[Flashback] Dancing on a Red String (Devmond)

[Dra-Nivias]

Winter 2nd 510AV

There weren't a lot of people in this part of the city. At least, not today. Dra-Nivias picked her way across the lacy pathway between the buildings, stopping on a deserted platform. She always came here to practice her dance, because she didn't like people to watch her and this area was almost always deserted. She walked to the middle of the platform and took a deep breath, and started dancing.

Whenever Nivias practiced she never stretched or did anything that human dancers would do. She didn't think it helped, and it didn't help her. She just started with the dance, depending on how she felt. Today she felt lonely, so she let that effect her dance.

Nivias outstretched her arms and started out slowly, letting the dance change as she went along. Bending forward, she let her hands touch the ground before using them to push herself off the ground into a backflip. She landed on her feet and didn't waste a second before spinning around and backflipping again, landing a good distance away. She ran across the platform and flipped, taking only a second as she landed and immediatly spinned around again. She ran across the platform again, and without stopping, backflipped right before she ran off the edge.

To someone watching her, they would think she was imitating the flames of a fire, and she very well was. Her entire style of dance was wrapped around the concept of always being different and moving around quickly. She never purposely allowed anyone to watch her dance, because she didn't like being looked at.

She walked slowly to the center of the platform, her dance being done, and sat down to rest. She usually thought for a good while after dancing, usually for 2 hours or more. Even if the occasional person passed by while she was thinking, they would ignore her because she was the known 'mute' and they usually came after she finished dancing.

Nivias lay down, and looked at the cavernous ceiling of the city she called home for her entire life. She thought about what the outside world looked like, and when she would leave this city. She thought about why she had to be half Symenestra instead of full, and she thought about the people she had seen that day. She was lost in her thoughts.

[Devmond Incarnata]

Low whispers from glossed lips brushed his ear and begged him to follow. They painted pictures of private dances in the dark. These were beautiful and easy-the women usually in his company. It took him only a few well-timed lines, and they were his. With the silk swaths of Aerial Dancers, they led Devmond away from Hunters’ Gather and into the deserted parts of the city. Locked arm and arm, he in the middle, they came to what should have been an empty platform. Even afar off, he could see that it was already taken.

“Guess we’re going to have to go somewhere else.” he said.

“No, wait. I think I know who that is.”

Janais had said this calmly, but Devmond felt her claws suddenly dig into his forearm.

Approaching closer, he could see a young women dancing alone across the webs. Her form, although not perfect in technique, was passionate and fiery. Strength was shown in the flips and tumbles she performed with ease like a leaf blowing freely in a Spring breeze. Her skirt would shift to expose chiseled calves. If his arms we’re not already pinned down by his escorts, he would have given her a round of applause.

“Oh, it’s that poser. Who’s she trying to impress?” said Lilian, making sure to raise her voice high enough for the girl to hear.

“You see how she keeps leaning on her right side? Its like she has a gimp.” Janais said.

Janais then broke away from the two to hobble forward. She threw her body around in ugly contortions as though possessed by a spirit. Lilian laughed, but Devmond only smiled. His eyes were on the girl who sat unmoved in the middle of the platform. He had been wondering why the professional dancers had become so catty. However, now that he was seeing her so closely, the obviously half-blood features explained everything.

“You’d think her denial into the Aerial Dancers would have clued her in.”

“Well, since she never talks, she’s probably mentally retarded.”

As the women continued to taunt, Devmond smile faded. Ignoring or denying the filthy bred Symenestra certain privileges did not bother him. His wealthy family had never failed to teach him the blessings Vitaras bestowed for keeping the blood pure. There was, however, no good taste in baiting the weak.

Devmond gently reached for Janais, and led away the two women by the waists. He took a glance back at the silent watcher who was staring right through him. The look in her eyes disturbed him, it was both empty but as it passed through him he felt as if burned. It was the same light that had blistered his pale skin when he had ventured out of Kalinor for the first time. The sun had left scars that even when healed, the pain was remembered. So would this new perspective subtly lay underneath the layers of his memory. As he looked into her eyes, he could, if only for a brief moment, understood the pain she must feel. Charity was definitely out of her reach from him, but it was pity at least. A little guilt maybe.

“Hey, your name’s Nivias right?” he said, the words coming out rather bluntly. “You may be mute and a bit unpopular-”

Janais snorted, and Lilian held him a bit tighter.

“But you have really sexy legs. I have a thing for athletic girls. With a body like yours, I would let you dance for me any time.”

Devmond winked, and turned away before he could see her reaction. The two ladies were now stiff in his arms. Like a child playing with a jointless doll, he dragged them to the red ropes.

“What was that supposed to be?” Lillian grumbled as they moved freely across the laced bridge. Janais glare was attempting to bore holes in his face.

They were mad now, but Devmond only laughed it off. It only took a little effort to get women like this around his finger. After a few drinks, they’d be in a good mood again tonight.

[Dra-Nivias]

Dra-Nivias would've smiled at their comments, but she didn't want to show them that their shallow, stupid lives and their shallow, stupid comments to match didn't bother her. In fact, she encouraged this by acting stupid. As soon as they turned around, she did smile.

Nivias stared at them, particularly the one in middle. She saw one girl in particular dance like she was possessed, in ugly contortions and movements. Nivias suddenly realized they were making fun of her dancing. They were laughing. She didn't hear a distinctly male voice, only the two same ones, so man probably wasn't talking. The only time she did mind taunts was when they made fun of her dancing. Do I really dance with a limp? she thought. I'm not that bad...am I? She looked at herself, in her plain red dress, and to the Aerial Dancers, whom she so envied, in their beautiful silk dresses. She probably did dance badly, but it was the only thing that gave her joy, other than her mother.

She was on the brink of running up to them and screaming a string of obscenities into their faces, but that was against her. She just stayed silent, and stared directly at the man, as if staring through him or into his soul. He turned around, and she could tell he was creeped out for a second, and then he regained his normal composure.


“Hey, your name’s Nivias right? You may be mute and a bit unpopular-”
he said, and she watched as the 2 girls he was escorting fidgeted.
“But you have really sexy legs. I have a thing for athletic girls. With a body like yours, I would let you dance for me any time.”

What he said struck her dumb, or it would have if she talked normally, and she wondered if he was actually serious or joking. Probably joking. She was surprised that he even talked to her, and she suddenly felt like talking. So she quietly spoke to herself under her breath.

"I'm not mute, I'm not dumb, and if there wasn't such a strict law about hurting another Symenestra I would hurt all three of you."

She spoke quietly, but surely, in Symenos, and she had a strong voice for someone who never talked, and it carried easily. They may or may not have heard her, but she didn't care. They were ones to call her stupid.

She stood up and walked the other direction, away from them. She didn't want to hear the two girls' squeaky laugh and she didn't want to see their reactions. She just wanted to be left alone.

[Devmond Incarnata]

[PG-13 warning]

The next morning, he disentangled himself from the loose clothing, assorted naked limbs, and twisted sheets with a groan. Much of last night was forgotten; it was a shame he had drank so much. Although, Devmond would say to anyone who asked that it was amazing...at least he had hoped.

Crawling to the edge of the bed, he looked around the room trying to find something recognizable. This definitely wasn’t his bed, or his house. An expensive silver clock on the wall chimed thirteen times. He groaned again and rubbed his temples. Why was that so loud? He was about to chuck a six-inch heel-the nearest projectile he could find-at the ringing monstrosity, when Lilian’s silk scarves were found wrapped around his arms. He also noticed that something moved by his right thigh. It was a strange man who was snoring face down into the sheets. The ruffled white hair looked suspiciously like that patron who’d sat close to their table at Hunters’ Gather.

Smiling, he carefully stood and headed for what he hoped was the food pantry. Egg yolks, I need egg yolks. The thought pounded and repeated like the sound from construction. This wasn’t the first time he'd woken up wishing he hadn't; a few good tricks were picked up through the years. One was that egg yolk contained large amounts of cysteine, which break down acetaldehyde, one of the culprits behind a hangover. They were also easy to swallow when you weren’t that hungry. He found the cupboard made of soft linen binds that luckily had a few.

After also chugging some water and letting the fluids stew, his head was clear enough to remember a little more. The events came up mixed, out of out order. As he went through the torrid memories, it was not the three in the other room that seemed so important. Instead a pair of pale, sad eyes that saw through him. Vanish the hazy barriers he tried to put in front of it to hide behind.

Putting a hand on a nearby chair to steady himself, Devmond felt a wash of sickness that he blamed again on last night. There was nothing he said that was embarrassing. Sure, he had flattered the girl, but that was a natural response to any pretty thing he saw.

Then with a start, his own words echoed.

Hey, your name’s Nivias, right?

Nivias. He had called her just Nivias, dropping the essential ‘dra’ prefix which clearly defined their separate classes. What was supposed to be a half-pitying, half-joking flirt to a half-breed could be interpreted as a sincere compliment for an equal. Devmond hadn’t turned to look at her reaction out of a apathy. But what if in her eyes the soft look of gratitude had come to rest on him? No, he'd never want to see a half-Symenestra look at him like that. What wouldn't be given to exchange that embarrassment for the night he really didn’t remember anyway.

He tore back into the bedroom and riffled through the covers to only find most of his clothing. Dressing haphazardly, he fled for the door.

“Where ya goin’ Dev?” called a voice so husky that he couldn’t make out whether it was a man or woman.

Not looking back, he disappeared into the dim light of Kalinor

[Dra-Nivias]

Winter 3rd 510AV

"Bye mother! I'm going out!" Dra-Nivias yelled to her mother. She only talked to her mother, which was frequently. Her mother always understood. She walked through the threshold. Out in the dimness of Kalinor, she remembered the people who has made fun of her dancing. Instead of running, like she usually did, she just walked.

Those imbeciles. How could I have envied the Aerial Dancers? But even her rage couldn't stop her from dancing. She had to keep dancing, every day, if she wanted to get better. And she wasn't going to let some snooty Aerial Dancers and their boy get in the way of that. She sprinted, more out of rage then energy, and ended up back in her usual spot. Hopefully they wouldn't come back.

Today she danced fast, but without the flips. She didn't flip when she was mad. She kneeled down, and stayed like that for a few seconds. Then she suddenly jumped and performed a back handspring, landing with her feet apart and one hand on the ground. She stood up in one fluid movement, she jumped and spun around like a top, landing on the ground with both feet, barely resting until she flung herself into another back handspring. It continued a lot like this. Nivias never thought about what to do next, she just did it. She barely controlled her movements, but today she didn't care if anyone was watching. She was just mad, and dancing was her therapy. Today, she danced for a lot longer then she normally would. She just kept spinning and flinging herself across. She cleared her head of the events of yesterday, and the girls who made fun of her. She cleared her head of the one stupid enough to talk to her, and she cleared her head of the stupid mocking of her dance.

If Nivias wanted to, she would've started singing. But all noise attracts attention, and she didn't want to purposely grab it. She was lost in her own world of twirls, and she wouldn't have noticed if there was a murder scene right in front of her. She didn't feel tired; she felt weightless. She didn't feel dizzy; she felt enlightened. Finally, after over a bell of dancing, she stopped, and sat down. She should at least save time for thinking, today.

[Devmond Incarnata]

The red lacy bridges were crawling with its citizens at one of the busiest hours. Most were heading toward the Orchard Market that made going against the flow like trying to swim upstream during a hurricane. Usually, Devmond enjoyed the rush, but now every movement seemed to be come out of a dense fog.

A couple of young Semenestra suddenly pushed past him, almost knocking him off the ropes. He turned back and gave a stream of curses aimed at their mothers’. Grimacing, Devmond realized that he didn’t have the energy to keep up his aura of confidence. In big crowds like this, women or the occasional man would give Devmond a sly glance as he passed. A little more walking room was also generously offered. Today though, with his messy hair and ruffled clothing, he was just part of the webwork. This realization made the headache worsen. There wasn’t much that bothered him more than being ignored.

Devmond rubbed his bloodshot eyes and strained to look forward. He guiltily imagined the sharp voice of his mother berating him at his current lack of grace. Altha hated seeing anything besides perfection. When she had married their father three years ago, the shifty bachelor’s pad had transformed into something as pristine as the Seat of Aconitum. His brother Avard had snidely remarked that she had hung the white sheets of silk just to more easily count every crumb of dirt.

However, the most important concern was towards Sunay. Although he enjoyed his lifestyle, she should not be under its influence. It was a double-standard that he kept with guilt. She had just turned six, and was at the age where nothing escaped her notice. This was heightened by her inheriting his sharpness, a blessing and a curse, that was probably issued deviously from on high. Going home now was out of the question.

A few friends had homes whose doors would fling open at his coming. Although, laughter and questions about his night seemed cumbersome. The peaceful Blue Grotto came immediately to mind. Something about the slow flowing water and the sound of the rhythmic dripping off the stalactites could help him think more clearly. With an upwelling of nausea, he realized that a certain platform was on the way to his haven.

The memory of long arms and shapely legs seemed to dance around and around his head like buzzing flies. A surge of anger spurred up like a rearing horse. It was her fault, all her fault that he was having this bad afternoon. If she had just known her place and hadn’t prompted that embarrassing response from him, he wouldn’t have drank all that alcohol. He would still be in bed and enjoying company, he wouldn’t have to put up with being treated like any other Symenestra...Devmond pushed viciously forward.

The little half-breed better still be there.

[Dra-Nivias]

She outstretched her hand, inspecting it for almost no reason. Almost no reason. She couldn't risk someone seeing the little burn scars on her hands, no way. Dra-Nivias hadn't played with fire for a while now. The burns were just faint scars by now, but there nonetheless. She was feeling unusually happy out of nowhere. There was no reason, she just was. She hummed a song her mom taught her. Quietly, of course, but you could still here it because her surroundings were so silent.

She decided to occupy her time by imagining gruesome ways to kill the people she hated.

Choke that petching aerial dancer that made fun of me with her own dress...sounds like fun.

Poison the other one? Why not.

Maybe I could spare that man. He didn't laugh. Or I could burn him to death. That would be fun.

She opened her eyes, just now realizing she closed them. From the corner of her eye she saw the same figure she had just imagined burning to death approaching. What did he want? Her unusually cheery mood went back into being mad. She recalled yesterday's events and grimaced. Her emotionless stare seemed to unnerve him though, and she could use that to her advantage. Clearing her face from all expression she turned her head and stared at him. What his reaction would be, she didn't know.

[Devmond Incarnata]

The blue-lights of the deep caverns became dimmed to show the pallor of a drifting mind. These caves were empty, far from the flowing streets of civilization with its marked noises, and echoed the heavy breathing from the exhaustion of walking in one straight line. Stooped, with knees that locked rebelliously against the tiring weight, Devmond’s bloodshot eyes cut a path ahead even through the dizzied signals of his mind. His gaze the only one that did not bend to the alcohol; his body reeled and wavered side-to-side on the path like a fresh sailor. Guided by rage, his muscles would twitch and he’d throw his arms forward, as if to push aside the imaginary foe, only to recover the proud straight shoulders and continue on uneven rhythm. Anger was now the only light he needed here. This hate absorbed the sparse lamps, overcoming with its own motives. This was true darkness, the dark heart of one who will never see. Even plunged to its darkest reaches like the bottomless pits of Kalinor, he would still be moving to find her.

What little in the reservoir of energy, not spent on giving strength to each limb, was taken to his imaginings. Words and images each picked with care from a vast orchard. A particular spot, his favorite to lie under, was the poison tree. Unfit for his little daughter’s presence, these fruits were only for his enemies. Nothing in revenge was sweeter than its slow awakening. He savored watching the naive victim take it as a kind gesture. Then its true intent would set in and they’d break down like the prey of Symenestra poison. Its finale would be their realization he had planned the awful fall to their knees. The childish metaphors of forgiveness meant nothing as his eyes slowly became adjusted to the darkness of the world. Wide eyes became narrow, and he saw the hidden shapes of adult secrets. The Symentra, he mused, were certainly wise to teach their children the true workings of the world so early. It always made him wonder, how other races survived on the will-o-wisps called world peace, true love, and total honesty.

These images became more tempting than the view of the road he was taking. Pictures of a face crushed and twisted with loneliness. In them, he saw the half-breed turn to give him her empty stare. The veiled reality of his choice shielded him from what had been before so disconcerting. Triumph of this first victory shone in a lucid smile that did not reach the eyes of glass. Bare feet touched the cold stone of the platform. He jolted with the shock of its sudden temperature. Devmond, never wavering his gaze, realized, by her own immovable stare, that he had been smiling both at the real girl and her reflection he created. The young woman was only a few feet from him, watching and still, her relaxed legs curled under her. Whether by this surprise or his own shallow courage, his defenses against that piercing glare did not hold. The guilt, that was fleeting yesterday, now seemed to bask in the warmth of the fire in her eyes. With its new strength, it questioned him, taunted him. Treading them under his moving feet, the voice smothered, Devmond moved towards the girl.

“So, you do come here every day, after all? Your very dedicated to practicing an art never to be reached in its highest form.” he said. Although it would have also been amusing to continue looking down at her from high vantage, he chose instead to sit down only a palm’s breadth away. “A tangible audience would repeat that humiliation you suffered yesterday. You try and escape to where the mocking voices do not reach, but no matter how hard you perform to this invisible audience, it will only echo your footfalls. Living with no hope or future for anything better, it shows in your eyes.”

He turned to her finally, hearing the smoothness of his own voice, and looked at her. “You happen to have the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

[Dra-Nivias]

She watched him walk over to her. The shocked expression he had when he stepped onto the cold stone was hilarious, but she didn't laugh. At first he appeared unfazed by her stare, but after a few seconds he appeared startled. Same expression as yesterday. She enjoyed the fact that she could make her face and eyes emotionless at a moment's notice. Many people could make their faces emotionless, but not their eyes. Eyes usually gave people away.

She stared; he stared back. He held her gaze for the most of the time he was walking and for the entire time he was talking. She didn't know if she trusted this person enough to talk. He obviously didn't seem inclined to keep talking until she responded, but a response could just be a shrug of the shoulders. Nivias realized that he probably thought she couldn't talk. Should she surprise him now with the fact that she could talk? Why not. She had nothing to lose. The fact that the same person was talking to her for the 2nd day in a row was surprising enough.

"There's no point in hoping for something when I will never be accepted here." she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear and without the usual hissing that normally accompanied her voice when she did talk to strangers.

At the remark about her eyes, Nivias dropped her gaze to her hands. She realized that they were palm up, clearly showing her burns. She quickly folded her hands together in her lap. It was quite obvious that she was trying to hide her hands.

She did not like sitting so close to someone. It made her feel uncomfortable, because she was never really used to the presence of other people. She felt like someone could read her mind if they were standing or sitting close to her. She looked up, not really focusing on anything. Nivias had no idea what this man wanted or why he was talking to her, and it annoyed her greatly. There had to be some sinister reason behind this.

[Devmond Incarnata]

Her hands flashed downwards with her gaze as they were stuffed together in a ball tightly. They had been exposed for only a few moments, but Devmond thought he saw deep lines in those soft undersides. Her eyes were pointed straight ahead but were looking at nothing. Smiling a little on a slant, he leaned in a bit closer so that his eyes were not far from her empty gaze. Her back seemed to lengthen like a taught bow string. There was no denying the charge of sadistic pleasure through his face in seeing her so uncomfortable. Anything to pay back how awful the feelings she had made him experience.

“Oh, so you do speak after all. What a nice surprise.” he said rather loudly for the small space. “Where was this directness last night, I wonder? You know people would think you more pleasant if you did not stare at them so blankly. Mind-reading unfortunately was lost during the Valterrian, and we must communicate on this base level as I am now. The fashion of our times must be followed eventually, however.”

As he spoke, Devmond found that his gaze had found again her curled hands. There was certainly a history to them. Probably a dirty family secret, abuse from her own blood. This was judged from his own experience, and was grown by the knowledge on what could be kept behind the curtains of a family’s web. Scars of violence could be found on his own back and legs during one particular bad night that both brother’s had come home from separate parties but on the same mean streak of beer. It had escalated from then, bruise by bruise, till Avard had been built his own sac by his family’s own pocket. Devmond even now, a year later, felt that things had gone too smoothly. He had never found the right way to finish the rivalry between them. It had to be done in a way that Avard would never look him in the eye, with a sneer that said, “Look who’s still living with mom and dad.”, ever again.

He put an arm around the girl suddenly, daring her to react. “Most importantly, you can’t change anyone’s mind by hiding from it.”