[It's a difficult time for all of them, night, and on this one Beckett feels like his head is about to burst from everything in it. He lies back on the bed, Rhys snoring by his feet, and watches the message - volume very low - and feels, strangely, the chaos in his own thoughts ease along with Enoch's mind as he focuses on it. He doesn't realize as much at first, but the video, the ongoing talk draws him in, as he watches the reflection unfurls. Watching an understanding come about is the closest thing, the most comfortingly close thing, he gets to reaching some sense of understanding himself.
When Enoch reaches that word - love - a part of him naturally balks, but not with mockery. There are rare moments where he has been humbled - not intellectually, but in this much more human way. This feeling that he has been given something that it is not entirely within his worth to repay. That there is someone towards which he ought to strive. For a long time, that night, he sits suffused with that feeling, weighing it, like a warm weight about his shoulders.
When he finally goes to record a response, he makes a decision out of impulse, and runs with it.]
Hello, Enoch. I... [It's a little harder than he thought it would be, to begin, and in the recording his eyes shift a little, with almost boyish shyness - he's not wearing his tinted glasses, and his eyes show their natural hazel colour, though it's hard to tell by tablet-light. The focus is tight, and he speaks low, but finally clearly.] I thought for a while about how I can answer everything you've said. Your doubts and - your conviction. And I realized I never really told you about my friend whom you remind me so much of, Anatole. And I think I should.
[It would be easy to drift a little here, with the memories, but he remains very much present, focused.] Anatole was of Clan Malkavian. The Mad Clan. It runs in the blood, the madness. His was of a religious sort. He had visions, fits, obsessions... it was hard to know where the insanity ended and true faith and prophecy begun, but it was there. He saw you, saw you whole, into and through you, saw you as God did. His gift was to change people. And he... he more than changed me. He made me.
After my Embrace I ran wild, little more than a beast. For almost half a century I cared about nothing but my instincts, my pleasures. I joined a pack of bandits no different from what my mortal self might have done, if he had even that much volition, and we did everything you suppose we did and more. But I was - it's a long story, but we wound up as blood-bound slaves in the house of a Kindred scholar. Johann James Beckett. Anatole found me there. I'd been... been learning to read. I was bad at it, it came slow. My master presented some of the others to Anatole, ones who've been making better progress. It was an accident that they came across me at practice. He told Anatole - I remember just the words - "this one's hopeless, a true animal mind. He only keeps trying because he is too stubborn to understand."
Anatole looked at me once, and left. But he and Lucita came back a fortnight later and chased off him and all his household. For me. Anatole, he took my face, forced me to look at him, put his finger on my lips - do you know the Jewish folklore about the angel who puts his fingers on the lips of the newborn? - and he told me, wake up. And I did. I became... human. Still undead, still damned, but human.
[He gives a slight, shaky exhale.] I tell you this because I want you to understand what it means when I say that you remind me of him. He was my brother and my teacher, but more than that he was the one who made me... who gave meaning to my being, my life, my death. I care about many others I've met in this town, but you... you have somehow given meaning to my being here. My survival. The possibility of an existence after two dead worlds. And I... it's beyond me to find words to express my thanks for that. I can only say that you know what I do not give lightly. I can only say - you are my Kindred, whatever that means now. I want it to mean something of this sort.
[So at last, he also smiles, more weary than calm, but just as genuine. His head drops forward slightly, shoulders sagging towards the tablet, almost like he wishes he could lean his forehead against Enoch's - which a part of him does, seeking warmth and the touch of life. He goes on speaking low, even as his eyes close.] So there it is. I think that answers any questions regarding any resentment I might told against you, or doubts about our friendship. Or at least I think I've rambled on enough to send you to sleep. We do what we can. Sleep well, Enoch.
[The serenity he had found, that his affection for Beckett had given him, did not last very long, with the pain of what had happened plaguing his mind. He had some hours of peaceful sleep, but within two hours nightmares surfaced, visions of things that had happened, events crashing into one another with no room to breathe and the singularly horrifying idea I am not mine repeated in a nonsensical narrative of pure terror.
Waking from this, he fears the worst instinctively when he sees Beckett has sent him a reply. He almost doesn't open it, knowing that even though he promised his understanding, he wouldn't be able to take losing such a good friend on top of that nightmare, both sleeping and the waking one that had spawned it.
But unable to bear the fear and needing to hear Beckett's voice, he props his tablet against the legs of one of the easels to watch anyway.
His openness puts him immediately at ease in only the way one of his closest friends can. That personable shy flick of uncovered eyes, the focus in them as he speaks that helps bring his mind out of its post-nightmare racing. He still has to play it back a few times, not quite grounded enough yet to fully process it the first time.
The truth of it brings tears to his eyes, welcome joy after the day of grief before. He feels keenly the desire for contact in that final gesture, because he wants it so badly, himself. How is he supposed to respond? Were he at his friend's side, he would start with a hug (trying to substitute for the comfort of touch, he wraps Andromeda's blanket tight around his shoulders), but...no, he must open with words.
He speaks low, hoping Rhys is still asleep or in a different room as he must have been when Beckett recorded his reply, though, still sensitive to his effect on Rhys, he attaches it in a file too, like the last.]
I hope I'm not disturbing either of you. I got...more sleep than I would have, I think and...still seem to be who I was, thankfully. In any case, thank you for sharing your story with me, and - for all of the trust and-...and this high praise that came with it. I don't know how to accept it, that I've done something so vital for you... I don't know what to say - I never do, do I?
[He needed this smile. He needed this warmth blooming in his chest after the ice cold tightness for what felt like an eternity. The nightmare he'd woken from feels far away already. The listlessness that had begun to creep back in from the previous day melts away in the face of all of this, and rather than sap his strength, every word and every breath to speak them restores it.]
I can say thank you for still being my friend, after everything. ...You brought me clarity while we were in there. I forgot to thank you, when I made that recording. "I am the one who chose to stop"...without that, I wouldn't have been able to separate my true thoughts so easily when it all began to break down.
[There's a hint of pain in his smile at the raw wound that touches, almost becoming a grimace, but, paradoxically, there's a hint of a laugh starting in there too. Again, love wins over fear, and he relaxes. The laugh wins, if strained.]
You're the only one here who can do this to me, you know. When I'm talking to you, I can sometimes talk about things that cause me great pain and hardly feel it.
[Shaking his head slowly, as if in wonder, he forces his mind back on track, so his mouth can do the same. He doesn't realize it, but it's the last night he'll have to do it, the death price will wear off soon.]
In any case, I- your story, I think... Even without his sight, I think, Anatole would have seen something in you. That stubbornness, that refusal to give up, that you were even trying at all would have spoken to the existence of something more than this "animal mind" your former master thought was all you were. Yet you took his name? Was that typical of slaves wherever and whenever it was?
...Oh, I don't know if this is the place for my curiosity. If you are resting, I hope you sleep well, too, my dear friend- my kindred soul.
[There's a bit more, not intended for the message, as he leans forward, reluctantly shrugging an arm free of his blanket to save the recording.]
These are odd, aren't they...like letters, but spoken.
Edited (some slight wording tweaks) Date: 2017-08-04 05:22 am (UTC)
[They are a little like letters, and that gives Beckett an interesting frame of reference - not unlike what Enoch has, he thinks as he listens to the message. For both of them letters are the natural state of things and this only an odd later development. But he finds that, while the video feels a bit overwhelming to watch, the sound of his friend's voice is a soothing listen in itself. Not for the first time he thinks of what it might have been like to have a recording of any other friend, the ones lost with his world. He doesn't rightly know what he'd have given to hear Anatole's voice now.
He'll take what he can get. The grace notes.]
Please don't think you need to say very much. Sooner or later, I'm going to choke on all this sincerity. [He records that with a glum smile.] I've never been good at it. But if I was able to help you pull free even a little, that's all I need to hear. That it was more than empty words. We don't get to make a difference very often here, do we? Even for each other.
[Possibly he just has a high threshold of what making a difference means. But the thought of his words, his insight, as an anchor to anyone causes unforeseen warmth in his unbeating heart. Not the first time that Enoch had given him this - the feeling that he could matter in this way. Have meaning. It all goes back to the same.
He shrugs, a little to deflate the emotion.] That said, I don't think you or any of the others are truly at risk of reverting. Or at least, no more than any of us are at risk of losing our minds at any given moment. What it found in you it could have found in anyone. We're all - well. I was going to say human, but you'll forgive me if I feel strange about it. [Another brief, weary laugh. But he suspects Enoch would know what he means.]
But I am... glad, that you see humanity in me, in the same way he did. I don't always understand it. I don't know what he did - but I know I couldn't have seen it myself. It takes a certain faith... well. As for your curiosity, I didn't take his name as much as I stole it. Initially adopting the surname was a legal matter, money and rights, but once my reputation eclipsed his it felt like vindication. [He can't help but grin slightly at this. He's recounted this story so rarely in all his centuries, and it hasn't lost its shine.] No one remembers that there has ever been another Noddist scholar named Beckett.
[Well. He's human; and hence not always a upstanding member of society.]
[While part of him misses the directness of a typical use of the video function - a real-time call - the familiarity here does help, strangely enough in a way text doesn't. He isn't quite sure why that is, and doesn't ponder it too much. He'd love to explore such a thought, but...
...he realizes he's not talking about it. Not even mumbling to himself. He's thinking single coherent thoughts in dead silence. The death price has finally worn off. Now the only thing loosening his tongue is the recent trauma and lack of sleep. Both of which are very powerful influences.
So is the security he feels in pouring his heart out here. As if everything he says that is his true thought, his true heart, puts distance between himself and what the brainwashing had turned him into. Where Beckett attempts to deflate the warmth inside, Enoch clings to it, wrapped tight in his blanket again as if it is an actual warmth he can trap.]
When this place strikes us? No, we can almost never change it. I'm glad you did, I'll never be grateful enough for you anchoring me when I was lost. But even when we can't effect such changes... Whatever these words are worth, I appreciate what you've shown. It's never felt empty. You've always at least given me peace of mind, Beckett, and true peace is rare, so rare, even away from here.
[Maybe he is trapping that emotional warmth, really, considering the faint glow in his smile.
But he moves on. He's said what he needed to - told Beckett what that sincerity and friendship has done for him even if it didn't produce a tangible result.]
Beckett, my friend...even after you've told me otherwise I can't imagine anyone having that name. You certainly carry it better than he did. He couldn't even see the potential in perseverance... "true animal mind"- ha...
[He sounds actually insulted for Beckett over an incident that happened centuries ago (though certainly not bitter - he couldn't be, suffused with inner warmth as he is).]
And it is yours, it is you. By Norfinbury's records and- well, it suits you. I may not know what it replaced, but it feels like you, silly as it sounds to say. You seem very comfortable with it.
It's-...
[He trails off, looking up at the ceiling as he tries to figure out how to word it. And...fails. He's calmer for the moment, thanks to the conversation, but nothing can make up for the focus of the properly rested.]
It's...you. I can think of nothing more to say about it that doesn't lead back to this. I'm glad you found something that fit you so well.
[Moving on is harder for Beckett, on his end, as he listens and remembers and wonders. What few words he'd said, leading Enoch back to himself, out of the darkness... he'd called out to Lucita when the darkness was taking her, a truer, tangible Darkness, and was the strength those words had given her much the same? She'll never be able to tell him - victory had cost her life even as she won her freedom. But here, what Enoch says...
It's not enough. He doesn't think anything would truly be enough, except his companions' absolution in an afterlife he may or may not yet earn. But it's a light into a darkness of his own. Something to think about, when he wonders about finding God inside himself.]
I don't know what I did. How much I did. [He can't help still sounding contemplative, even a little withdrawn as these thoughts all turn in his head. But he certainly doesn't want to deny Enoch, to undermine or underplay how much he has given him, so he continues.] I suppose life would be much easier if I could just leave well enough alone. Don't mind it. You are yourself and you are my friend, and I'm grateful for that. The rest... perhaps if we leave here alive.
[It's not often that he thinks of we in the hope of leaving alive. Most of the time he doesn't see the option, not for himself. But sometimes he'd like to. Sometimes he wonders what that would be like, too.
But that is too much too fast. His gut pulls back and his conscious mind with it. Instead, he makes a vague sound of curiosity and amusement at Enoch's reflection on his name. Not a subject he thinks about - almost never. It's been so long. Almost a pity, when he considers it that way. ]
It's a little absurd, I suppose, taking someone's name like that as some kind of badge of accomplishment. But it fit then, and it fits now. The man who was - who became, then, he needed a name. The one I was born with wouldn't have done. Too bloody ironic, if nothing else. And now... whether I like it or not, Beckett is the name signed onto the only Book of Nod that survives. Nothing to do but hope that if any future generations read it, they won't find it objectionable.
[He only wished to avoid making Beckett uncomfortable, in moving on - in truth he would be all too happy to keep telling him all he meant to him. But it also has the potential to be very awkward, and in the absence of being compelled to do so, he did back off.
Still a sense of openness persists, and for this night, he's free of the constricting stress on his body. He breathes easily, comfortable in spite of the unforgiving environment. The man who had begun this exchange curled up on the floor in anguish is completely at ease in this moment. He even seems as if he might be able to fall asleep again, soon.]
Leaving well enough alone might be easier, perhaps, but the right way? It isn't in our nature. I'm never sure of my own contribution, myself, if I'm not falling short in some way.
[He pauses, letting the thought run itself through his mind for a bit. He should doubt himself more, having said that, but...no, the peacefulness Beckett has brought him to eclipses it. He doesn't really need him to confirm this, despite his less human self claiming he sought a crutch. That had to come from somewhere but right now, it doesn't bother him, like it didn't then. He thinks on the rest of the message and looks on with a wistful smile.]
I wonder if any of my aliases seemed...wrong, for me. If others could sense it the way I sense your name is right for you. What was it, the name your mortal parents gave you? ...If you don't mind. I know you'd rather leave that life behind you.
[They're very similar in that. It's fascinating, how the ways in which they are similar are much narrower, but run so much deeper than the many ways in which they are different. It makes Beckett wonder what came first, what is more decisive - what either of them could have been with circumstances changed. Another subject he doesn't normally reflect on, normally tries not to sink into - it's like quicksand - but the question is already present, has been so throughout their conversation. It stays hanging over the words exchanged.]
I suppose one can't hinge their identity on questioning everything, then not question their own self. Though I don't know if that's your motivation, my friend. [He smiles one of his glum smiles, the sort meant to take the stings out of hurt, rather than express pleasure.] I think with you it's more a case of always thinking you should have more to give. Which will one day bite you in that saintly ass of yours, if it hasn't done so already.
[No sting, but he does hold by the statement. Watch him express his concern in his own special way.
It's a long silence that greets Enoch's question, though; long enough that in a different kind of exchange, would have perhaps seemed to end the conversation. He considers the choice, looks deep into it. He'd given his mortal name to Angel as the greatest token of trust he has in his existence, and he trusts Enoch no less - but the value was not in the secret. With Enoch it's almost the opposite, he realizes. Because he trusts and loves, he wants his friend to only know the man he truly is.]
I... don't mind, as such, but it isn't important. There's nothing in it. It was my father's name, and he gave it to my eldest brother, and they only named me the same after my brother died. It wasn't mine. It's... as meaningless as the life it signified.
[Meaningless, Enoch wonders, or unpleasant? Beckett had mentioned numerous horrific injuries his body had shown no sign of. Vampires must be able to heal wounds impossibly. It meant the scars on his back must have happened while he was human.
But he will not pry. He's had enough of causing pain.]
As I said, I find the best answers to be the ones I can use to help others, to lift up my loved ones. What am I without giving? I'll take the risks.
[Especially now, now that he has tasted being something other, with no innate ability to resist. He still punctuates it with look of wistful fondness, as if to point out Beckett does the same, accepting these risks.
He wouldn't have him any other way, really. Even if he worries. One of those deep-rooted similarities that binds them.
He closes his eyes, holding that fondness, that fount of strength in his heart, and he could almost forget Beckett's previous video had another point in it. Almost. He continues without opening his eyes, sounding as if his mind is half on something else.]
So both times, it was a matter of succession. The difference...one is so markedly your own because you chose to have it. Even if it was convenience at first, you chose it.
My choice. Yes. It's exactly as you always say. [Beckett chuckles, this time oddly sincere despite being well aware of the irony of his words.] Free will.
[He remembers how they'd argued, if not downright fought about it. The weight and gift and meaning of free will. It's always been there at his core, but he had not seen it through so human a lens, not before Enoch's insights. Being other than human had meant more. It still does. But now he can see the resemblance, the points of contact, without resentment, can look at his own humanity with renewed kindness.
Kindness. Yes. That's Enoch getting to him, all right.]
Well. I can hardly hold it against you, that determination to give, however much the cost of it ends up being. Because it is your choice. Not a choice I understand, maybe, but I ought to respect it all the more for that. I do understand that it's not easy. [That's the curious thing, that for some people it is easy. Sacrifice that comes from self-loathing - Angel's, no doubt - from a martyr complex, from knowing nothing else. Giving from the true love of it is rarer. Though he's not sure he can explain that to Enoch - Enoch who thinks so well of people.]
But that is what makes it a choice, isn't it? That's the humanity of it. To go against the simple instinct.
If it was ever difficult, I do not remember it. I'm sure I was more tempted to be more selfish as a child. But the centuries have made it a part of me.
[Even the brainwashing hadn't changed that. When Beckett had asked to feed, Enoch's first thought, even twisted as he was, had been Can I? A shadow falls over the calm on his face as he thinks back on the rest. On the "giving" that had taken away, the offered comfort that had only unsettled and disgusted. It was a part of him, and the brainwashing had not taken it away. But it had, where it needed to, twisted it into something else. His own will had been tampered with, something angels and demons and even God could not do. Human potential is great indeed. Free will meant it could be directed anywhere.]
...Free will is our one true birthright. It is what sets us apart, us sons of Adam. It is what gives us our potential. For good or ill. And the choices we make...
...you choose to fight for me. For Angel and Rhys. For Brian. Your nature pulls you away from compassion. That you have decided you want to feel it for us makes it all the more powerful.
[There. There is that glow he so badly needs now, and something else he should have said when Beckett first revealed he had to maintain his capacity for such emotions. Something else he should have said but never did. For what, fear of offending him? He doesn't know. But he feels better for saying it.]
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branchandroot
night 265; video
Date: 2017-08-03 08:38 pm (UTC)When Enoch reaches that word - love - a part of him naturally balks, but not with mockery. There are rare moments where he has been humbled - not intellectually, but in this much more human way. This feeling that he has been given something that it is not entirely within his worth to repay. That there is someone towards which he ought to strive. For a long time, that night, he sits suffused with that feeling, weighing it, like a warm weight about his shoulders.
When he finally goes to record a response, he makes a decision out of impulse, and runs with it.]
Hello, Enoch. I... [It's a little harder than he thought it would be, to begin, and in the recording his eyes shift a little, with almost boyish shyness - he's not wearing his tinted glasses, and his eyes show their natural hazel colour, though it's hard to tell by tablet-light. The focus is tight, and he speaks low, but finally clearly.] I thought for a while about how I can answer everything you've said. Your doubts and - your conviction. And I realized I never really told you about my friend whom you remind me so much of, Anatole. And I think I should.
[It would be easy to drift a little here, with the memories, but he remains very much present, focused.] Anatole was of Clan Malkavian. The Mad Clan. It runs in the blood, the madness. His was of a religious sort. He had visions, fits, obsessions... it was hard to know where the insanity ended and true faith and prophecy begun, but it was there. He saw you, saw you whole, into and through you, saw you as God did. His gift was to change people. And he... he more than changed me. He made me.
After my Embrace I ran wild, little more than a beast. For almost half a century I cared about nothing but my instincts, my pleasures. I joined a pack of bandits no different from what my mortal self might have done, if he had even that much volition, and we did everything you suppose we did and more. But I was - it's a long story, but we wound up as blood-bound slaves in the house of a Kindred scholar. Johann James Beckett. Anatole found me there. I'd been... been learning to read. I was bad at it, it came slow. My master presented some of the others to Anatole, ones who've been making better progress. It was an accident that they came across me at practice. He told Anatole - I remember just the words - "this one's hopeless, a true animal mind. He only keeps trying because he is too stubborn to understand."
Anatole looked at me once, and left. But he and Lucita came back a fortnight later and chased off him and all his household. For me. Anatole, he took my face, forced me to look at him, put his finger on my lips - do you know the Jewish folklore about the angel who puts his fingers on the lips of the newborn? - and he told me, wake up. And I did. I became... human. Still undead, still damned, but human.
[He gives a slight, shaky exhale.] I tell you this because I want you to understand what it means when I say that you remind me of him. He was my brother and my teacher, but more than that he was the one who made me... who gave meaning to my being, my life, my death. I care about many others I've met in this town, but you... you have somehow given meaning to my being here. My survival. The possibility of an existence after two dead worlds. And I... it's beyond me to find words to express my thanks for that. I can only say that you know what I do not give lightly. I can only say - you are my Kindred, whatever that means now. I want it to mean something of this sort.
[So at last, he also smiles, more weary than calm, but just as genuine. His head drops forward slightly, shoulders sagging towards the tablet, almost like he wishes he could lean his forehead against Enoch's - which a part of him does, seeking warmth and the touch of life. He goes on speaking low, even as his eyes close.] So there it is. I think that answers any questions regarding any resentment I might told against you, or doubts about our friendship. Or at least I think I've rambled on enough to send you to sleep. We do what we can. Sleep well, Enoch.
very late night 265; video
Date: 2017-08-04 04:09 am (UTC)Waking from this, he fears the worst instinctively when he sees Beckett has sent him a reply. He almost doesn't open it, knowing that even though he promised his understanding, he wouldn't be able to take losing such a good friend on top of that nightmare, both sleeping and the waking one that had spawned it.
But unable to bear the fear and needing to hear Beckett's voice, he props his tablet against the legs of one of the easels to watch anyway.
His openness puts him immediately at ease in only the way one of his closest friends can. That personable shy flick of uncovered eyes, the focus in them as he speaks that helps bring his mind out of its post-nightmare racing. He still has to play it back a few times, not quite grounded enough yet to fully process it the first time.
The truth of it brings tears to his eyes, welcome joy after the day of grief before. He feels keenly the desire for contact in that final gesture, because he wants it so badly, himself. How is he supposed to respond? Were he at his friend's side, he would start with a hug (trying to substitute for the comfort of touch, he wraps Andromeda's blanket tight around his shoulders), but...no, he must open with words.
He speaks low, hoping Rhys is still asleep or in a different room as he must have been when Beckett recorded his reply, though, still sensitive to his effect on Rhys, he attaches it in a file too, like the last.]
I hope I'm not disturbing either of you. I got...more sleep than I would have, I think and...still seem to be who I was, thankfully. In any case, thank you for sharing your story with me, and - for all of the trust and-...and this high praise that came with it. I don't know how to accept it, that I've done something so vital for you... I don't know what to say - I never do, do I?
[He needed this smile. He needed this warmth blooming in his chest after the ice cold tightness for what felt like an eternity. The nightmare he'd woken from feels far away already. The listlessness that had begun to creep back in from the previous day melts away in the face of all of this, and rather than sap his strength, every word and every breath to speak them restores it.]
I can say thank you for still being my friend, after everything. ...You brought me clarity while we were in there. I forgot to thank you, when I made that recording. "I am the one who chose to stop"...without that, I wouldn't have been able to separate my true thoughts so easily when it all began to break down.
[There's a hint of pain in his smile at the raw wound that touches, almost becoming a grimace, but, paradoxically, there's a hint of a laugh starting in there too. Again, love wins over fear, and he relaxes. The laugh wins, if strained.]
You're the only one here who can do this to me, you know. When I'm talking to you, I can sometimes talk about things that cause me great pain and hardly feel it.
[Shaking his head slowly, as if in wonder, he forces his mind back on track, so his mouth can do the same. He doesn't realize it, but it's the last night he'll have to do it, the death price will wear off soon.]
In any case, I- your story, I think... Even without his sight, I think, Anatole would have seen something in you. That stubbornness, that refusal to give up, that you were even trying at all would have spoken to the existence of something more than this "animal mind" your former master thought was all you were. Yet you took his name? Was that typical of slaves wherever and whenever it was?
...Oh, I don't know if this is the place for my curiosity. If you are resting, I hope you sleep well, too, my dear friend- my kindred soul.
[There's a bit more, not intended for the message, as he leans forward, reluctantly shrugging an arm free of his blanket to save the recording.]
These are odd, aren't they...like letters, but spoken.
no subject
Date: 2017-08-08 07:52 pm (UTC)He'll take what he can get. The grace notes.]
Please don't think you need to say very much. Sooner or later, I'm going to choke on all this sincerity. [He records that with a glum smile.] I've never been good at it. But if I was able to help you pull free even a little, that's all I need to hear. That it was more than empty words. We don't get to make a difference very often here, do we? Even for each other.
[Possibly he just has a high threshold of what making a difference means. But the thought of his words, his insight, as an anchor to anyone causes unforeseen warmth in his unbeating heart. Not the first time that Enoch had given him this - the feeling that he could matter in this way. Have meaning. It all goes back to the same.
He shrugs, a little to deflate the emotion.] That said, I don't think you or any of the others are truly at risk of reverting. Or at least, no more than any of us are at risk of losing our minds at any given moment. What it found in you it could have found in anyone. We're all - well. I was going to say human, but you'll forgive me if I feel strange about it. [Another brief, weary laugh. But he suspects Enoch would know what he means.]
But I am... glad, that you see humanity in me, in the same way he did. I don't always understand it. I don't know what he did - but I know I couldn't have seen it myself. It takes a certain faith... well. As for your curiosity, I didn't take his name as much as I stole it. Initially adopting the surname was a legal matter, money and rights, but once my reputation eclipsed his it felt like vindication. [He can't help but grin slightly at this. He's recounted this story so rarely in all his centuries, and it hasn't lost its shine.] No one remembers that there has ever been another Noddist scholar named Beckett.
[Well. He's human; and hence not always a upstanding member of society.]
no subject
Date: 2017-08-09 06:25 am (UTC)...he realizes he's not talking about it. Not even mumbling to himself. He's thinking single coherent thoughts in dead silence. The death price has finally worn off. Now the only thing loosening his tongue is the recent trauma and lack of sleep. Both of which are very powerful influences.
So is the security he feels in pouring his heart out here. As if everything he says that is his true thought, his true heart, puts distance between himself and what the brainwashing had turned him into. Where Beckett attempts to deflate the warmth inside, Enoch clings to it, wrapped tight in his blanket again as if it is an actual warmth he can trap.]
When this place strikes us? No, we can almost never change it. I'm glad you did, I'll never be grateful enough for you anchoring me when I was lost. But even when we can't effect such changes... Whatever these words are worth, I appreciate what you've shown. It's never felt empty. You've always at least given me peace of mind, Beckett, and true peace is rare, so rare, even away from here.
[Maybe he is trapping that emotional warmth, really, considering the faint glow in his smile.
But he moves on. He's said what he needed to - told Beckett what that sincerity and friendship has done for him even if it didn't produce a tangible result.]
Beckett, my friend...even after you've told me otherwise I can't imagine anyone having that name. You certainly carry it better than he did. He couldn't even see the potential in perseverance... "true animal mind"- ha...
[He sounds actually insulted for Beckett over an incident that happened centuries ago (though certainly not bitter - he couldn't be, suffused with inner warmth as he is).]
And it is yours, it is you. By Norfinbury's records and- well, it suits you. I may not know what it replaced, but it feels like you, silly as it sounds to say. You seem very comfortable with it.
It's-...
[He trails off, looking up at the ceiling as he tries to figure out how to word it. And...fails. He's calmer for the moment, thanks to the conversation, but nothing can make up for the focus of the properly rested.]
It's...you. I can think of nothing more to say about it that doesn't lead back to this. I'm glad you found something that fit you so well.
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Date: 2017-08-20 08:37 pm (UTC)It's not enough. He doesn't think anything would truly be enough, except his companions' absolution in an afterlife he may or may not yet earn. But it's a light into a darkness of his own. Something to think about, when he wonders about finding God inside himself.]
I don't know what I did. How much I did. [He can't help still sounding contemplative, even a little withdrawn as these thoughts all turn in his head. But he certainly doesn't want to deny Enoch, to undermine or underplay how much he has given him, so he continues.] I suppose life would be much easier if I could just leave well enough alone. Don't mind it. You are yourself and you are my friend, and I'm grateful for that. The rest... perhaps if we leave here alive.
[It's not often that he thinks of we in the hope of leaving alive. Most of the time he doesn't see the option, not for himself. But sometimes he'd like to. Sometimes he wonders what that would be like, too.
But that is too much too fast. His gut pulls back and his conscious mind with it. Instead, he makes a vague sound of curiosity and amusement at Enoch's reflection on his name. Not a subject he thinks about - almost never. It's been so long. Almost a pity, when he considers it that way. ]
It's a little absurd, I suppose, taking someone's name like that as some kind of badge of accomplishment. But it fit then, and it fits now. The man who was - who became, then, he needed a name. The one I was born with wouldn't have done. Too bloody ironic, if nothing else. And now... whether I like it or not, Beckett is the name signed onto the only Book of Nod that survives. Nothing to do but hope that if any future generations read it, they won't find it objectionable.
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Date: 2017-08-21 10:56 pm (UTC)Still a sense of openness persists, and for this night, he's free of the constricting stress on his body. He breathes easily, comfortable in spite of the unforgiving environment. The man who had begun this exchange curled up on the floor in anguish is completely at ease in this moment. He even seems as if he might be able to fall asleep again, soon.]
Leaving well enough alone might be easier, perhaps, but the right way? It isn't in our nature. I'm never sure of my own contribution, myself, if I'm not falling short in some way.
[He pauses, letting the thought run itself through his mind for a bit. He should doubt himself more, having said that, but...no, the peacefulness Beckett has brought him to eclipses it. He doesn't really need him to confirm this, despite his less human self claiming he sought a crutch. That had to come from somewhere but right now, it doesn't bother him, like it didn't then. He thinks on the rest of the message and looks on with a wistful smile.]
I wonder if any of my aliases seemed...wrong, for me. If others could sense it the way I sense your name is right for you. What was it, the name your mortal parents gave you? ...If you don't mind. I know you'd rather leave that life behind you.
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Date: 2017-08-26 07:18 pm (UTC)[They're very similar in that. It's fascinating, how the ways in which they are similar are much narrower, but run so much deeper than the many ways in which they are different. It makes Beckett wonder what came first, what is more decisive - what either of them could have been with circumstances changed. Another subject he doesn't normally reflect on, normally tries not to sink into - it's like quicksand - but the question is already present, has been so throughout their conversation. It stays hanging over the words exchanged.]
I suppose one can't hinge their identity on questioning everything, then not question their own self. Though I don't know if that's your motivation, my friend. [He smiles one of his glum smiles, the sort meant to take the stings out of hurt, rather than express pleasure.] I think with you it's more a case of always thinking you should have more to give. Which will one day bite you in that saintly ass of yours, if it hasn't done so already.
[No sting, but he does hold by the statement. Watch him express his concern in his own special way.
It's a long silence that greets Enoch's question, though; long enough that in a different kind of exchange, would have perhaps seemed to end the conversation. He considers the choice, looks deep into it. He'd given his mortal name to Angel as the greatest token of trust he has in his existence, and he trusts Enoch no less - but the value was not in the secret. With Enoch it's almost the opposite, he realizes. Because he trusts and loves, he wants his friend to only know the man he truly is.]
I... don't mind, as such, but it isn't important. There's nothing in it. It was my father's name, and he gave it to my eldest brother, and they only named me the same after my brother died. It wasn't mine. It's... as meaningless as the life it signified.
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Date: 2017-08-27 12:06 am (UTC)But he will not pry. He's had enough of causing pain.]
As I said, I find the best answers to be the ones I can use to help others, to lift up my loved ones. What am I without giving? I'll take the risks.
[Especially now, now that he has tasted being something other, with no innate ability to resist. He still punctuates it with look of wistful fondness, as if to point out Beckett does the same, accepting these risks.
He wouldn't have him any other way, really. Even if he worries. One of those deep-rooted similarities that binds them.
He closes his eyes, holding that fondness, that fount of strength in his heart, and he could almost forget Beckett's previous video had another point in it. Almost. He continues without opening his eyes, sounding as if his mind is half on something else.]
So both times, it was a matter of succession. The difference...one is so markedly your own because you chose to have it. Even if it was convenience at first, you chose it.
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Date: 2017-08-28 08:06 pm (UTC)[He remembers how they'd argued, if not downright fought about it. The weight and gift and meaning of free will. It's always been there at his core, but he had not seen it through so human a lens, not before Enoch's insights. Being other than human had meant more. It still does. But now he can see the resemblance, the points of contact, without resentment, can look at his own humanity with renewed kindness.
Kindness. Yes. That's Enoch getting to him, all right.]
Well. I can hardly hold it against you, that determination to give, however much the cost of it ends up being. Because it is your choice. Not a choice I understand, maybe, but I ought to respect it all the more for that. I do understand that it's not easy. [That's the curious thing, that for some people it is easy. Sacrifice that comes from self-loathing - Angel's, no doubt - from a martyr complex, from knowing nothing else. Giving from the true love of it is rarer. Though he's not sure he can explain that to Enoch - Enoch who thinks so well of people.]
But that is what makes it a choice, isn't it? That's the humanity of it. To go against the simple instinct.
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Date: 2017-08-29 09:42 pm (UTC)[Even the brainwashing hadn't changed that. When Beckett had asked to feed, Enoch's first thought, even twisted as he was, had been Can I? A shadow falls over the calm on his face as he thinks back on the rest. On the "giving" that had taken away, the offered comfort that had only unsettled and disgusted. It was a part of him, and the brainwashing had not taken it away. But it had, where it needed to, twisted it into something else. His own will had been tampered with, something angels and demons and even God could not do. Human potential is great indeed. Free will meant it could be directed anywhere.]
...Free will is our one true birthright. It is what sets us apart, us sons of Adam. It is what gives us our potential. For good or ill. And the choices we make...
...you choose to fight for me. For Angel and Rhys. For Brian. Your nature pulls you away from compassion. That you have decided you want to feel it for us makes it all the more powerful.
[There. There is that glow he so badly needs now, and something else he should have said when Beckett first revealed he had to maintain his capacity for such emotions. Something else he should have said but never did. For what, fear of offending him? He doesn't know. But he feels better for saying it.]