| Logs |
2009 June 19
| When The Bough Breaks |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
 |
| Realms: Bough Logs |
Fourth Movement, Second Duet
It is a moment of discontinuity -- almost more like a memory, or a flashback (a what?) to a little while ago when they were in the raksasha camp. Perha[s because they were so recently so very close together, Mikal and Jareth -- and Raphael -- find thmselves there, in the lean-to tent even as Ravana stoops to peer in. "Ah, good, you're here!" he says cheerfully, though with a somber tone in his voice. "We have secured Moroniel. I am going to speak with him, but it occurred to me he might be more amenable to speaking with mortals whom he is said to love as only Gabriel has.
Mikal blinks a bit dazedly -- weren't they just... in France?! She looks down at herself to see what she's wearing, whispering mentally to Raphael, [Is it just me, or is this jumping around in time and place a bit... disorienting?]
Jareth is just a little disappointed to be back in the camp. But he shakes it off and nods to Ravana.
Raphael agrees, to a certain extent. On the other hand, he notes, the disorientation fades quickly, much like in dreams.
Mikal nods silently to Raphael, although she can't help wishing a bit wistfully they could have spent maybe a tad bit more time in France. She sits up and pushes her tangled hair back out of her face with a small sigh, then rises.
Jareth ties his hair back into an untidy tail and straightens himself up somewhat. His rather unkempt appearance here is in direct opposition to his rich clothing from France. He draws his brows together and the clothes he's wearing shift, matching the general shape of his French clothing. The trousers are longer, but he wears a waistcoat and a tailcoat over it.
Mikal's wistfulness about France, and her startled glance at Jareth, seem to have caused an unexpected reaction -- as she pulls her clothing together and dresses herself, she realizes she's not got her usual attire. In fact, her Cavalier/duellist clothing is what she ends up with.
"Mikal is a tiny, slight woman still, with the same untamed look in her wild gray eyes. A cavalier's long-spurred boots are pulled up to hide her shapely legs, and the curves of her hips and slender waist are obscured by the embroidered antique gold velvet overcoat and matching breeches. The decoratively slashed sleeves reveal the finely embroidered chambray shirt underneath, and a light, well-used rapier is belted at her waist. Her chaotic hair is, as always, barely restrained in a braid, and a cavalier's broad hat curls so as to hide half her face, the nodding ostrich plumes distracting an observer from the very fine features of the small face.
She looks a bit surprised at the clothing, but then decides not to worry about it. Instead she rests her left hand on the pommel of her light rapier, and heads swiftly out after Jareth and Ravana.
Mikal wonders a bit bemusedly where Papaios is, but doesn't worry unduly. The bow and she are connected by blood, so if she really needs it, she should be able to find it. It's not like she left it somewhere far away, after all.
Ravana nods, then leads the group to the captive angel.
The ersatz prison is really little more than a medium-size tent in the back of the encampment, even further back than the main tent. There are guards outside, on each of the four sides, and also inside as well, at least half a dozen. in the center of the tent, sitting in a half-lotus and looking mightily displeased, is the angel Moroniel, typically known to the latter-day Nephites as 'Moroni.' He is in the center of a wide, somewhat thick and carefully-laid circle of salt.
Mikal tilts her head thoughtfully as she peeks from behind the two taller men. She hopes Jareth can talk the poor angel out of his craziness.
Ravana murmurs quietly to the group. "Many call him 'Moroni,' since that is what the backwoods prophet of the One, named Joseph Smith, called him. But in writings more ancient than the plates that Smith read, he was called 'Moroniel.' According to legend, before teaching Smith, he preached to the ancient Nephites, a tribe so obscure they might not have actually existed in the Waking."
Mikal whispers back, "Why is he called Moroni by Smith, then, if his name is really Moroniel?"
Ravana says, "I do not know. It is strange; every angel proudly bears the mark of the Architect in their name. Yet it is curious that Moroniel allowed the mortals Joseph Smith and Brigham Young to perpetuate his name as 'Moroni,' so blatantly removing the syllable 'of God' from his name. And yet the Mormons seemed to be much like any other faith cleaving to the Lord of Dust and Ash. Moroniel had been always conflicted by this. In fact, there was a time before the Godswar when our captive had stopped answering to his original name of 'Moroniel.'"
Mikal looks up curiously at the big rakshasa, pulling her curling hat off so it doesn't fall off when she tips her head back so far, "How do you know so much about him?"
Jareth walks quietly with the rakshasa and his little mate, listening to Ravana's stories and considering what he might say to Moroni to persuade him away from the Architect.
Ravana makes a quiet, sad sound. "There was a time when all we sceptres were not at each others throats. I met him in Polaris once. He seemed quite learned, if confused, with a blend of the surprisingly pragmatic with the incredibly antiquated. We maintained a correspondence for a time, though we were not strictly friends."
Mikal smiles faintly up at the big rakshasa, and gently pats his hand, "That was nice of you. We'll do our best -- Jareth's the cleverest person I know."
Ravana smiles quietly to Mikal. "Thank you, Ninshubur. I believe that Moroniel is, at heart, a decent sort, though of course it was hard at times to know wether to address him as 'Moroni' or 'Moroniel.'
Mikal nods slowly to Ravana, then glances curiously towards the angel. She steps to the side, so Moroniel can see her, and sweeps a courtly bow to the sceptre, "Greetings, angel. I am Mikal, this is my brother Raphael, and this is my sweetheart Jareth. Do you prefer to be addressed as Moroni, or Moroniel, please?"
The angel looks up, slowly, and with a stony expression on his face. He starts to answer -- and hesitates for just a moment, before answering, a little more quietly than it looked like he was going to answer, "Moroniel. Please."
Mikal says, "All right, Moroniel." She flicks the rapier behind her as she settles down cross-legged near but not on the salt ring, leaning companionably against Raphael. She glances up at Jareth, murmuring, "Jair?"
Jareth ducks into the tent, face serious but gentle. "Hello, Moroniel. May we join you?"
Moroniel glances between Jareth and Mikal and Raphael, and says, with only a touch of rancor, and a little humor, "I don't seem to be in a position to refuse."
Mikal looks surprised, "Of course you can. Just tell us you'd rather not talk just now, and we'll leave."
Moroniel looks a little hesitant again, but then he nods. "I... believe you, I think. What is it you would like to speak of?"
Jareth nods and settles down onto the ground, mimicking Ravana's full-lotus style of sitting, "Just because you are a prisoner does not mean you must be treated incivilly."
Ravana awaits outside, not listening in; he feels that his presence would too strongly color the tone of the discussion.
Mikal glances expectantly at Jareth, at the angel's question.
Jareth takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. After being reminded of the statue in the gardens at the chateau, he is somehow even less kindly inclined toward the Architect, "We wish to speak of your lord. The Architect."
Moroniel stiffens a little. "... An interrogation, then?" he asks, softly, eyes flicking to the circle of salt.
Mikal looks puzzled, "Do you want to interrogate us?"
Jareth shakes his head, voice gentle, "That would imply coercion. We just want to talk, Moroniel. We are mortals and this vendetta of the Architect's affects us quite intensely. His tunnel vision has stolen gods from us that might have helped keep the worlds safe from the spider-wasps."
Moroniel looks quizziacally at Mikal, before answering Jareth haltingly. "Ah... I think I see. You are... you are correct in that. As above, so below; as below, so above."
Mikal blinks as she realizes the angel thought they were going to interrogate him. She shakes her head ruefully, then simply curls up relaxedly against the reclining Raphael, absently stroking his mane and listening. A small part of her wishes absently that her half-brother could turn into a huge tiger too. She looks more puzzled, "Wait, are you saying the Architect is having trouble with the spider-wasps too?"
Moroniel looks at Mikal again, this time a little uncomfortably. "We... I don't know."
Mikal looks confused, "You... how can you not know?"
Jareth's brows go up before he can stop it. That news is interesting to him. One of the Architect's soldiers doesn't know that very important fact. "You don't know? How can you now know if the being you cleft to is having problems with those monsters?"
Mikal looks sheepish as Jareth says the same thing, but much more prettily and to the point. She tugs on the brim of her hat so her face is slightly obscured, and listens.
Jareth reaches blindly for Mikal's hand. The news that even the angels might not know what's going on with their lord leaves a cold fear in the pit of his stomach.
Mikal curls her fingers through Jareth's with a small smile; she loves being within touch of her lover.
Moroniel looks down, letting out a breath. "We have not seen him in some time," he says at last. When he speaks, he speaks only through a vizier, Metatron the Youth, and then only to the archangels." He passes a hand over his face. "I have not seen him who shewed me the golden plates since that one time."
Mikal says what comes to mind, without thinking, "How do you know he's still there, then?"
The words hit Jareth like a thunderbolt and for long moments, he's quite speechless. When Mikal's says precisely what he was thinking, he squeezes her hand gently and leans toward the angel, voice gentle, "How do you know his true will, then? How do you know that he is not kept prisoner in Polaris and the words that Metatron brings are not fabrications?"
Mikal blushes, tilting her head so the hat hides her face again. She wishes she talked as pretty as Jareth did.
Moroniel is very hesitant about replying. "We... we have often talked of it amongst ourselves," he says. "Enough of us have seen the Architect at times, enough to... understand that the orders being given appear to be his own."
Jareth shakes his head slowly, "But you have not seen him for... how long? How long has it been since you inspired the mortal? We were told that once you loved mortals above almost all angels."
Mikal stares in silent awe at the sceptre. The angels have been trying to murder immortals, and have been treating the mortals like so much cannon fodder... because they think that's what their leader wants?! Their leader whom they've not seen in how long?! She's stunned to speechlessness at the incredibly stupid arrogance of such behavior.
Moroniel holds his head in both hands. "Yes, yes, I know. It's been a long time for both. I... I did, once. I still do. But do you know how painful it is to have a part of you ripped away?"
Mikal shakes her head slowly, "No... is it like death and rebirth?"
Jareth's eyes flash with sadness for a moment and his voice is softly, "I nearly lost the dearest thing in this world to me because I hadn't the courage to reach out for it. What part of you was ripped away, Moroni?"
Mikal glances shyly sideways at Jareth from beneath her hat, flushing with pleasure.
Moroniel lets out a breath. "It's like never knowing quite what you're supposed to be. When mortals began to call me 'Moroni,' instead of 'Moroniel,' I felt... I... like I was being torn apart, torn away from the One who had created me and loved me and had given me purpose. I mean... we did not love each other as he and Lucifer loved each other, you understand? But there was an element of respect, of trust, and liking and appreciation. And then I felt... apart from him. And then there was the Godswar... and then nobody felt close to him again, except perhaps the archangeloi. And the Youth, of course."
Jareth reaches to lay his hand on that of the angel, voice soft and almost intimate, "No mortal ever knows quite what they're supposed to be. We learn that by living in the world. By doing good. By being as good as we know how. Some would say we were built only to create more of us, but why do we have minds if that is so? Why give us minds if we are meant to obey blindly?"
Mikal's eyes widen in sudden worry as Jareth reaches across the salt to the angel... but she says nothing. He's a better judge of people than she is. She hopes, at least... she prays.
Moroniel makes no move in opposition or antagonism towards Jareth, when that one puts his hand on the angel's. Moroniel says softly, "But... we are not mortal. We are created, crafted, made with a purpose...."
Jareth remains gentle, urging softly, "And a purpose can be changed. Cannot an evil man walk in the ways of righteousness?"
Mikal says, "I thought you were crafted to care for the mortals..." she pauses, then adds uncertainly, "or, um, at least that's what I heard?"
Moroniel sas queitly, "You speak true, a man can indeed change... but even the evil know, on some level, that they offend others; those who repent on some further level know they were misguided. How do you change when a life you had gelt was good and righteous... becomes naught?
"I was indeed crafted to care for mortals. That was my role, one I did well. I aided the Mormons the way I aided the Nephites. But my name... when the Architect's mark was taken from my name, I no longer.. I was no longer with him. Do you see what I am trying to say?"
Jareth takes Moroni's hand in his, still gently coaxing, "What we are called can change us. But it does not have to break us. A priestess may be called a whore by one that does not understand her, but that does not make her one. Your name may not say you are of the divine universe, but neither does mine."
Mikal murmurs softly, "Or mine." She's not sure precisely what name she's referring to.
Moroni's shoulders and wings -- all six of them -- slump a little. "It frightens me," he says softly. "Ever since I became known as 'Moroni'and not 'Moroniel'... that I can even now listen to your words and see their wisdom, the wisdom in letting myself Fall...."
Mikal says, "Did you know Armaros?"
He shakes his head. "No, I... I came after Armaros left, much after."
Jareth says, "Do you feel disloyal for thinking your lord may not be right? Or are you following the calling of your heart?"
Moroniel says, after a long moment, "The.. the first. I feel... like I am betraying him. It is not a pleasant feeling."
Mikal gives the poor angel a pitying glance. She leans over and whispers to Jareth, "Why is it bad for him to not have 'el' on his name, but it's okay for someone called Metatron the Youth?"
Jareth's voice is nearly a whisper as Mikal brings up a point, "And why is it painful for you not to be "of God", but Metatron the Youth does not mind it? And how can you know you betray him, if you have not heard the truth from his mouth?"
Mikal wonders suddenly just how long allergies mark up the entities so afflicted. She studies the drooping wings, checking to see if one of them, and the angel's side, still bear the long score of her salted arrow.
Mikal can see the scar of her arrow along Moroniel's wing, which droops a little more with Jareth's words. "It's... it's a part of who I was for so long...
Mikal wonders suspiciously who this "Youth" entity is. Is he even allergic to salt?! How would the angels know?
Jareth says, "And I was a goatherd for all my life. And now I am a bard and an adventurer. The unfamiliar path is not always the wrong one.""
Mikal opens her mouth to chime in -- then hastily closes it. Might not be smart to bring up a goddess just now.
Moroniel lets out another sigh. "So... what do you suggest? Fall and fight against all those whom called me sibling?" His voice holds no anger, only resignation and sadness.
Mikal smiles, "Help the mortals. Isn't that what you were supposed to do?"
Jareth takes Moroni's other hand, "I suggest, angel of inspiration and love, that you look deep into your heart. Find what feels like your true path. Not just the one you were told was right."
Mikal looks sheepish again, glancing down at Raphael and stroking his mane as she murmurs in his head, [I have got to learn to keep my big mouth shut!]
Moroniel says softly, "I will... I will need time to think..."
Mikal leans to whisper to Jareth again, although she's careful to disturb neither the salt nor Jareth's position, holding the angel's hands, "Do you think asking Armaros to come here would help?"
Jareth nods again and raises the angel's hands kissing Moroniel's fingers and murmuring, "May your heart lead you right." He lets go of the angel's hands and leans toward Mikal, smiling softly and murmuring back, "We can but ask." He's not sure where the odd cadence of speech has come from.
Moroniel makes hardly any move, but he does stiffen a bit with the kiss. After a moment, he asks quietly, "What is... what is the purpose you have found?"
Mikal blinks at Jareth -- does he want her to talk?! She hesitates, then takes a deep breath and turns to the angel, "Do you, um... w-would talking to Armaros help at all, do you think?"
Jareth blinks at Mikal, since what he meant was that they could ask Armaros to come. To Moroniel, he says, "The purpose we have found is saving the universe from the creatures that seek to devour it. And we cannot think to do that with mortals frightened and cowering."
Mikal nods silently in agreement with Jareth's words.
Moroniel lets out a soft breath. "I wish... I wish that is what the Architect wished for me..."
Mikal grins at the angel, impetuously replying, "You said 'as above, so below.' The reverse is true too, isn't it? So... make it so! If enough mortals believe that is your purpose, then won't it be?"
Jareth smiles at Mikal and then says to Moroniel. "Think on it, please."
Moroniel blinks, looking up at Mikal. "I... I imagine so, but... I've not the first idea how to do that. That is... that's knowledge gods possess...."
Mikal says firmly, "Believe. Believe with all your heart that you are here to aid the mortals! Teach them so. Teach them to believe that. That's how you make it happen."
She adds more softly, "Give them hope, and they will give it back to you multiple times over."
Moroniel looks a little stunned by Mikal's confident words. And he opens his mouth, then closes it. Finally, he nods. "I... I will consider this seriously," he says, softly and quietly, even though it sounds like he has already made up his mind.
Mikal smiles slowly, "All right. While you do that, we can ask the rakshasa to ask Armaros to come here to talk to you. Would that be helpful, do you think?"
Moroniel lets out a breath. "Yes... yes, I... think that might. But please, when you speak with him... tell him I am... tell him I am 'Moroni.'"
Mikal nods, still smiling, "We'll do that." She pauses a moment, then adds with quiet sincerity, "Welcome home."
Jareth rises and rests his hands on Mikal's shoulders. To Moroni, he says, "Think on it. I believe you know what is truly good."
Moroniel sags a little again, but it is an expression of relief, as he matches Mikal's smile. "Thank you." He nods to Jareth quietly. "I... I believe I do, yes."
Mikal leans to hug Jareth happily, then nearly skips out of the tent to find Ravana. Without realizing it, her clothing has shifted again -- she's in the light, simple, mostly leather hunter's outfit with her bow slung at her left hip. She pauses outside the tent, looking around for the huge rakshasa.
Jareth feels rather comfortable in the clothes he's wearing. Oddly comfortable, in fact.
Ravana is awaiting nearby, speaking quietly with a pair of captains. As he spots the mortals he nods a dismissal to the braves, then moves to Mikal and Jareth and Raphael. "How is he?" he asks quietly.
Mikal beams, skipping over to impulsively throw her arms around the rakshasa's waist in a hug, "I think Cat saved him!"
Jareth chuckles and rubs the back of his neck, "I think we both had a hand."
Ravana is extremey taken by surprise at the hug, but not one to examine a gift too closely, he laughs, hugging her back exuberantly. "Indeed? I'm very, very pleased to hear that! Above and beyond a possible ally, or even one less angel to fight... I am glad Moroni is deciding to break from the Architect." He pauses, then lowers his voice. "Please, if I may ask a favor of you all. Do not mention this to Andramalech or Asmodeus, or any of the other Malikin."
Jareth nods and says seriously, "Of course."
Mikal grins, releasing Ravana to turn and hug Jareth just as exuberantly, "You're too modest! It was your caring and gentleness, I think, that won him over!" She adds a bit sheepishly, "I, um... still talk too much..." She nods to Ravana, her own voice grave, "I agree. Could we persuade you to send a messenger to ask Armaros if he could come here? That might be best for poor Moroni." She brightens as she adds, "Oh! Also, he said specifically if you could tell Armaros his name was Moroni, too!"
Ravana nods, "I will have one dispatched immediately. It will take some time to circle around the Mirror, but we should hear something back in a few weeks, if Armaros does not enlist the aid of the dream-serpents to cross the Mirror." He beams at Miakl's words. "Good! To change a name is the first step on to changing one's nature!"
Jareth says, "Or at least it is if one believes it is."
Mikal grins up at the big tiger-man as she leans against Jareth, "Is it? Interesting. Maybe having many names will be good for us."
Ravana smiles to Mikal. "Oh, yes. Names have power. To name a thing -- even yourself -- is to have power over yourself."
Mikal nods gravely, wondering bemusedly if she actually has power over herself. Does she need to rename herself? Or... maybe Jareth's affectionate 'Rabbit' will be her new name?
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