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carpe-astra · 1 year ago

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Saying Goodbye

Kára Eriksdottir

-night and day bleed into one another for those who experience loss so great they can no longer feel the gravitational curse of what it is to be a living creature. or unliving. you are nothing, floating in a void of numbness. for Kara, those sort of sensations and sentiments have long evaded her after time. though that doesn't mean she is completely devoid of emotion. one moment Spektor is alone, in whatever devolved state she's succumbed to. then, she's not-

-a pale hand touches her shoulder-

Spektor Iocaine

‡She had been placed in a room, and there she had remained. At first in the bed, to heal. Still and disinterested in the world, and the people who came and went. Sustenance untouched, the few gifts given in the beginning left where they had been set on the table. One night she had shifted, found herself in the armchair, with the violin case at her feet, still open from the night she'd played. Once vibrant eyes dull, stared blankly, even when a presence made itself known. Kara wasn't the first to touch her, to try and gain her attention. Kara wasn't the first either, to be ignored.‡

Kára Eriksdottir

-a moment's more of peace, or whatever dark silence Spektor had become wrapped up in. A coating of grief so thick it hardly allows her to progress further toward acceptance. then, the hand is gone- Hannah.

I need your help.

Spektor Iocaine

‡The world is a little more kind this way, when there's nothing but the silence and the darkness. A veil of mourning that becomes both coffin and sanctuary. Nothing is quite so raw and jagged as the sound of her name in the wrong voice but it pulls her unwillingly into the present. Fingers twitch, the first sign of life in the undead, and it's cold, gloveless fingers tracing the edge of a cowboy hat in her lap.‡ With. ‡A toneless word, the memory of a proper reaction.‡

Kára Eriksdottir

A nightmare. -is the only distant reply Spektor receives from the darkness around her, the source of the voice seemingly no longer in the room. it echoes faintly from a hallway, leading the ghost of a woman toward something. but the choice is ultimately up to her. if she does find herself moving, getting up to follow the invisible trail like a stiff, sad marionette, she ends up outside. out back. in the dead of night. Kara stands in shadow, the dark tendrils of lightless motion all around her. beside her is a stack of crates, and on top of the wooden boxes is a copper bowl filled with what appears to be white paint-

Spektor Iocaine

‡A nightmare. What could be worse than this? Hands curl, then relax. Afraid to damage the hat in any way, more than it had already been. It feels like her bones should creak as she rises, but it's soundless as she sets the hat down in her spot, and follows. A shell of what was, that comes to find Kara in the darkness outside with her bowl.‡

Kára Eriksdottir

-she glances at Spektor, giving more time to study the woman and what she has become-

Do you remember his mare?

Spektor Iocaine

‡Unchanging as their kind were, there was little different. Closer perhaps, to the corpse she ought to be, and like she'd been frozen in time, she hadn't changed. Hadn't wiped away the Vitae. Old streaks of rust tracked down her face. There was nothing poetic, or pretty, about the grief that clung to the woman. The question was so out of the blue, it was disorienting. Hardly the first thing to come to mind when she thought of him, but she does nod.‡ I do remember.

Kára Eriksdottir

-she nods too, then looks out into the empty alley nightlife- She was lost before he ghouled her. A forgotten creature wandering the Dreamlands, feared by those who did not understand her. Now...-she pauses, face unreadable- Now that he is gone. She is stuck again.

-she looks at Spektor once more, eyes cold and unyielding- Now only we can send her off.

Spektor Iocaine

‡It's like she's the wounded animal all of a sudden, this idea of sending off the beast Knox himself had ghouled.‡ And how do we do that?

Kára Eriksdottir

Do as I do. -she dips her hand in the bowl until the paint covers her entire palm, fingertip to wrist. then she mutters several curt phrases, softly in some old Nordic language-

-then she lifts her eyes to the night again- Dark mare, of shadow and fear. Through ridder and under moon, come.

-the shadows swell before them. then, from the mouth of the alley, a street lamp goes out. and bright shining eyes like two small moons appear. the rhythmic strike of hooves make their way toward them. and the night mare appears, the same as she was when Knox last summoned her, riding her hard and fast to get to a kidnapped Spektor. the woman hadn't been there to see it...but by now she would have heard what happened-

Spektor Iocaine

‡A part of her, some old human sliver recoiled from the entire thing, as if she didn't do it, ignored this, it wouldn't be so final and concrete. A long moment passes before she finally coats her hand in the paint, and it's not enough to rid herself of the feeling of Knox's body disintegrating against her fingertips, the first and last time she'd touched him without gloves. Looking up as Kara speaks, she finds the bright eyes of the beast... Her first time seeing it for herself, her gaze wanders over it, taking in some last connection.‡

Kára Eriksdottir

-she says something else in Sami as the beast settles in an agitated stance before them- Born in shadow, painted by the fears of mortal dreams. Original legends describe her kind as witches, able to take the form of a pale horse. A temptress to guile men to their doom through dreams. -she reaches out and touches the black horse, leaving a hand print of white paint- Knox could see the tortured, abandoned phantom for what she truly was.

That was his gift. Seeing more clearly what was right in front of him, more than I ever could.

Spektor Iocaine

‡How like Knox it seemed to stand in front of something so seemingly dangerous, and then tame it so easily. Spektor could feel the paint drying against her palm, increment by increment. It would take quite a long time, with how thick it was. The prospect didn't bother her, if it meant not doing this. But ultimately some part of her knew that things had to move.‡ It really was. I couldn't hide anything from him, even when I tried. ‡She moved like Knox had taught her, to let the mare grow used to her before finally pressing her hand onto the dark pelt to leave a print behind too.‡ He was always so sure about it too. Like there was never any question or doubt.

Kára Eriksdottir

He loved you. More than anything. -she looks at Spektor- More than me.

You have to say goodbye now, Hannah.

Otherwise, what comes next...could fail entirely.

Spektor Iocaine

‡There are no words for what Kara says, and how could there be? Not when it feels like all the breath has been stolen from her even when there isn't any, like everything had been carved out of her chest and what remained had been left to rot. Her throat aches, growing tight while her eyes sting. A bloody trail dashed away as she finally found enough air to make the words come out.‡ Saying goodbye feels like giving up. Giving him up. I don't want to give him up.

Kára Eriksdottir

You must. -she fully turns to face Spektor. body and soul- He is dead. He died. He turned to ash, and that cannot be undone. -the horse, as if sensing and sympathizing with Spektor's pain, grows more agitated, striking heavy hooves on the pavement- We are past anger. There can be no bargaining. A long and dark depression has stolen you away from us. From me.

You have cried already. But you have yet to let go.

Spektor Iocaine

I know that. I was there. I watched that thing cut his head off. I tried to stop him from crumbling. Tried to catch all the ashes. Held his bones. I know he's gone, I know he's not coming back. That there was nothing I could do and nothing that can be done. ‡Useless, and helpless. She'd begged Liliana, and she didn't have the ability to do anything either. She pressed a hand to her face, swallowing down the thick ache as the horse expressed what she couldn't. If she let the anger out, she'd incinerate.‡ What am I supposed to do when I let go? ‡People were there, waiting... Kara, was waiting. But it didn't feel the same anymore.‡ Kára Eriksdottir

You move. You either burn yourself alive, live the way he would have wanted you to, or avenge him. But by the gods, you move.

You are not the ghost you make yourself out to be. -the Methuselah almost sounds angry-

Spektor Iocaine

‡Kara had experienced far more loss than she had, Spektor was sure. She'd almost feel foolish, if she didn't feel so damn cold and hollow.‡ You're right. Ghosts don't hurt like this. ‡Maybe in a few years.. a decade, she'd be grateful for the time there had been, but damn if she didn't wish she could feel nothing at all right then. With the hand not full of paint, she stroked over the nightmare's flank. There was an idea though. There was what Knox would likely want for her, but there was what Knox would do if things were reversed.‡ What is coming next?

Kára Eriksdottir

-whatever icy rage might have surfaced like the tip of a glacier quickly fades beneath the stony veneer of the elder. she dips her hand in the white paint again and smears another print across the horse's dark flesh- A rescue.

When I took Knox's blood as punishment for what he did to Mael, I used it in a ritual on the Diamonori.

If you remember, it turned from violet, to red.

An old Tremere ritual that would allow the soul of the blooded to transfer to the artifact if the circumstance of final death were to take place.

This is not hope. -she looks at Spektor with what looks like preemptive disappointment, as if already envisioning the woman's reaction- This is not your bargaining stage.

If he is returned...it will not be the man you knew.

Which is why we must say goodbye. Once and for all. -she looks at the horse- But it is something to fight for.

Spektor Iocaine

‡Hope does burgeon, but it's the kind of hope like a broken bone splitting skin. Jagged and painful, and it slips under the current as Kara slices out those thoughts with the precision of a skilled surgeon.‡ Who will he be? ‡Something is better than nothing, there was no refuting that. But if it was something that still couldn't be hers, was unrecognizable... well, the thought was terrifying. But something was better than nothing at all. This fragment hardly touched the grief, but it was something to fight for, just like Kara said.‡

Kára Eriksdottir

I don't know. -her gaze is far off now, watching as the white on the black horse begins to spread on its own. in the darkness, the pale flesh blossoms. the night mare returning to its origins- But there is a balance in everything.

A life for a life. A death in equal parts. -she looks down at her hand- A hand for a gift.

A relative for a loved one.

Being captured on purpose. To learn Konstantin's ritual.

-she lowers her hand again- It may be a deformity. Physical. Mental. It may be his very being. I don't know. I won't know until the very end.

All I ask is you have a little faith in me. Just for a little while longer.

Spektor Iocaine

‡There's a bitterness on her tongue. A selfish wondering of why it had to be that way. But more than that, there was a feeling that made her weak - a kind of relief that Kara had done what she had done. Spektor didn't want to let go, but there was something to turn to. She set her hand on the mare's long forehead, watching the white spread out like spilled ink in reverse. Not pulling away until the very end when she's forced to - but doing it all the same. Eventually angling a look to Kara, eyes so red, with hunger, with a sheen of raw emotion and blood.‡ I have faith in you, Kara.

Kára Eriksdottir

-she doesn't say anything more. she touches the horse one last time, but not to smear paint. she has wiped most of it off on her furs. but now she simply caresses the pale hide of the mare that has become calm as first snowfall- Goodbye. -the horse shakes it's mane, flowing with white smoke. it nudges Spektor's elbow before finally trotting off, disappearing into the night. free at last-

-she watches it go, then turns and heads in the opposite direction- Goodnight, Hannah. Get some rest. -then she's gone in a burst of speed-

Spektor Iocaine

‡The word is too difficult to say out loud, but it echoes in her head all the same despite everything. Knox was dead and gone, and what remained wouldn't be the same. And there would be a difficult road ahead to get to that point in the first place. She gave the mare one last pat before it trotted away. She wasn't certain she was quite ready to be Hannah yet, not anymore. The decision had been easy when Knox was alive, but Hannah was a softer creature that wouldn't survive what was coming.‡ Goodnight, Kara. Thank you. ‡Several minutes go by, the busy life of the district beyond winnowing into white noise. Until there's a loud shout, and she comes out of the reverie, disappearing back into the club.‡

#spektor iocaine #Hannah whitewood #knox t wilder #kara eriksdottir #vtm #vampire the masquerade #consequence by night

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