tezcatl_ipoca: (csi: domestic morning)
Al's apartment, a few days later

Spending more of my time here, now. Much of it as I can, really.

Still have to be careful, of course. Think Al's got some kind of plan in place to tidy away any evidence of our previous deal; figure I'm better off not knowing the details.

But we've been able to get up together in the mornings, mostly, and I'm here when he comes back from work - which seems to be getting earlier, these past days. And it's - easy. More absurdly domestic than I'd've thought possibly, when he straightens my tie under my chin with a slight frown for my scruffiness, or I take his jacket and kiss him as he comes in the door. Almost frightening how fast it's starting to feel normal, him and me, here. Not sure I realised how I've missed living with someone, since Syl. Knowing it'll last, god willing. Knowing that I'm home.

[Open to Al]
tezcatl_ipoca: (50s: pensive window)
Late March 1953

It's one of those perfect early spring days, the sky that bright light blue and warmth in the sun at last. March is definitely going out like a lamb this year, and we have the window in the train compartment open, letting in the smell of the country.

It's so queer to be making this familiar journey with Al. I've been pointing things out through the window as we get close - the ruins of the castle, the chalk carving on the hillside, the field where they found the Roman villa last summer, still patterned with string fences. But I'm starting to feel a little nervous now, because - well. Al and my parents. And my house is hardly like his house, is it?

We're alone in the carriage, sitting next to each other, and I put my hand briefly on his knee to reassure myself.

[Open to Al]
tezcatl_ipoca: (Default)
"Now on the inside of Toltec society, Tezcatlipoca used His sorcery to trick the idle Toltecs. He played a mystical drum which mesmerized those who heard it and caused them to dance so wildly that they eventually threw themselves off of a cliff."

Whole story for context (one version) )
tezcatl_ipoca: (crackemo)
Can't get used to this at all. It's the weirdest fucking thing.

When I saw the kid first, in the hospital (and ignoring Thiess' present for all I was worth), I didn't feel any great rush of paternal feeling. It was a weird color and slimy and its head was the wrong shape, and they still expected me to hold it. Freaked me the fuck out.

And yet...keep finding myself calling her up, asking if it's okay for me to come over. Buying stupid crap for the kid. Getting used to holding her, too - amazing how much heavier a baby is than it looks - though it still makes me nervous. What if I break her or something? Danika doesn't seem to be worried about that, though. She's tired, but she looks happy. I stay over, sometimes - sleeping on the couch - to try and give her a break.

But there's always the knowledge that I'm going to leave, underneath it. Every time I hold the kid, I feel subtly guilty. Jesus. Every time Danika smiles while I talk to her in Spanish and call her Brígida rather than Brigit. I know Danika's going to be a good mother, and fucking Thiess seems to be settling right in, but...hell. She's mine. Once I leave with Al, am I even going to see her again? There's times I catch myself wondering, just a bit, what would've happened if me and Danika'd got hitched after all.

Not saying I'd go back. Not saying I'd change my mind. But it's bitter, sometimes.

[Open to Al]
tezcatl_ipoca: (Default)
[NOTA BENE: THIS IS NOT CSI!CANON. This is purely for rachelm's and my personal amusement.]

My flight's late, and I'm not back until midday. His key's in my pocket, but I still think about going back to my own place, sleeping it off. Dealing with it all later. But at the last moment I tell the cab his address.

The concierge must recognise me by now, because I'm not stopped, tired and sweating and disreputable as I am, dragging my suitcase. Look at myself in the mirror in the lift up to the penthouse; I look a wreck. I've lost weight, and my eyes are so sunken they look like pissholes in the snow, dark-shadowed. Managed to shave, but managed to cut myself, too.

So fucking relieved when I get into his place. All I want to do is sleep. Go to the fridge, drink half a litre of water, and then climb the stairs painfully. Pass out full-length on his bed, shoes still on.

Open to Al.
tezcatl_ipoca: (all roads lead)
It's raining when I arrive, hot close drizzle. Stare out of the cab window; it's not the city I remember, and it is. Gives me a tight sick sort of feeling, like the beginnings of a hangover.

His apartment's in a better building than I expected, a solid middle-class neighbourhood. The super, short and broad and scowling, lectures me as she takes me up there, gives me the key: Everything paid up, she says, as if it's an insult, until the end of next month, and how can I let it? Who will rent it when a man has died there? When all his goods are there, still? I shut the door firmly in her face, lean my back against it as if she's going to break in.

The sparseness of it's too familiar, too like my own place. Nothing of the boy, the young man, that I remember. He was always neater than me, and he's gone about this like he went about most things, methodical, respectable. No clothes discarded on chairs, the kitchen clean. The fridge empty, though that could have been someone else. Bed against one wall, sofa against the other, tiny kitchen and bathroom. Almost a hotel room.

The bed's made up, hospital corners like my mother taught us. I feel my jaw clench hard.

I drop my suitcase to one side, my carry-on on the sofa. I'm tired and stiff from the flight, and I just want a fucking drink.

[continued in comments]
tezcatl_ipoca: (upper VI)
It's a cold afternoon, and grey. Nothing like the last afternoon Al and I spent in the woods, but it doesn't matter - we're not out here for the weather. In the rucksack on my back the whiskey bottle is buried under a blanket and torch and matches. Our winter coats have been brought out of storage now, and I think later I'll be glad to have mine, though now wearing it over my blazer is rather too hot.

"Is this right?" I ask Al, looking around to recognize the place we'd agreed to meet Syl.

[Open to Syl and Al]
tezcatl_ipoca: (Default)
Remember, my boy, there's nothing natural in nature. When it seems natural to you, it'll be the end. Something else will start. Goodbye sky, goodbye sea. What a beautiful sky! Close...happy... Don't you think that just a little piece is natural? That it could be possessed by a god? The sea too. On this day, when you're 13 and fish with your feet in the water, look behind you...what do you see? Anything natural? No. What you see is an apparation. With clouds reflected in the heavy, still water at three in the afternoon. Look at that black streak on the sea, shining and pink like oil. The shadow of the trees and the reeds. A god is hidden everywhere you look. Even if he isn't, he's left traces of his sacred presence: the silence, the smell of grass, the chill of fresh waer. Yes. Everything's sacred. But sanctity is also a curse. Whilst the gods love, they also hate."
tezcatl_ipoca: (Default)
Leland: “And so all was, and is, in sorcery a kind of wild poetry based on symbols, all blending into one another, light and darkness, fire-flies and grain, life and death.”
tezcatl_ipoca: (Default)
You who wish to conquer pain,
you must learn what makes me kind;
the crumbs of love that you offer me,
they're the crumbs I've left behind.
Your pain is no credential here,
it's just the shadow, shadow of my wound.

I have begun to long for you,
I who have no greed;
I have begun to ask for you,
I who have no need.
You say you've gone away from me,
but I can feel you when you breathe.

Do not dress in those rags for me,
I know you are not poor;
don't love me quite so fiercely now
when you know that you are not sure,
it is your turn, beloved,
it is your flesh that I wear.

For Lilith

Jan. 16th, 2009 08:50 pm
tezcatl_ipoca: (Default)
The catfight!

tezcatl_ipoca: (Default)
"While the exhausted Quetzalcóatl sleeps, his unprotected people, the Toltecs, fall easy prey to the evil magic of Tezcatlipoca. With enchanting music, he lures the Toltecs towards a cliff, while they dance in a trance. Many fall to their death, while others are transformed into stones."
tezcatl_ipoca: (Default)
You said the world was magic I was wide-eyed and laughing
We were dancing up to the bright side
Forget about your ego forget about your pride
And we will never have to compromise

And you were only joking
You were only joking brother

We talked about mothers kissing the wounds of our fathers
I could have been your sister I would have been your brother
You kissed me like a soldier heading for a war
I'm a dying man but I don't know what for

But you were only joking
You were only joking brother
You were only joking
You were only joking brother

Gravel and glass on the bottom of my feet
I bruised my heels on the swollen street
We were girls in bars, boys on the town
Bumping like a pinball off a careless crowd
You said good friends are hard to come by
I laughed and bought you a beer it's too corny to cry
Well sentiments given, sentiments lost
You shook it off with a smirk and a toss

You were only joking
You were only joking brother

You were only joking
You were only joking brother
You kissed me like a soldier heading for a war
I'm a dying man but I don't know what for

Gravel and glass on the bottom of my feet
I bruised my heels on the swolen street
You were only joking brother

And you were only, you were only, you were only joking
tezcatl_ipoca: (Default)
You carried the soul from (my) body – and yet,
You are still in the soul;
You have given pains – and are still the remedy;
Openly you split my breast –
Yet, you are still hidden in my heart.
You have destroyed the kingdom of my heart
With the sword of coquetry,
And are still a ruler in that place….

- Amir Khusrau
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