Post by Wit on Dec 16, 2014 15:45:02 GMT -8
Wit looked down at the paper he had received not too long ago. Thinking back to the night, talking to the Prince, and everything else. Hiding himself from sight, he just walked. As he walked, he kept seeing the cracks out of the corners of his eyes, but his mind was way too distracted, even as his head darted to see if what he was seeing was a threat... there was nothing there. It didn’t stop Wits head from rapidly looking every so often.
He knew he was only even able to hold it together most of the time because he was more scared of failing then being there. And holding it together was becoming a looser and looser definition, with the growing cracks in the mirror, and those he hardly even realized were growing in his social mask. Wit felt like screaming, running, even a hint of wanting to break things. But he knew that would draw all the more attention to him, it would bring even mortal eyes on him that he hid from.
Dealing with court had been hard enough when everything at least seemed to be functioning together. Now, after meeting with the prince and worse this letter from the sheriff. And that was only part of it, the new Marshal, the “gift” from their neighbors to the north… It seemed like everything wanted to stress the members of the domain, perhaps to see who would break first, who would get ground by the gears that moved behind the cracks.
Having to talk to the domain, especially those like Primogen Stanton or Avalon, who held some of the grandest standing in the domain. Every time they were around, he could feel the weight of it as it wanted to destroy him. The Sheriff rivaled them, especially in pursuit of his office though it was unlikely much of this letter was covered in that regard, though that beast of a man was quite worthy of fear even without standing. Even those not quite so high, were always heavy weight if they were around. But usually that faded once he was finally able to be free of them.
But of late, the weight had been growing even when they were not around. Their words, their stares and glares hung on him like chains as he overlooked the rivers of politics below. Wit found his mind more clouded then it usually was when alone, usually he was able to collect himself and speak, but even as he was walking he now realized he had not stopped talking about something for a few blocks. Speech that was still stuttered, missing words, and words that he had not even realized he had been using for the last few blocks of walking. It was only once he was talking to a painted piece of graffiti on the wall that he really heard his voice coming back to him.
At first he was confused by why the painting was talking to him, and without needing to move its mouth, but then Wit realized it was his own voice. Perhaps that’s why he used to talk so little, why his sire had demanded he go silent for such long periods, or would punish him if he was even so much as seen. But now, if he wasn’t seen, he was failing the Prince, who wanted him at least somewhat available. Still, Wit wished he could go back to most of the city not even being aware he existed, so he could have less to worry about, it seemed these days there were things he was worrying about ALL THE TIME…
Kidscouts, boys scouting around for vampires just to kill them. Now there were people in the domain that just wanted to kill these kids, their leader and who knew what else. Wit couldn’t agree with that, but he didn’t really have a good plan either. Sabbat attacks on their gathering places, the Sheriff accusing the prince of all sorts of things, the regular hostility of the Harpy and Herald…
Wit realized as his mind was racing that he was still staring at the painted man on the wall. Was there a reason for that? He paused his thought and stream of words investigating it further, looking close and looking passed it, to how it connected with meaning. What caused it to be where he was going to be, how Nightingale would light this area, what did it sound like now, how had it changed through the turning of the gears. But it wasn’t what he was hoping for, the paint seemed to get in the way as he touched it, trying to feel the strings that connected it deep to the earthen instruments below.
As his vision cleared a bit, the world returning and the fear dashed back into reality. It was like a car hitting him, a towering inferno of status and position. It was like the echos of the city on fire of the past. Fear over took him and he was running. The voices that stuck in his mind urged him on, even though he wasn’t really aware of it anymore. The Primogen shouting in anger, the looks of the Herald and Harpy as both confirmed how unworthy he was. Klaus and Cristano’s disdainful looks tore through his mind. A quick turn as terrified mind was sure it saw the dower look of Amgrim.
Eventually his mind began to clear, he was back in his room, one of the chambers of the Asylum. Huddling in the corner, he could only remember the faintest of things from just before he took flight on the streets. In his head Wit felt like he had been trampled over, or his very being had been shoved through the gears he saw peeking out of so many places any more.
How was he going to continue? Whats more, Prince Orleans wanted him to get better at it, not just maintain what it has been. Be better, plan his own politics, his own plots. Wit wasn’t even sure what he would do to start with such things, but the thought of failing the Prince was perhaps the scariest thing of all. First, Wit knew, he would have to resolve some of the current going on in the domain, but then he would have to find some plot to plan, some scheme to execute, or some political maneuver to put into play. Perhaps … he would have to deal with some of the other Kindred to work with, but… About as quickly as these thoughts came in, he was stammering at the wall a bit again, fear looming over him.
A few moments longer, and he received some respite from the terror, as his body fell off to sleep with the rising sun. The next night, the worry would resume, there was some resolution that would have to be found within the domain. Something would come of the issues between the domain and others as well. Hopefully there would not be more positions that the young seneschal would have to take, or speech’s he would have to make… But his torment seemed to amuse the prince and others.
