thehometree | Gone are the age of the innocent ones

Entry tags:

Gone are the age of the innocent ones

| characters | Pitch Black and you?

| date/time | 6/11-? (please specify date in header)

| location | The purple-blue Lifestream

| rating | G? (TBE if needed)

| summary | Fear has pointedly stayed away from the Lifestream. Now he's right next to it. Houston, you have a problem.

Usually Pitch didn't make much use of the dark moth's wings he had been sporting since coming here. But they really were ideal for silent flight between the levels. Most people were staying well away from the changed Lifestream, but not Pitch. He was unbothered by that feeling of being upset, stressed even. It was more sorrow than he preferred, but there was fear to be had here. Old fear. Harder to find, though, which may account for his presence here.

It was small, but still. Better than that golden light that everyone gathered around and felt so calmed by. Better to dance in the dark like this. Light without light. alone in the dark.

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Gil did not actually get the fuss about the Lifestream changing colour. By the time he had arrived, the thing had already started randomly switching, and as far as he could tell all it actually meant was that it got a bit harder to navigate the tree at night. Apparently it accentuated the negative feelings of everyone who got close to it, but well, all the evil in the world was but a mere shower for the King of Heroes' ego. It would take several times the tree's power to affect him.

So here he was, watching the dark light of the tree nonchalantly, waiting for the sun to rise so he could get back to work.

Well that's different. there have been so few people willing to go near the altered Lifestream, that someone altogether ignoring feeling it inspired catches Pitch's attention. Pitch didn't consider it 'evil' exactly, but stress, sadness, and all the negative feelings usually associated with the darkness are stronger now.

Pitch lands silently wings tucked behind his back like an extra bit of cape, and hands folded together over that.

"You are bold to come close at night."

Edited (Wow that tag got borked, thanks scotomma ) 2015-06-13 19:25 (UTC)

Normally, Orcelito dives into the Life Stream every chance he gets. Today, he’s trying very hard to get from floor 6 to floor 5 without touching it. This involves holding onto the edge of the floor and carefully tipping himself over the edge, wings folded tight, to reach the ceiling of the floor below. (He really does look like a moth right now.)

With a calculated dive and flutter of wings, he makes it, leaving a half-inch between himself and that frightful blue pillar. Oh, speaking of frightful… he pauses, hovering, at the sight of a familiar figure moving through and round the Life Stream.

“I thought you preferred to avoid light.” He observes.

Orcelito is not the only one to do so, and normally Pitch would be more avoidant of sunlight and Lifestream both. That can get tricky, so there are times when no one sees or hears from him for days, or even weeks.

But today he doesn't seem bothered by the changed Lifestream. in fact he is close enough to reach out and touch it. But in his customary stance of hands behind his back, Pitch just looked at Orcelito's little dance to avoid contact and smiled.

"I do. But I am quite sure you will agree that this is not exactly what you would call 'Light' anymore."

“That depends on how you define ‘light’.” Orcelito looks at the pillar but refrains from moving closer. He’s surprised to see Pitch in such close proximity to it.

“It keeps us out of total darkness. In that sense, it is still a light source.” Not much sunlight reaches inside the Tree, so without the Life Stream – whatever color it presents itself – it would always be night here.

((OOC: I filled in a permissions on Pitch’s journal – have fun!))

Not so alone, as it turned out. Kit really should have been asleep by now, but the whole business with the changed Lifestream had given her a lot to think about. And thinking and sleep didn't really mesh that well. Thus, rather than lay in bed staring at the ceiling, she'd opted to take a little walk and possibly a flight, hoping to wear herself out enough to drop off when she returned.

She didn't get very far before she ran into a familiar face standing near the changed Lifestream. "Oh, hi, Pitch," she said, getting as close as she dared to the blue-purple light in order to more easily speak to him. "Haven't seen you for awhile." Unlike most everyone else, Pitch didn't need to visit the food-branch daily, so not seeing him around wasn't so worrying as it might have been. Though she had been checking under her bed every so often, just in case he decided to pay her another visit that way.

"I could hardly be a hero if I weren't bold, could I? If anything, you're the bold one."

Gilgamesh spoke without a single shred of doubt. His was a legend of adventure, of rule, and of raging against the gods themselves. There was very little that he feared, and there were many who feared him. It was simply the way of things.

"You don't often see this much darkness in something with voice and form. Most minds can't bear it. What are you?"

He struck straight at the heart of the matter. Gilgamesh, even as the child Gil, knew otherworldly things when he saw them, and this was definitely something otherworldly.

The surprise is mutual. It usually is when it concerned Kit, because honestly? Pitch had no idea why she would continue to speak to him so casually. In fact she acted in many ways that were entirely foreign because there certainly weren't many children on Earth that behaved as completely unafraid as she did.

"Hello Kit."

It should have bothered him that anyone was acting so familiar with him, but it wasn't a concern with Kit.

"It is late for you, isn't it?"

Exactly. And in the darkness, there was every bit of dark magic; every monster, creature, the fear of the unknown. The sort of dark magic that could conjure the worst of nightmare monsters that are mysteriously, and just as powerfully wiped away with the light because they probably never existed at all.

Anything that promoted soothing, calm, and peaceful thoughts had been completely anathema to a creature that thrived off fear, stress, and panic. So when the Lifestream changed, Pitch certainly took notice. Granted it was more sorrow than he preferred, but that tiny thread of Fear was still here. So here he was, musing over that single tiny thread amid the stress and sorrow.

"So does a candle, yet it does not make the shadows it casts even deeper." A lazy sort of smile. "This does."

Both Pitch's brows raised then. He was utterly charmed by this small piece of a spirit being so demanding, without even offering anything in return.

"I could ask the same of you, with the slight edit to 'who are you'. Because you are most assuredly not a child."

Plainly It was a spirit of some kind, but professed itself to be hero. Not the first time this old Boogeyman has met some kid professing to be a hero, but this kid definitely asked pointed questions if he was just looking to make a name for himself.

Edited (...what is happening to my line breaks DW) 2015-06-16 00:29 (UTC)

“A candle cannot put out a fraction of this light.” Orcelito says very matter-of-factly. He looks – or acts – almost puzzled by Pitch’s comment.

He gets the impression that this mysterious man isn’t talking about light in a literal sense. But this is a game to him, and Orcelito plays it in the manner of his choosing. Right now, that means being innocently commonsensical. He won’t allow for vulnerability near the distorted Life Stream.

"Me? Even though I am not a child, I am most definitely a child." The mind follows the body in many ways. This was one of them. He retained all the memories and experience he had, the good and the bad, but the core of his personality had certainly reverted to what he had when he was nine. There was a strange dissonance, to both have seen so much and still be able to project childish innocence and charm.

"I'm Gil. Or perhaps I should say Gilgamesh, King of Uruk, perhaps you've heard of me, perhaps you haven't?" There was a strange respect being given here, for Gil to give his entire name instead of his childish nickname so readily. The Epic of Gilgamesh itself was an old, old tale. By some records it was the first legend committed to writing. Most worlds would have it, but not many on those worlds would be familiar with such prehistoric stories.

Curiouser and curiouser to quote Lewis Carroll, though it's a wholly different quote by Frederick Nietzsche that says the mind is a plaything of the body. And it was only a complete fool that didn't learn to recognize their downfall when they saw it. Pitch Black bowed deeply and without reserve. Even the extra moths wings only became partially extended to show their golden edging as he straightened.

"Your majesty. As I recall, Uruk, was a single city within ancient Sumeria. Ah, but then you say you are a hero. So I suppose it is more about the promise of such a great kingdom, not the kingdom itself.

The problem was that like recognized like, and where a child would be Fear's undoing so too would Gilgamesh be his own end.

Edited (Spelling and punctuation don't exist at 2 am on a Monday) 2015-06-16 07:10 (UTC)

Pitch is just giving you a look, in silence for the moment, Orcelito. The bright gold of his eyes shines in vague warning, though nothing is actually said.

Don't play dumb.

You're too smart for that, and while Pitch might enjoy a little bit of word play as much as the next spirit, he doesn't like being insulted like that instead, here's your one 'freebie'.

"Did the ink disappear then?"

"It was a different time, where having a city-state at all was quite the achievement, and Uruk was the greatest city in the world. But you're right, merely being a king won't make you a hero." If this spirit was trying to get Gilgamesh to prove his credentials, he was definitely not above showing off. Even diminished as he was within the Tree, he was still the King of Heroes, and the King had his ways.

"First you slay a giant, taking his auras and the cedar he guarded and giving it to the lands you rule. Then you collect all the treasures of the world." Ripples in space opened behind him, coins and jewels falling out like rain. Money was the least of his treasures, but it was what he had left. The truly great items, the many tools that would become part of the legends of some other, later hero, had been left behind in the summoning somehow.

"After that, you find and lose immortality." The rain ceased, the treasures disappeared, and Gilgamesh pulled out a single flask from nowhere. Contained within was the Potion of Immortality. In his life he had tossed it away for the snakes, but it had found its way to him regardless.

"Finally you die, and you get your story written in stone that will endure for thousands of years." For Gilgamesh was dead, but legends endured and were given shape. This particular form had been granted by the machinations of some foolish mage who thought Gilgamesh could be contained and controlled. Alas, that was not to be.

"But well," he tossed the potion back through the hole in space he had gotten it from, "it doesn't actually matter! Almost everyone here just knows me as Gil, the precocious boy who just got here, and that's fine too."

Orcelito wonders at the change of topic. But he observes Pitch’s reaction and responds calmly.

“No. It didn’t.” He took Pitch for a trickster at first; that fairytale entity that exists to tease and taunt the hero harmlessly – the dark fool of the story. He still doesn’t consider him a serious threat, but perhaps he’s not a fool either. He’s certainly not trustworthy.

Where does that leave them?

“I don’t think you’ve told me who you are.” And hearing it from Kit isn’t enough. He wants you to introduce yourself proper.

Pitch watched each display with an eye for the magic it was taking to summon all these different things. Did beg the question of where they were being kept most of the time, and it did a fine job of proving little Gil's credentials, so to speak. Can you really blame Pitch, though? Gil said he was a child, and yet was not. How this piece of a spirit had means and access to such magics was still a mystery, or if it's even really a piece after all, but this is the mortal king who was and is Gilgamesh.

Pitch supposed this left it his turn, which of course left him at something of a disadvantage. He had no name to give, not really, and Gilgamesh had precious few fears. Still, with his flare for the dramatic, he does at least try.

"I have been many things over the years. In ancient Sumeria..."

Pitch tapped his chin in thought.

"Likely you would have known me as Zaqar."

Maybe. Gilgamesh wasn't all that known for reverence of the gods or their messengers. And it was a long time ago, so it wouldn't really be accurate to say say that Pitch Black of today is anything like he was.

"But as you say, it was another time, and I've found my own way since. I have been El Coco, la croque-mitaine, Pitch Black, Derr Schwartze Mann, and the Boogeyman.""

Each time he listed off a name he took a step around the bluish-purple pillar, spreading his hands before Gil when he came back to the start. He bowed deeply once again, with no irony at all. Can't punish him for that sharp smile, though. It's not everyday that one meets the spirit of long ago kings.

Edited 2015-06-17 11:38 (UTC)

He shouldn't trust Pitch Black any further than he could throw a piano. But it's also not the greatest idea to insult him either. Or rather do things that Pitch then perceives to be an insult.

"That's because I haven't. It is not some great secret who I am."

To Pitch, "playing dumb" was akin to thinking that he was somehow stupid enough not to catch onto the ploy. In the fairytale sense he might be something of a trickster but he was far from harmless. Fear can be a great motivator but that still entirely depended on the fear of the one watching. This could still prove to be interesting, so Pitch ends up looking amused.

"What have you decided to call me?"

"I hope you're not going to show up under my bed, then." Gilgamesh was honestly surprised. From the moment he spotted Pitch, he knew that Pitch was no ordinary creature, but he had not expected it to be an actual god of fear. Or perhaps personification was a more accurate term?

"Unfortunately, as I'm sure you've figured out by now, there isn't very much I fear, and I'd rather not institute a reign of terror over this tree if I can at all help it. We aren't much use to each other." There was a degree of respect being extended here that was incredibly rare from Gil. He was not someone who feared the gods, or had much love for them at all, but they were still gods. Even if one did not bow, it was still impossible to deny their identity.

"But how curious, that the Boogeyman is stuck in a tree with the rest of us mortals. I wouldn't think that was at all possible."

It's an honor to be asked to introduce oneself, isn't it? That aspect of his culture may not apply here, but Orcelito is nonetheless disconcerted. Normally, it would be considered an act of humility to ask another to call you by a name of their choosing. But Orcelito realizes this is different.

“My roommate refers to you as Pitch.” Odd name – Pitch. He wonders what it refers to. The pitch of a sound, perhaps? The darkness doesn’t occur to him. In his culture, fear doesn’t have name. Oh, the country has abundant myths of evil creatures, certainly, and gods of death and destruction. But fear is not an entity in and of itself, merely a product of other things. So he has no title to give you.

“If that is your name, I suppose I’ll call you by it as well.” Pitch it is then.

Most children of Earth didn't have lives that were nearly as adventurous as Kit's has been. Of course it helps that Pitch hasn't done anything more threatening than exist in a vaguely creepy fashion and be grumpy in Kit's presence. As things stood, she found him more cool than scary.

"Couldn't sleep," Kit explained. "I was planning on taking a walk and maybe a flight to see if that'd tire me out enough to doze off."

Kit paused, looking back up at the lifestream. Even now, it was beautiful. Just beautiful in a sad way. "I guess you like the Lifestream better now, huh?", Kit said. There was no accusation in her tone, just curiosity. "You never used to go near it before."

Edited 2015-06-18 02:59 (UTC)

Saber was concerned which was both a natural state of distress and perhaps augmented by the blue shade of the Life Stream. It did not matter, for she would always be worried about the relatively harmonious lifestyle of the dwellers disturbed by a change nobody knew the origin. She suspected it might have been because of the failure to solve the riddle, but it could be anything else?

She approached it to observe if there was a change, a flicker of golden to indicate it could switch back and forth, wondering if this was not a natural process of the tree. She had not expected to see him flying between the levels. Though, she truly should have.

She did not say anything, unwilling to disturb him if he was seemly content with the shift. She stopped by the opening and looked at the floors beneath. Saber lived at the top one, the one framed by crystals.

"Not curious at all. Here, everyone can see me!"

And with the second emphatic proclamation, Pitch spun in a giddy little circle. He raised his arms and fully extended his black and gold moth's wings in sheer high spirits, quite at odds with the moody, blue-ish light next to him.

Pitch could only assume that Gil must be like Saber, in that they weren't quite mortals and they weren't quite spirits. It did leave them at something like a deadlock, and since neither was really willing to break it Pitch crosses his arms thoughtfully.

"It does beg the question as to why you sre here, and what your purpose then becomes."

"Oh, but that's something you heard, not something new and different."

Yes, the personification of fear is pouting. Pitch has had a few flings here and there with fear worship over the years, but what has really endured has been the folklore surrounding the Boogeyman; a frightening stranger that usually parents use to warn their children to go to bed on time, or he's the one blamed for nightmares that seem to come from nowhere.

But whatever other people have called him, and he's often simply answered to 'Pitch', none are actually names. They're descriptions, both of his appearance and the strange 'clothes' he wears. El Coco, Pitch Black, Jumbi, Babau, all are various languages, most concerning sacks, or swallowing up misbehaving children. But for all that Pitch has collected names from all over the worlds he knows, not a single one is really his. So why not something new, right?

It was still surprising when others asked what he wanted to be called. He was, after all, spoiled for choice.

"I suppose I should let you know that f you end up needing to get a message to me, just whisper it to the shadows under your bed, and they will find me."

"Heroes are called from all times and places from their resting place to wherever they are needed. Gilgamesh's legend isn't one of the king in the mountain, but it's true regardless. Someone, somewhere, with the right skills decided they needed the power of the King of Heroes, and here I am." That wasn't the whole truth, but it was enough of it. It was true that heroes could be summoned with great enough power and need, but he had never been called to another place once he was already incarnated like this time.

"I couldn't tell you why I've been called, but it tends to be difficult to get heroes to do your exact bidding. We're a strong-willed group of people after all. I'm just going to live until something piques my interest."

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Gone are the age of the innocent ones

11 June it is!

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June 13th works for me!

o7

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June 12

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I saw and eee ty!! 8D

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June 14

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