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This is a random fic snippet about a Seraph of Dreams named Jashem, and an idea that kept bopping me in the brain. It's not a very nice idea, but kind of fun. This is only the first bit...I honestly don't know if I'll ever finish it up.
Humans never look any better when they're dead. Especially not when they've been dead this long. Beside me, I heard Susan swallow convulsively. I started to move the camera down from my eye to turn to her.
"No! No...keep rolling. I want, I want a record." Her voice was shaky and scared, but firm. I frowned.
"Why?" As I spoke, I tuned into the Symphony, but the melodies I sought slipped away from the grasp of my resonance, and I heard nothing but the catch in her voice as she answered.
"I think we should have it. We came to film life, right? This is life."
"This is death," I corrected, as gently as possible. But still, I held the camera on the body, lingering on the face, and a small tattoo on her thigh, and skating discretely away from the red ruin of her chest, and the tattered-doll way she had been flung in the gully. My lips moved. "Fly home, and may Angels greet you," I prayed for the dead woman, and maybe a little for myself, too.
In the distance, there were sirens. When Susan turned to look, I slipped the tape out of the camera, and switched it for another one. The film of the body went into the interior pocket of my coat. "Susan, I think we should go back to the roadside. Byron shouldn't have to meet the police by himself, and they will not appreciate us filming her, I believe."
"Josh..."
I smiled reassuringly, wishing I could dampen the sudden fear of mortality that haunted her eyes, and said, "Go on. It'll take me a little bit of time to get the camera broken down, and then I'll be right along." She shivered, but didn't argue. As soon as she disappeared over the crest of the ditch, I bent down and used my pocket knife to steal a lock of her curly, brown hair. Then I quickly broke down the camera, and hurried to meet my fellow filmmakers and charges as they met the police.
They asked for the camera, of course. I gave it over willingly enough. I estimated three hours before I'd have to give them the real tape. After a few perfunctory questions, which luckily did not include 'Are you human?' or 'Did you desecrate the body?', they released us, and I herded the two into the car. Susan was crying, so I drove. Byron hugged her to his chest, and asked, "Why would anyone do something like that, hey? It's like a movie, only...not at all," he finished, looking guilty and scared and oddly triumphant. It wasn't me, that look said, with the giddy pain of the survivor. It wasn't /me/.
I could read it, but not understand it. It would be him, someday. Not like that, not like that if I there was anything I could do about it, but one day, he'd slip away just as she (who was she? Who killed her?) had. It was an inescapable truth, barring desecration of the worst type. I looked into his eyes and said nothing. And they say Seraphim have no tact.
I have the directional sense, figuratively speaking (and playing on a rather amusing misconception which has nonetheless entered general usage), of a drunk lemming. Despite this, I managed to get us all back to the cramped, two-story Victorian that we rented. The extra time even allowed Susan to regain her composure, so I counted it to the good. Once they were out, and enjoying a nice, hot cup of coffee in the kitchen, I made a copy of the tape, and stared at the dead woman's once-lovely face.
This was really the sort of job one wanted Judgment or Revelations for. Not a Seraph of Dreams. Certainly not one with a black mark such as mine on its soul. I had other things to do, including getting my dreamers through this trauma without losing them to Beleth for days. But this woman would dream no more. Her inner beauty had been torn from her, and as much as I wished it otherwise, it was possible she hadn't made her Destiny. My lips quirked up in a rueful smile as he finished copying the tape.
"It all started with a dame..."
Humans never look any better when they're dead. Especially not when they've been dead this long. Beside me, I heard Susan swallow convulsively. I started to move the camera down from my eye to turn to her.
"No! No...keep rolling. I want, I want a record." Her voice was shaky and scared, but firm. I frowned.
"Why?" As I spoke, I tuned into the Symphony, but the melodies I sought slipped away from the grasp of my resonance, and I heard nothing but the catch in her voice as she answered.
"I think we should have it. We came to film life, right? This is life."
"This is death," I corrected, as gently as possible. But still, I held the camera on the body, lingering on the face, and a small tattoo on her thigh, and skating discretely away from the red ruin of her chest, and the tattered-doll way she had been flung in the gully. My lips moved. "Fly home, and may Angels greet you," I prayed for the dead woman, and maybe a little for myself, too.
In the distance, there were sirens. When Susan turned to look, I slipped the tape out of the camera, and switched it for another one. The film of the body went into the interior pocket of my coat. "Susan, I think we should go back to the roadside. Byron shouldn't have to meet the police by himself, and they will not appreciate us filming her, I believe."
"Josh..."
I smiled reassuringly, wishing I could dampen the sudden fear of mortality that haunted her eyes, and said, "Go on. It'll take me a little bit of time to get the camera broken down, and then I'll be right along." She shivered, but didn't argue. As soon as she disappeared over the crest of the ditch, I bent down and used my pocket knife to steal a lock of her curly, brown hair. Then I quickly broke down the camera, and hurried to meet my fellow filmmakers and charges as they met the police.
They asked for the camera, of course. I gave it over willingly enough. I estimated three hours before I'd have to give them the real tape. After a few perfunctory questions, which luckily did not include 'Are you human?' or 'Did you desecrate the body?', they released us, and I herded the two into the car. Susan was crying, so I drove. Byron hugged her to his chest, and asked, "Why would anyone do something like that, hey? It's like a movie, only...not at all," he finished, looking guilty and scared and oddly triumphant. It wasn't me, that look said, with the giddy pain of the survivor. It wasn't /me/.
I could read it, but not understand it. It would be him, someday. Not like that, not like that if I there was anything I could do about it, but one day, he'd slip away just as she (who was she? Who killed her?) had. It was an inescapable truth, barring desecration of the worst type. I looked into his eyes and said nothing. And they say Seraphim have no tact.
I have the directional sense, figuratively speaking (and playing on a rather amusing misconception which has nonetheless entered general usage), of a drunk lemming. Despite this, I managed to get us all back to the cramped, two-story Victorian that we rented. The extra time even allowed Susan to regain her composure, so I counted it to the good. Once they were out, and enjoying a nice, hot cup of coffee in the kitchen, I made a copy of the tape, and stared at the dead woman's once-lovely face.
This was really the sort of job one wanted Judgment or Revelations for. Not a Seraph of Dreams. Certainly not one with a black mark such as mine on its soul. I had other things to do, including getting my dreamers through this trauma without losing them to Beleth for days. But this woman would dream no more. Her inner beauty had been torn from her, and as much as I wished it otherwise, it was possible she hadn't made her Destiny. My lips quirked up in a rueful smile as he finished copying the tape.
"It all started with a dame..."
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no subject
I hope you do more on it. That looks like a nice set of characters.
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I am rereading most of my collection of mystery novels, you see, and the how-tos of running a mystery in In Nomine have always interested me. But I don't think I quite have it right, here. I may play around with it a bit more, though. :)
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Mysteries are hard to run with Seraphim around, especially as PCs -- check the public Pyramid archives for Rats' Revenge? There's a box in there, I think, about it...
(www.sjgames.com/pyramid)