[ the rain is never truly cold. on a body that lacks warmth, it is simply wet, and that, he finds, is enough. it's always about the meaning behind an action, the analogy, the metaphor. it's about the play which has a script penned by himself, starred by himself, and seen by himself only. the premise is as such:
punishment is on the eyes of the beholder. in a dry land that has created a ritual for the gods in search of their favor, rain is a blessing. in a green, wide forest that relies on droplets of water to keep itself alive, rain is a necessity. to a creature that cannot feel it the same way others do, it is simply there, and he gives it purpose: to punish. it is, if only, a curse. willingly inflicted upon himself.
a curse that has, without his consent, been removed. kaveh looks up, and finds a familiar face, and a less familiar gesture. the towel, before eyes of a color that kaveh has learned to despise, almost seems like a foreign object. he takes it, eventually, and knows not what to do with it.
it is, at the very least, soft. soft, and warm. it feels wrong on his fingertips. ]
Um. Yes. [ in spite of his hunger, after all. kaveh is nowhere new to the feeling. the madness that follows starvation hasn't caught up to him in a while. ] I can't take this. I don't have anything to give you in exchange, so just keep it.
[ the towel, that is. it's not as though the rain would kill him, or make him sick. after all, who has ever heard of a cold being harmful to vampires? ]
[ what alhaitham had seen in kaveh: the blond of his hair, and the sanguine of his eyes. the long line of his jaw upon which rainwater wends in a rivulet down beneath the soaked ends of his collar. the flyaway hairs that cling to the pale of his temple speaking to the sordid, post-monsoon weather. the way the long length of his fingers curl around the towel as if it has not held one in some time. alhaitham thinks - what he sees is a ghost. there had been a picture of a young woman, once. that picture is still there pressed between the pages of a book that only alhaitham knows the location of, bound in silk the colour of dyed blood. by the interference of casual genetics, the dead wont to come back to life. only in this universe is that not a miracle of happenstance.
instead, the green red of his eyes shift so that the harrowing red burn of his iris focus first on the unsteady lilt of kaveh's hands, and then down to the soaked tail of his clothing. ]
The towel has already become soaked from the moisture on your hands. [ is what alhaitham says. ] I no longer want it back. Therefore, do with it as you like.
[ and then, in that selfsame tone: ] Answer this for me: a man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river. What does he have left?
[ transparency is always a weakness. for children of the night, it is a fatal one. it's an opening, a door, an invitation. kaveh, who only seems pristine on the outside, bears scars for not being opaque as his race should be. therefore, this, it shows on his face: the sheer surprise, the way his mouth hangs open, and pronounced canines are shown.
not many know kaveh. in this world, after all, the moniker that would once have belonged to him does not; the light of kshahrewar had been, instead, his dear mother, so very long gone. here, he is not renowned in any way. here, he is not sumeru's most talented architect — though, in a world built on the foundation of his endless dreams, he would one day be. one day, his designs and drafts and projects would all be brought to life, and the world would know of a palace designed not by a human, but a vampire of all people.
it is a distant dream, but at the very least, vampires tend to be long lived just enough to make a dream come true. ]
All of his other feelings? [ the question is an unusual one, but kaveh indulges nonetheless. he will not place himself as the man in question. for all of his transparency, kaveh is hardly a simple man. ] Just because you've discarded sadness, it doesn't mean everything else isn't there, I guess.
[ kaveh answers. all of his other feelings, kaveh says, and alhaitham considers this as he raises the umbrella above them. the rain falls. the scent of petrichor intermingles with that of the night-jasmine blooming profusely along the trimmed edges of the walkway. a man once said this, or so alhaitham recalls: and here is the hurt that remains even when you have gone - i am still here. even if one wishes to wash their hands clean of that which they have let go of, there always remains something. that something is the aftermath of loss; that something is the memory of it. and when even memory fails you, you at least still remember the memory of loss itself.
alhaitham's eyes curve for it, though the smile is a brief one; a flicker of a shadow in the night, and he lowers his head into a cant. ]
You are also left with the river. [ is alhaitham's dry rejoinder. ] You will be arrested by the matra for loitering; I suggest that you get up.
[ kaveh blinks once, and feels the world change in the motion. he blinks again, and again, and the world remains anew. he understands the analogy, despite all, but finds it surprising that someone like alhaitham — who he has always just known of, for people love to talk, and kaveh fancies listening — would say something of the kind.
but kaveh knows better, too. knows well that there are layers to a person, that listening and watching are never enough. it takes knowing to truly see what is beyond what is shown. knowledge can be presented in several different ways, and that's what has always kept him from his kin.
the blood-red of his cursed eyes gleam in the dark, and kaveh rises to his feet. ]
Aarav won't walk by this area for another hour. [ is what kaveh replies with, matter-of-factly. ] Also, my answer wasn't wrong, you know. Feelings require a vessel. Isn't it obvious that one would remain by the river nonetheless? What matters is what one makes of it.
[ kaveh rises to his feet. the umbrella rises with him. from above, the rain. from below, the proverbial river. alhaitham holds his umbrella as if it were an extension of his arm. the steady stretch of it obscures the high, dark clouds that have gathered, and the mere sliver of moon that shows between drifting ships. the evening is murk, and wet, and the world is freshly-washed for it.
the answer transparently amuses him. it starts with the curve of his eyes. it ends there, like a truncated sentence fragment. alhaitham considers the premise, and cants his head in acquiescence. it is grace in acknowledgement, a point offered and accepted. ]
And? [ he asks, ] What can one vampire make of a river of sorrow?
[ what could one vampire make of it? what could one who has lived for so much longer than the average human know of sorrow?
kaveh smiles, in response. a weak, fragile smile, that could break upon touch. a smile that confesses such: the river, flowing with water built from tears of sadness, is one he would have filled himself. a river that would have been named after him.
the answer he offers, instead, is: ] The same as any other person. Do you think vampires fe— Ah.
[ about time, of course. without much explanation, the towel meets his head, and though it provides very little shelter, kaveh still takes a wide, broad step back, out the umbrella, into the rain. it is, still not cold.
that pungent smell has caught up to him. it is always naive of kaveh to think that it would not. it is always foolish to reject who he is, he knows. one's nature shouldn't be looked down upon, and yet. and yet. ]
[ alhaitham looks. rain falls. the fragility of kaveh's smile belies the steel in his backwards step, the one that takes him back out into the rain and the murk it brings. immediately, the droplets cling to the flaxen glint of his hair. he resembles, alhaitham thinks, a waterlogged bird, some golden species that take to branches but perhaps are a little too large for the protection of a tree's canopy. a little outsized, a little exceptional, perhaps with just a little too much pride to seek the eaves of a mere roof. it is behaviour that alhaitham cannot rationalise, but perhaps that is a condition of life: that all troubles begin with one's perspective on the world, and the trouble that you invite into your life by acting upon it.
alhaitham merely stands there as kaveh moves away. bloodless, without censure: ]
What made you choose, then, to sit outside a public institution well-known for its persistent foot traffic?
[ alhaitham says the word. vampirism has already been established; there does not seem any need to shy away from it.
he continues: ] If you were concerned about your lack of self-control, you should have stayed indoors. Or are you without home?
[ the accusations come in spades, and they're as sharp as the edge of a blade. he is the one with sharp fangs, but kaveh finds, here, that alhaitham's words bite until he bleeds. it is the irony of his existence, a man of a species that thrive on feeding on others, but a man who rejects it so.
it comes as it would, in any other world, to any other kaveh: a frown, a pout, a huff. ever so transparent, a book always so easy to read for those who understand his language. it says: ] The rain makes it more bearable. Besides, this is a city. If I lacked so much self-control, I would situate myself in a forest.
[ then, a sigh, and a shake of his head. ] I would rather just not torture myself further by being that close. Why would I put myself through more unnecessary hassle? You should feel grateful that I'm being this considerate, if anything!
[ keywords are spoken, but never addressed. they hang in the air, together with an accusation that holds true: that he is, indeed, without a home. that needs not be known, though the hints are obvious. after all, for what reason would kaveh be out in the rain, if not for his lack of a roof? ]
[ the slow rise of alhaitham's eyebrow says thus: ]
And I suppose that the library behind us would be grateful if you were more considerate, and did not loiter in front of the entrance.
[ what alhaitham omits: that this is his library, that nobody has ever complained, and that kaveh has made his choice. you are the choices that you make. this, alhaitham has known since he had been a child, and his grandmother had pressed her weathered hand in his, and asked - where is it that you would like to learn? the house had been bright, back then. it had steeped with the scent of old books, and the gentle drift of dust.
instead, what alhaitham says is this: ]
Come.
[ he begins to walk.
of course he does - this is the way that cats do it. through the rain bisected by the shape of a colourless umbrella, alhaitham takes the requisite steps that bring him to the end of the street. and then, in the way of all cats, he looks back with the expectant air of a man waiting to be followed. ]
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why must u spoil me
Date: 2023-07-03 09:56 pm (UTC)punishment is on the eyes of the beholder. in a dry land that has created a ritual for the gods in search of their favor, rain is a blessing. in a green, wide forest that relies on droplets of water to keep itself alive, rain is a necessity. to a creature that cannot feel it the same way others do, it is simply there, and he gives it purpose: to punish. it is, if only, a curse. willingly inflicted upon himself.
a curse that has, without his consent, been removed. kaveh looks up, and finds a familiar face, and a less familiar gesture. the towel, before eyes of a color that kaveh has learned to despise, almost seems like a foreign object. he takes it, eventually, and knows not what to do with it.
it is, at the very least, soft. soft, and warm. it feels wrong on his fingertips. ]
Um. Yes. [ in spite of his hunger, after all. kaveh is nowhere new to the feeling. the madness that follows starvation hasn't caught up to him in a while. ] I can't take this. I don't have anything to give you in exchange, so just keep it.
[ the towel, that is. it's not as though the rain would kill him, or make him sick. after all, who has ever heard of a cold being harmful to vampires? ]
anything for friendo... ✨
Date: 2023-07-04 12:37 am (UTC)instead, the green red of his eyes shift so that the harrowing red burn of his iris focus first on the unsteady lilt of kaveh's hands, and then down to the soaked tail of his clothing. ]
The towel has already become soaked from the moisture on your hands. [ is what alhaitham says. ] I no longer want it back. Therefore, do with it as you like.
[ and then, in that selfsame tone: ] Answer this for me: a man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river. What does he have left?
when will you let me spoil YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!! this friendship is in shambles
Date: 2023-07-04 03:07 am (UTC)not many know kaveh. in this world, after all, the moniker that would once have belonged to him does not; the light of kshahrewar had been, instead, his dear mother, so very long gone. here, he is not renowned in any way. here, he is not sumeru's most talented architect — though, in a world built on the foundation of his endless dreams, he would one day be. one day, his designs and drafts and projects would all be brought to life, and the world would know of a palace designed not by a human, but a vampire of all people.
it is a distant dream, but at the very least, vampires tend to be long lived just enough to make a dream come true. ]
All of his other feelings? [ the question is an unusual one, but kaveh indulges nonetheless. he will not place himself as the man in question. for all of his transparency, kaveh is hardly a simple man. ] Just because you've discarded sadness, it doesn't mean everything else isn't there, I guess.
U LITERALLY MADE ALL MY ICONS!!!! it is my turn to spoil back...
Date: 2023-07-04 06:30 am (UTC)alhaitham's eyes curve for it, though the smile is a brief one; a flicker of a shadow in the night, and he lowers his head into a cant. ]
You are also left with the river. [ is alhaitham's dry rejoinder. ] You will be arrested by the matra for loitering; I suggest that you get up.
those are payment for tags idk what ur talking about...
Date: 2023-07-05 10:10 pm (UTC)but kaveh knows better, too. knows well that there are layers to a person, that listening and watching are never enough. it takes knowing to truly see what is beyond what is shown. knowledge can be presented in several different ways, and that's what has always kept him from his kin.
the blood-red of his cursed eyes gleam in the dark, and kaveh rises to his feet. ]
Aarav won't walk by this area for another hour. [ is what kaveh replies with, matter-of-factly. ] Also, my answer wasn't wrong, you know. Feelings require a vessel. Isn't it obvious that one would remain by the river nonetheless? What matters is what one makes of it.
my repayment for tags is your tags??? hello?????
Date: 2023-07-05 10:55 pm (UTC)the answer transparently amuses him. it starts with the curve of his eyes. it ends there, like a truncated sentence fragment. alhaitham considers the premise, and cants his head in acquiescence. it is grace in acknowledgement, a point offered and accepted. ]
And? [ he asks, ] What can one vampire make of a river of sorrow?
no subject
Date: 2023-07-06 04:41 am (UTC)kaveh smiles, in response. a weak, fragile smile, that could break upon touch. a smile that confesses such: the river, flowing with water built from tears of sadness, is one he would have filled himself. a river that would have been named after him.
the answer he offers, instead, is: ] The same as any other person. Do you think vampires fe— Ah.
[ about time, of course. without much explanation, the towel meets his head, and though it provides very little shelter, kaveh still takes a wide, broad step back, out the umbrella, into the rain. it is, still not cold.
that pungent smell has caught up to him. it is always naive of kaveh to think that it would not. it is always foolish to reject who he is, he knows. one's nature shouldn't be looked down upon, and yet. and yet. ]
Sorry, um. I haven't... you know.
[ eaten, that is. in quite a while now. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-07-08 11:12 am (UTC)alhaitham merely stands there as kaveh moves away. bloodless, without censure: ]
What made you choose, then, to sit outside a public institution well-known for its persistent foot traffic?
[ alhaitham says the word. vampirism has already been established; there does not seem any need to shy away from it.
he continues: ] If you were concerned about your lack of self-control, you should have stayed indoors. Or are you without home?
no subject
Date: 2023-07-09 07:45 pm (UTC)it comes as it would, in any other world, to any other kaveh: a frown, a pout, a huff. ever so transparent, a book always so easy to read for those who understand his language. it says: ] The rain makes it more bearable. Besides, this is a city. If I lacked so much self-control, I would situate myself in a forest.
[ then, a sigh, and a shake of his head. ] I would rather just not torture myself further by being that close. Why would I put myself through more unnecessary hassle? You should feel grateful that I'm being this considerate, if anything!
[ keywords are spoken, but never addressed. they hang in the air, together with an accusation that holds true: that he is, indeed, without a home. that needs not be known, though the hints are obvious. after all, for what reason would kaveh be out in the rain, if not for his lack of a roof? ]
no subject
Date: 2023-08-20 02:43 pm (UTC)And I suppose that the library behind us would be grateful if you were more considerate, and did not loiter in front of the entrance.
[ what alhaitham omits: that this is his library, that nobody has ever complained, and that kaveh has made his choice. you are the choices that you make. this, alhaitham has known since he had been a child, and his grandmother had pressed her weathered hand in his, and asked - where is it that you would like to learn? the house had been bright, back then. it had steeped with the scent of old books, and the gentle drift of dust.
instead, what alhaitham says is this: ]
Come.
[ he begins to walk.
of course he does - this is the way that cats do it. through the rain bisected by the shape of a colourless umbrella, alhaitham takes the requisite steps that bring him to the end of the street. and then, in the way of all cats, he looks back with the expectant air of a man waiting to be followed. ]