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[May 25, 2008] |
The heart breaks and breaks
and lives by breaking.
It is necessary to go
through dark and deeper dark
and not to turn.
- Stanley Kunitz
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[February 19, 2008] |
"I love a love, but not as other men."
- Lord Alfred Douglas
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| A Meeting... [Ten Years Ago] |
[January 06, 2008] |
The sun shone with sparkling brilliancy, birds twittered and sang in the trees above, and flower heads bobbed in a gentle breeze. But the world was dead and empty in a young boy's eyes, as gray as the cold mound of hard, carved rock that stood at the black mouth in the ground where his mother would soon be lowered. Swallowed forever. Like her blood had been.
Deaf to the droning of the priest, blind to the black clad figures around him, the boy could only see the maw in the earth, as hollow as he felt. But soon it would be full, wouldn't it? It was like a trade...Now it was his turn to have a hole, raw and painful. But the boy knew he'd never find anything to fill it. His would grow, grow until it ate him. Like the mouth in the ground was going to eat his mother.
He did not see the man across from him, the two of them separated by the polished wood of the double caskets, the boy's father in one, his mother in the other.
He did not see the torn look in the man's eyes, he did not know that he was watched, that the very sight of him was enough to break the man's heart with sympathy. He did not know what a feat that was, for the man's heart was known to be as cold and hard as any headstone. The man saw in the boy a reflection of himself, one he could not ignore, or leave behind.
- - - - - - - - -
The service ended, the gathered crowd breaking off, spilling away bit by bit. The man approached the boy, hesitant before kneeling beside the small figure. The boy gave no notice, only stared at each shovel full of dirt as it was thrust into the hole, the thud of dirt upon the fine wood of the coffin below echoing in his ears.
"..I am truly sorry for your loss, I was a friend of your father's.." A pause, for the boy had shown no sign of hearing. The man cleared his throat before going on. "Have you no one to care for you now? No relatives?" Another mourner, clearly a servant, interrupted to inform the man that the boy was left in the care of the butler, that he had no other family to take him in.
The man frowned, an expression at home on his features, and regarded the boy for some time. Then he leaned close, a hand falling lightly on a delicate shoulder, his voice hushed.
"...I know what killed your parents..I will believe you, if you choose to tell me."
At this the boy stiffened, head turning slowly toward the kneeling man. His eyes...what a cold intensity burned in them! No such gaze should ever belong to a child.
The man met it, then nodded once, standing.
"We will meet again, Dietre."
The boy's eyes never left the man, staring long after the car he had gotten into was gone...
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| A Night Attack... [Ten Years Ago] |
[January 06, 2008] |
The rustle of cloth and a frantic, hissing voice, the terror in the familiar sound bringing him to wakefulness more then the meaning of the words in the dark.
"Dietre! There is some one in the house! Come, quickly!" Hands who's touch, though rarely felt, he remembered as gentle, now sharp, bruising as they pulled him from his bed. A whiff of sweet perfume, and the boy was now dragged from the warm sanctuary of the covers, stumbling as tried to keep up with the insistent grip around his wrist.
"Moth-?"
"Shh!" His mother moved soundlessly through the pitch of the hall, the smooth silk of her nightgown billowing about her slim frame, the whiteness of it appearing to glow, as though she were a ghost come to spirit him away.
A crash from the floor below, the boy too infected by the fear in his mother to attempt to look back as they now flitted up the narrow stairs that led to the attic. The cold of the floor boards seemed to seep hungrily into his bare feet, making his toes curl. Dust rose in clouds in the wake of their running, the empty eyes of long dead relatives stared out from faded paintings.
Suddenly, before him loomed the dark, hulking shape of a wardrobe, its carved curlicues and gilded fruit now dulled by time. Its doors swung wide like a gaping mouth which his mother shoved him toward as though he were nothing.
"Don't make a sound, not a sound! No matter what." Her pale, beautiful face twisted with fear and anguish, her eyes locking with his, filled with a regret he was too young to understand as she closed the doors and locked him in.
The boy heard the muffled tinkle of the key being thrown into the chaotic jumble of the attic just before the shot gun crack of a door being kicked open, his mother uttering a sharp gasp at the sound.
His heart beat against his ribs like a butterfly's wings in a glass jar as he crouched, finding the glimmer of light through the key hole, peering through, though all he wanted was to curl in the corner.
Two men, dressed to blend into the dark, stalked into view. Men...but not men. The boy's stomach turned with a child's terrible certainty that these were the monsters he always knew existed, but adults always insisted did not. Their cruel faces were the exaggerated masks of demons, warped and wrinkled with inhuman ferocity. Pronounced brows and sharp sunken cheeks...and teeth...teeth like animals. Mouths already smeared with blood.
They moved as one, towards his mother, who had never before looked so frail and helpless.
"Did you think you could run?" A harsh, mocking laugh from one, before the other reached out, snatching his mother's wrist, eliciting from her a cry of fright and disgust. Then the creature lunged forward, tearing at her shoulder with its teeth, her screams now echoing in the poor boy's ears.
He whimpered, clamping trembling hands over his mouth, desperate to remain silent. Don't make a sound! Not a sound!
There was blood, slick inky black in the dim light, flowing, obscene against the purity of the white nightgown.
"Wait!" From the vampire who had not attacked. It moved forward, grabbing at her, shaking her as she sobbed. "There were pictures of a child. You have a son. Where is he?!"
A wave of nausea at these words, the boy swaying, faint with fear.
"He's not here! Oh, he's not here! He's staying with a friend tonight, he's not here!"
A lie. A terrible lie. The boy had no friends. They'll know. They'll know its a lie! But the scent of blood already spilled masked his scent and filled the creatures with a lust that made them believe the lie, so that they would not have to delay such a wondrous feast.
The two descended on the woman he called mother though he barely knew her, but loved her as dearly as anything. Tears ran hot and burning down his cheeks, jaw aching from the grip of his hands keeping in the sobs that no one would hear over the dying cries just outside his hiding place.
She had loved him. Loved him. Those years of believing no one did...
Why did she have to die for him to learn the truth?
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| . . . |
[January 06, 2008] |
As the dawn was breaking the Sambhur belled --
Once, twice and again!
And a doe leaped up, and a doe leaped up
From the pond in the wood where the wild deer sup.
This I, scouting alone, beheld,
Once, twice, and again!
As the dawn was breaking the Sambhur belled --
Once, twice and again!
And a wolf stole back, and a wolf stole back
To carry the word to the waiting Pack,
And we sought and we found and we bayed on his track
Once, twice and again!
As the dawn was breaking the Wolf-Pack yelled
Once, twice and again!
Feet in the jungle that leave no mark!
Eyes that can see in the dark -- the dark!
Tongue -- give tongue to it! Hark! O Hark!
Once, twice and again!
- Hunting-Song of the Seeonee Pack, Rudyard Kipling.
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| Facets Bio |
[January 06, 2008] |
Character Name: Dietre Abendroth.
PB: Sasha Gacsal.
Age: 23.
Gender: Male.
Birth Place: Wolfenbuettel, Germany.
Species: Werewolf.
Sexual Orientation: Homosexual.
Family: Deceased.
Physical Description:
Eye Color: Blue-grey.
Hair Color: Dark brown.
Height: 5'7".
Weight: 130.
Scars: N/A.
Piercings: N/A.
Tattoos: N/A.
Personality: Some could say that Dietre is merely a shell of a person. Cold, cut off, untouchable. A winter prince locked away in a tower of ice. Life has lost its luster, and the world is now a dead, loathsome place, only bringing him bitter memories and sorrow. He no longer cares for his own well being, his clothes are tattered, sheathed in dust. He often goes without eating, barely feeling his hunger. It would not be a stretch to suggest that perhaps he has taken up this dangerous career as a killer in an attempt end his life. Dietre often seems rather blank, and at times even catatonic. His silence, and apparent disinterest in those around him can be mistaken for purposeful rudeness, though that is only half of it. The truth is that he simply no longer cares (or so he tells himself). Dietre has become a creature of quiet rage, hating the world that has left him alone time and again. Once upon a time he was actually quite polite and maybe a bit overly considerate. He had always been a quiet, shy boy, nervous in a crowd. He suffered (and suffers still) a terrible lack of social skills, quick to get confused and lost when it comes to conversation. When he makes a connection to someone he is fiercely loyal, obedient, and protective, though liable to become suffocatingly obsessive. Awkward, easily embarrassed, but at his core...sweet. That person may live inside him still, if only someone would try to reach him, what surprises they may find!
Quirks/Traits
Likes: Classical music, letting other people take control, having a goal to accomplish, black clothing, not needing to think, Shakespearian tragedies, poetry.
Dislikes: Having to make decisions, crowds, making conversation, eye contact, nightmares, rejection, being the center of attention.
Obsessions: Collin Graves, playing piano.
Friends: Eric Wolfe.
Pack: Cardoc Wallace, Jason Schuyler, Jacob Black.
Enemies: All of those who he skipped out of a job on, friends/relatives/associates of those he's killed.
Love Interest: Collin Graves - Deceased.
Pets: None.
History:
Born in Wolfenbuettel, Germany, the only child of a wealthy family. His father was the owner of a medical supplies company, his mother a model. His childhood was rather isolated, his parents' were more focused on their careers than their child, often leaving him in the care in nannies. His family's money also created a wall around him, the boy being taught by private tutors, rarely able to be around other children. Even so, Dietre loved his parents, they were all he knew, after all. His mother taught him piano, and it has since become his passion, the one joy that he has not given up when the world had taken every thing else. For life has not been kind to him.
When Dietre was but thirteen he had his first run in with the evil just beneath the surface of every day life. Perhaps they had been targeted due to their money, or was it an artifact in his father's antique collection? Either way, a pair of vampires invaded their home, Dietre only surviving because of his mother hiding him away, locking him in a wardrobe before he could be seen. The boy watched from the keyhole as his parents were murdered, the vampires feeding from them before ransacking the house.
It was an associate of his father's, a man who he had never seen, who stepped forward to take him in when no other relatives were willing. His name was Collin Graves, and though Dietre did not know it at the time, the man was a Watcher. He saw in the boy great potential, and with the trauma he had experienced at the hands of vampires, it seemed he was fated to become a Watcher as well. The boy was trained by him personality, and so, avoided much of the chaos within the Watcher's Council. Dietre excelled in all he was taught, the perfect student, intelligent, serious, with a drive born of a desire for praise. Dietre at first admired Collin, then idolized him. The man was the only person in the world that he had, and he would do anything to make him happy.
However, life is cruel, and for some, fate delights in repeating torment. When Dietre was eighteen tragedy struck him once more. Collin was killed. But not in any way that one would expect a Watcher to die. It was simply a case of the wrong place at the wrong time. Bad luck. He had been stabbed by a drug addict in a car jacking attempt.
With this news, Dietre's life was once again torn apart. Something in him snapped, he saw his future as a Watcher pointless. Why devote your life to battling evil for the sake of humanity when man was capable of the same horrors as the worst demon? Why save the world so that humans may destroy it themselves? Humans and the creatures of evil were the same at the core, and so, Dietre would treat them as such. He would shun them all, wallow in his misery, curse fate for torturing him so needlessly.
Time passed, and though he does not remember quite how it happened, Dietre found himself becoming a killer. One only had to ask, it did not matter what price they offered, and Dietre would carry out the task, regardless of who or what the victim may be. He killed humans and demons without thought. It was wrong, yes, but the whole world was wrong. And somehow he couldn't find a reason to refuse. He did not want money, or power. Only perhaps a taste at payback to everything that had hurt him so.
UPDATE:
After being caught red handed after a hit by Eric Wolfe, Dietre has been 'recruited' by the man, half out of pity, half out of the hope to keep the boy from causing trouble. After only a week of living a normal life (if helping to investigate supernatural forces can be considered normal) Dietre was accidentally infected with lycanthropism in a battle against the goddess Glory by Jason Schuyler. Now he struggles with embracing his new wolf family as well as connecting with society and becoming a some what normally functioning person.
Talents: Skilled piano player and composer, and efficient with edge weapons (knives and daggers).
Strengths: High pain tolerance, intelligence, and the ability do what he's told, no matter how cold blooded it may be.
Weaknesses: Very poor social skills, under that calm blank expression is a boy who's devastatingly shy. His obedient nature can most definitely be a weakness at times, as well as his difficulty with making decisions.
Long-Term Goals: Make Eric proud of him, and pay the man back for all of his kindness.
Short Term Goals: To get through the day without making a mortifying social faux pas.
What your character thinks of those they’ve met:
Eric: Admires him like an older brother, extremely grateful to him for giving him a chance to change his life for the better. Might also have a tiny crush, but is in denial.
Carr: Respects him as his alpha, grateful to him for accepting him into the pack and for being willing to show him the ropes. A little nervous around him, wary of ever making him angry.
Jason: D pretends to find him annoying, but actually enjoys the bickering and play fighting. Dietre is always trying to compete for dominance over him, not wanting to be the lowest ranking wolf in the pack. When in wolf form, Jason is his favorite playmate.
Jacob: The first person D made an attempt to make friends with, considers him more 'normal' compared to Carr and Jason. A little imtimidated by his size, but is embarrassed over it due to Jacob's young age.
David Talbot: Intrigued and almost flattered over the interest David shows in him. A little torn over the fact that the man is a vampire, a creature D thought he'd always hate, but now he finds himself enjoying the company of one. D finds it hard to resist David's calm and politeness, and greatly respects his intelligence. Also he might completely find the man attractive but, you know, D is still in denial.
Who your character would like to meet: Collin Graves in the after life, despite being terrified of what the man would think of what he's become.
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