Received: from LISTS.PSU.EDU (NJE origin LISTSERV@PSUVM) by PSUVM.PSU.EDU (LMail V1.2c/1.8c) with BSMTP id 6509; Sun, 30 Aug 1998 20:48:06 -0400 Date: Sun, 30 Aug 1998 20:48:36 -0400 Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: Lady Selinthia Subject: Unspoken Knowing I am reposting this, as I am unsure it made the list the first time. I have subscribed to the list this very day, and have decided to debut my FK fanfic with my first piece. I am currently writing another, longer, piece, however, this one demonstrates my preferences in regards to FK fandom. Though I have been, till this day, silent in the realm of FK list communication, I have considered myself, since the day I found the factions, a Cousin, not Light, thank you very much, a Cousin of the Knight, an UnNamed Factioner, and a Dark Knightie. Thus, my fic will generally learn in any and all of those directions. I would appreciate comments and reviews of this and any future pieces I may post. * * * Unspoken Knowing ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ By: Selinthia Avenchesca ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ zelna@sprint.ca ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The last slivers of the sunset seeped below the wavering horizon, shards of fire, in all their beauty. The beings watching them did so in appreciation of their artistic loveliness, though the younger also held the long lingering sentimentality of the sun's symbolic meanings. Light, love, and redemption, for those that would hold the ball of fire that light's the skies in that meaning. Ancient creatures, beyond all doubt. Yet, to be ancient, you must once be young, no matter how long the space between both states of being may be. Once, a long time ago, the space between each of their individual ages was something that meant much, something to be held in deep meaning. No longer. They had both existed for such time, together, that there seemed no difference between their ages, and sometimes, no difference between themselves. Their individual personalities were once the wedge between them, their beliefs held in sharp, violent contrast, that kept them from any sort of piece with each other. And yet, they were always connected. Father and son, brother to brother, a friendship, a love so deep that no matter how many times they screamed to the other condemnation, no matter how many times they damned each other, always, they came together again. Some times throughout the ages, the danger of permanent separation shot to them with sharp danger, promised to carry through with such tragedy, such horror, that they clung to each other for their very souls, though the elder of the two had long denied that either held possession of such a commodity. In the end, the details did not matter. As the elder once said, they were each other. * * * Though they had known many other names in the time since they had first went by the names they did in present, both vampires had taken back the names they first knew the other by. Lucien LaCroix, and Nicholas de Brabant, they knew each other as in their hearts, and now, once more, others knew them as such, as well. The last time LaCroix had been known by that name, long ago, was in the once, now forgotten, city of Toronto. Nicholas had still been searching for a "cure" to his own nature, working to undue the deeds he saw as sins, to humans that neither knew, nor cared. Well, one had proposed to cared. A woman he'd loved and nearly died for. At the last moment, however, LaCroix, unable and unwilling to grant his son's request of death, had rushed Natalie Lambert to human medical care. Nicholas had known LaCroix's words for truth then, that there would be change demanded of those about him, change that he would not be able to give, without dire consequences. And so, he had said his good-byes, and they had left, leaving behind that life. Nicholas had taken back his first identity then, the identity of his mortal life, that of de Brabant. Years past, and once more, identities were changed. Barely before they knew it, a century had gone by. An then, the world had changed in such a way that neither vampire, in all their years of experience, had known in such an all-encompassing manner. Holocausts had been predicted throughout human history, dire warnings of disaster flaunted about with religious fever, but though some had been taken seriously, do you ever really believe that it is going to happen, before it does? It had. Human folly had devoured itself. Explosions and warfare dire enough to shift the very world's design. Luckily for the vampires, the human race was a stubbornly resilient group, and some had survived. It helped that the world had been dangerously overpopulated at the time of disaster, and thus, though not many remained, there were far more than there could have been. For centuries, the remained of the vampiric race had fed upon the animals that humanity has always been, and now, showed themselves to be, shedding their illusions, as it were. LaCroix had been almost pleased. Still, it had been a long hard time of it, of the long centuries as humanity built itself back up from the dirt, in appearance at least, LaCroix was known to have sardonically remarked. At that, Nicholas had simply smiled, LaCroix's cynical ways being well known to him. Slowly, slowly, though, some semblance of "civilization" had emerged from the chaos. It was strange, Nicholas had said, how things repeat themselves. The Old World was barely remembered, the towering cities a vague legend to a muddled race, and yet, they built themselves up in such a way as to mirror humanity's original rise. Centuries more passed, long centuries, as they languished, and hunted, and fought. Laughed over old jokes, formed friendships and acquaintances. Lived. Life had an almost surreal feeling at times, for these two beings so far out of the times, the places, they originated from. Most times, however, things were cast sharply, brightly, with a knowing that forever could indeed come close to it's intended meaning. Still they, the eternal watchers, who at times simply could not resist transcending their role to take a place upon humanity's stage, moved throughout the deeds of that race, at times angered and disturbed, at times, content, sometimes happy, together. * * * The last sliver disappeared beneath the horizon, now. Though of such age were they that they could, if required, move uncovered through the day without burning, the instinctive urge, the discomfort, of it, usually prevented such action. Still, the last slivers could be enjoyed, artistically, and sentimentally, both. * * * Killing had become a necessity once more when the holocaust had hit, and had simply continued on. And so they hunted for their meals, something LaCroix had never deplored, but Nicholas had once abhorred. And then, as they had so many times in the long ago past, they traveled about the sprawling city which they were currently living within. In some manners, life was far easier than it had been before the destruction, as all the dangerous technology that had threatened to reveal their secret race, had been obliterated. In other ways, it was a return to even earlier times, in which suspicion and superstition of the so-called "supernatural" was not second nature to the peoples, but first. Still, they knew how to cover themselves and their trails. Nicholas would, at such times, sink into memories on occasion, and even LaCroix would at times secretly reminisce. They were both remembering the same thing, the same one. The sister to one, daughter to the other, that had been lost ages before. Janette. Taken from them by the love of a human. Janette, with her elegance and her lilting laugh and flirtatious glaces. Janette with her caring heart and fiery spirit. Gone, like so many others. They could not allow themselves to live in the past, but at times, the past overwhelms, and only with great effort is it put to rest, in it's time. Not completely forgotten. * * * They gazed down upon the stage, watching just one more repeat of the lives they once knew. Stages and plays. Remembered beyond remembrance, created again despite the loss. Some great tragedy, or so the players thought, acted out with crude props and half-convincing costumes. Still, their efforts, amateurish when compared to the standards of other times, draw the two ancient vampires in, capture their minds, as they allow themselves to be captivated. What else will they do? There must be some diversion, some entertainment, something to do, on some nights, to be sure. It is the draw of the brightness, of the acting of humanity in itself. An intermission, a pause in the middle, to stand and stretch and refresh yourself. The two vampires turn to the other, and LaCroix remarks; "Hardly perfection in form, I would say. Still, there is a certain. . . draw. . .to their efforts." "There always have been," Nicholas replies. "Doubly so for you, mon fils, as always. It is just a play. But then again, what else is there? We may observe humanity's own stage, and indeed, we do. But, it is always interesting to compare their conscious acting, to their overall act." Nicholas chuckled in reply and said, "You do insist in speaking to such length. Once, you may have blamed it upon your age, as you did so much. I know better now." "Ah, you've uncovered my secret. I have an unbound obsession with words." "It doesn't take much, LaCroix, to figure that out." Once more, they fall to companionable silence. It was not always thus, and indeed, even now, such peaceful sessions can erupt into violence, though not nearly as often as once was. Soon, though, the play returns, the stage lite once more, and the actors in character proclaiming their melodramatic vows, as the vampires look on, caught between something like pleasure, and something like wistfulness. * * * There were other vampires in that city, something to be expected. Still, they were, the most of them, young, infants in comparison, those to be acknowledged, but rarely spoke with. Most were children of this time, of this age, of this devastated world. They avoided the ancient pair for the most part, and LaCroix and his son were content enough to let it remain at that, for now. They had friends that were known of the ages, that they spoke to and interacted with ease, but enjoyment. There were very few vampires of the Old World left, very few indeed, and those that remained tended to keep relatively good relations between themselves, a necessary peace, as infighting could not be afford in these times. After the play, a walk throughout the city's rough streets, treading with feet that had known countless streets, endless city's that had, none the less, ended, been destroyed by time's ravages. Tracing paths with booted feet, talking softly between themselves, occasionally, soft, feral, laughter emerging. And then, they head towards to place that they currently call home, a quaint house. Enter the door silently, into the welcoming hall. Off to clean up from a night out, and then, to sit in the living room, fire crackling softly in it's place, companionship soft in the air. Still, there is something about these two ancient creatures that speaks of hunger, though they are sated from the night's earlier hunt. The hunger in the air is something more elusive, not so easily satisfied. All at once, the feeling hits them both, the feeling of not belonging, that feeling that dares to intrude upon their peace, burrowing into ancient hearts. Cobalt blue glances over to ice azure, eyes meeting with a glance that pierces into hearts that know each other better than they know anyone else, better than anyone else knows them. And they will not voice it, as they often leave such things unvoiced. Two islands floating through time, having only themselves, each other, to hold onto, knowing that if one were to ever leave, ever be destroyed, the other would not have the heart to go on without, and would simply rot away, fade to dust. They say nothing aloud, but the meaning is far more clear than if it had been screamed to all the world. END Selinthia Avenchesca ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "All is but an Illusion. A dream of Oblivion." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Love is like a rose. It looks pretty for some small while, but soon wilts, dies, and falls to dust." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~