fraught with mourning and rich in tears. I have escaped death where death had been my due. The Fates destroyed me not, but still they preserve my life, that I may witness in my misery fresh sorrows surpassing all before."
Aspasia takes the stone knife and cuts deeply into her skin, below her left collarbone and above her heart. Then, the woman slices open each palm across the blade until bone can be seen, and she covers it with the vitae that drips from her wounds.
"The bond this has grieves them not, nor wrenches their heart-strings. But warriors, this wounds." She lifts the blade up on open palms, above the level of her eyes. "It is a thing whose use is past. A weapon fit for warriors that must not become a possession of the beast. Athena Alea, it is well thou shouldst hearken and make an end of it."
"Not yet hast the penalty been paid, but I wilt; like one who slips and falls in the surge with no haven near, so should she lose her own life for the lives taken.”
Mine for theirs. My freedom for their rest, if thou and the Moirae wilt. Willingly I offer it up.
She inhales the air needed to continue her petition, “Where the rights of justice is paired not with the law of nature there is ruin fraught with death and doom. This I have seen."
“Athena Alea, I would be the warrior's hand to end the diablerist and monster of our nights, but I am told it will not banish the cause. So, where I can not kill, then I will hamper, I will cripple. I do so for vengeance. I do so for love. I do so for justice."
Aspasia lowers the knife, pressing the flat of it against the bare skin of her chest, as she intones. "I have said aloud that I do this for the clan which trusts me with their care and honor. But, I am before you Athena, soul bare, heart bared to your sight. I do this because *I* want this. For my purposes."
"To ease the pain in my heart."
The woman's head bows down, black hair falling forward to frame and shadow her face. Her voice becomes softer almost mouthing remembered words, the cadence changes - different from her usual speech patterns, more like Exodus' son. "What you are to me has nothing to do with how anyone else sees you. What you are to others should not be your chiefest concern either. What should matter is what you are to yourself- let everything else blow away."
*Resolve*
I know it now. My soul, Raven. I am an Amazon and all else falls before that.
Clan and Childer blow away.
Still, not love - what memory of it our connection woke in me reaches towards the pull of blood and duty. But I am a warrior first.
With humble demeanor, the Amazon continues, aloud. "Athena I am before you, a warrior who admits that I have failed. I may care for the others of my blood, but I cannot prevail by trying to protect, guide or teach all or regard all with equal respect. Nor can I say the least of Gangrel surpasses the best of all other bloods."
"The need to survive. My *need* for justice. These have more importance than the health of my clan."
"I offer my oath now, and in this place." She inhales and speaks on. "That I will not be so weak of vision again. I will work to strengthen my allies of common blood, but will not succor the infirm - as flawed children were placed on the hills under the eyes of the gods, I will leave their endings to the shearer of the threads."
With those words, the Aspasia's jaw tightens. Dropping her arms to her sides, the knife firmly in her right hand, while the fingers of her left curl into a clenched fist.
The air is charged with potent energy and the sky rumbles with impending lightening.
Zagreus sounds enthralled by what is going to happen, "The first thing you must do is close your eyes and focus on the knife....focus on what it is and what it represents. Concentrate as hard as you can on those two concepts and then concentrate your thoughts on the idea of striking the two ideas down with the knife. When you have that, when you can picture the killing the concepts with the knife, expend that which is of Man and that which is of Kindred. That will crystallize those two concepts into physical form."
Ritual then. Vitae and will. Doable.
Asapsia nods to show she has understood his words.
"Then...you do what you do best and murder the hell out of them before they can flee back into the potential storm swirling around us."
No Magics required of me, Hecate bless. As to what remains?
‘What I do best’ - Yes. This must be true, in this place. If I am not the best, I will not be able to kill her when the time comes, as shortly it will.
And killing her is the only way to release the souls trapped within. So, a Warrior I will be. And leave the rest for the Gods to decide.
Jack mutters something about supervillains under his breath. It draws her back from musing to the reality of the moment. There will be an eternity to face soon enough.
This is moment belongs not to ghosts, it is almost to small enough thing to give Apollo’s Priest, but it is what she has, this breath of time for the last living of those the Amazon has called partner and companion.
Aspasia crosses to Jack's side, reaching out to rest her left hand on his lower arm as she leans in towards him, pressing her cheek to his, lips near his ear as she closes her eyes for a moment.
The comfort of his presence has helped make the turning year bearable. They have not bedded down in the way of mortals. Nor, because of the limitations of her blood have they shared that bond either. They remain celibate of both customs even now, even despite the thoughts she entertained of once more taking him to her bed during festival - but that in custom observance would be the last ever.
Still, Jack’s calmed her anger, and been one to express it when Aspasia needed to be centered and clear of thought. So for this handful of moments, she puts all other agendas aside.
Instead she concentrates only on the awareness of his body next to hers. She can sense how he favors one foot with the bulk of his weight, each night hampered with the injury from his transition from mortal life. It’s a vulnerability, but one that can be solved only with the use of vitae. There is the press of his cheek against her own. The surprising softness of loose strands of his hair laying along her skin. The strange smell of sweat that gives him a scent where kindred have none. It creates has the tang of food.
The temptation is here. Wondering if he will taste as a mortal or if the kindred vitae remains in his veins. But, as the poets say, that way lays madness. In her case, a certainty. So she turns from that train of dangerous thought.
His form stirs with the intake and exhale needed to speak. "If'n y'all are done talking about me in the third person, perhaps we can get back to the situation at hand? I mean, if'n it ain't an inconvenience," Jack says, laying on his drawl with a trowel.
Aspasia allows a soft chuckle, basking in the second of comic relief, but she does not move. Her daughter speaks, but she remains centered on the sensation of touch and scent. Again her beast stirs, speaks - so reasonably.
*He smells like prey. And you should be at full strength before beginning this labor.*
The pressure of Inali’s hand on her shoulder is again a calming, distracting effect. The imagined taste of blood in her mouth and down her throat fades as she is pulled away from the edge again.
If ever there as a sign my is limited, this is it. To assault and drain Jack, or another of my caring?
What I do here, this night is right.
Almost immediately, Inali takes her hand away. She moves off to the side, sitting on the ground with her knees tucked up to her chest, watching her two companions.
Aspasia murmurs, not so low as to pretend that the others won't hear, but intimate, intended for the man at her side. "Be what you will...Jack...." His name comes from her lips like a prayer, the same intonation that Raven used in speaking to her. "Let the world deal with it because whatever you choose will be good for this world because that is your true nature."
Jack nods, by his body language ill-at-ease.
Aspasia pauses, trying to find the right words. Words he will heed and words that will not provoke a fight or questions she cannot answer.
Her inflection remains soft, a whispered murmur against the skin of his cheek. "While it is reassuring that Zagreus thinks so well our chances that he'd take a boon for payment, you need to keep distance - you and my daughter both, in case this goes awry."
The flat of Aspasia’s free hand comes to rest on his chest, over Jack’s still heart. "I knew coming on this trip there would be risk. I don't plan to fail now, but..."
*Your definition of failure, in this Amazon, no doubt will not be the same as his in this matter.*
*Do you think he’ll forgive you when you no longer care? Or are dead? And do not forget, your plan should things go as you would.*
Abruptly, she tugs on the leather strap which is habitually hanging about her neck. It snaps and she pulls out from under her shirt an old fashioned key, dangling next to a wooden carved figure in the shape of a wolf. "...tucked in the visor of your Winnebago over the passenger seat, there is an address. This key opens the door."
Aspasia extends her hand, palm upward, with the items outlined as dark objects against her white skin.
"Just hold this for me, until we are done here. I know it will be safe in your hands." She stares at his face, willing, pleading with him to ask no questions. Not to force the issue.
Xeneia’s son looks at her for a moment, and slowly takes the key. "I'll just hold on to this until you come back, cher," he says to her quietly.
Aspasia nods. There is a strained moment where it looks as if she wants kiss Jack, but does not quite cross the invisible line between them.
When the Amazon turns away from the Cajun Gangrel, her grey-green eyes come to rest on the form of Inali. She nods once in acknowledgement, somber. "Cut, dampen and contain the bond of blood between us daughter. Distance now is not only physical."
And I pray I erred not in allowing your companionship here. And that you will understand if fate twists the threads.
Then the Amazon moves away from the small crowd, towards the very center of this calm oasis in the hurricane of sand. With her back to the observers, she reaches into the small pouch, pulling out a different bag than the last. It is purple silk, and she upends it, spilling ground powder onto the sand, the dark red color making a clear contrast. From particles swirling in the air, a spicy scent wafts. She inhales deeply, murmuring to herself, as eyes slowly fall shut.
Malpei. Home. If this the last time I will be myself, then I will go with the scent in my soul.
Aspasia falls still, hands steepled before her, pointing towards the ground, while the woman’s face is upturned to the sky. She remains that way for several minutes, marshalling all her thought and will to the task, seeking peace before performing ritual.
One of the great philosophers, a Greek, said a truth my love - that mortals recorded and remember even today, “Whatsoever that be within us that feels, thinks, desires, and animates, is something celestial, divine, and, consequently, imperishable.”
I cannot rescue you. I cannot join you, but I can send you on.
*Enough. Impatience.*
Abruptly the Amazon tugs first at the clothing seams on one shoulder, then on the other, until the remains of her shirt fall hanging about her waist and she is bare-chested, her shoulders back, stance upright, body language proud.
The woman proclaims to the sky and the night air. "Athena Alea, there is no temple here, no candles, no priests, but I beseech you to hear my plea. An awful trial is nigh. It is fraught with mourning and rich in tears. I have escaped death where death had been my due. The Fates destroyed me not, but still they preserve my life, that I may witness in my misery fresh sorrows surpassing all before."
Aspasia takes the stone knife and cuts deeply into her skin, below her left collarbone and above her heart. Then, the woman slices open each palm across the blade until bone can be seen, and she covers it with the vitae that drips from her wounds.
"The bond this has grieves them not, nor wrenches their heart-strings. But warriors, this wounds." She lifts the blade up on open palms, above the level of her eyes. "It is a thing whose use is past. A weapon fit for warriors that must not become a possession of the beast. Athena Alea, it is well thou shouldst hearken and make an end of it."
"Not yet hast the penalty been paid, but I wilt; like one who slips and falls in the surge with no haven near, so should she lose her own life for the lives taken.”
Mine for theirs. My freedom for their rest, if thou and the Moirae wilt. Willingly I offer it up.
She inhales the air needed to continue her petition, “Where the rights of justice is paired not with the law of nature there is ruin fraught with death and doom. This I have seen."
“Athena Alea, I would be the warrior's hand to end the diablerist and monster of our nights, but I am told it will not banish the cause. So, where I can not kill, then I will hamper, I will cripple. I do so for vengeance. I do so for love. I do so for justice."
Aspasia lowers the knife, pressing the flat of it against the bare skin of her chest, as she intones. "I have said aloud that I do this for the clan which trusts me with their care and honor. But, I am before you Athena, soul bare, heart bared to your sight. I do this because *I* want this. For my purposes."
"To ease the pain in my heart."
The woman's head bows down, black hair falling forward to frame and shadow her face. Her voice becomes softer almost mouthing remembered words, the cadence changes - different from her usual speech patterns, more like Exodus' son. "What you are to me has nothing to do with how anyone else sees you. What you are to others should not be your chiefest concern either. What should matter is what you are to yourself- let everything else blow away."
*Resolve*
I know it now. My soul, Raven. I am an Amazon and all else falls before that.
Clan and Childer blow away.
Still, not love - what memory of it our connection woke in me reaches towards the pull of blood and duty. But I am a warrior first.
With humble demeanor, the Amazon continues, aloud. "Athena I am before you, a warrior who admits that I have failed. I may care for the others of my blood, but I cannot prevail by trying to protect, guide or teach all or regard all with equal respect. Nor can I say the least of Gangrel surpasses the best of all other bloods."
"The need to survive. My *need* for justice. These have more importance than the health of my clan."
"I offer my oath now, and in this place." She inhales and speaks on. "That I will not be so weak of vision again. I will work to strengthen my allies of common blood, but will not succor the infirm - as flawed children were placed on the hills under the eyes of the gods, I will leave their endings to the shearer of the threads."
With those words, the Aspasia's jaw tightens. Dropping her arms to her sides, the knife firmly in her right hand, while the fingers of her left curl into a clenched fist.
The air is charged with potent energy and the sky rumbles with impending lightening.