On the contrary, I think it's important that dangerous knowledge be withheld from those who have shown themselves unworthy of it—and it is to that category that I believe the Fae belong.
[ Daniel isn't naive; he would be the last person to characterize himself as a champion of "openness and disclosure." He is a Librarian of the Watchman's Tree, in service to the Door-in-the-Eye, yes, but also to Calyptra, those jealous guardians of forbidden knowledge. Information may be sought and kept, but it also isn't merely to be given away on principle—and certainly not to any who have proven themselves as undeserving as the Fae.
He turns his attention back to the page before him. There is a heading designating this chapter's subject as the history of Fae interactions with the Adopted and/or humans—oftentimes, their literature uses the terms interchangeably. Yet, as Daniel's eyes scan downwards, a furrow creases his brow. After a few moments, he reaches for one of the grammatica at his side to cross-reference. ]
Hmm... It's looking strange, I'd say. This entire section seems to be written in a very particular form of past-tense. Usually, one would see this when reading of events that occurred and definitively concluded at a very distant point in the past, yet... Give me a moment.
[ He falls silent as he continues to piece together the section's introduction, taking notes as he does so. Claudia may have to find the means to amuse herself in the meantime—for the next while, he is totally engrossed. Still, it won't be that difficult for her to figure out when he's found something; the quickening patter of his heartbeat will give that much away. ]
I... need to confirm this, [ he mutters. ] There are some terms I don't understand, but— [ He breaks off, glances around the Library. ] This section on Adopted—or humans—they use the terms interchangeably—it's... Well, it's very unusual.
[ So unusual, that he's hesitant to state his suspicions outright. He could still be wrong; he'll need to finish this chapter at the very least to feel any amount of confidence, and do some cross-referencing with other sources on top of that. How could this not have been mentioned anywhere else? He looks up at Claudia, his gaze anxious. ]
Your senses are sharper than mine. [ He doesn't say this—he whispers it, knowing Claudia will still hear. ] Is there anybody else in the library with us?
[this mortal and herself, they both are prone to particular, niche brands of confidence. big assertions about their own ken, at least in certain spaces of expertise. claudia in eating people—on hiatus, but nonetheless. daniel owens in. what all this is. his hesitation, ballasted by the upsurge of his heartbeat, catches her attention. the only reason she says nothing is the tension of the moment lends itself to certainty he has to keep working whatever's in his mind. better not drop the cable car.
she stares at him through the stacks and their long, blocky shadows, fingers splayed over the neglected page of her book. it'd be disturbing, probably, the weight of that gaze, triggering the subtle scintillation of instinct through nerve fiber, predator that she is. but then—then he speaks, and she twitches straight, shoulders squaring. tilts her head, unnecessary for listening, but communicating her assent.
then there's a brief pause, a downward dig of her brow. she holds up a finger, one sec, and vanishes in a smear of movement then cut frame into nothing. just the aisles standing there, quiescent in the sun laking through the window. mere seconds later, she steps up beside him, chin lofted without half a degree to spare for humility.] No one. With or without a heartbeat, unless they got some real fancy tricks up their sleeve. Funny tenses got your back up, Daniel. What's going?
[ It is perhaps a testimony to how discomfited Daniel is by whatever he's read that he doesn't react at all to Claudia's show of superhuman speed. He simply nods fretfully at her report and looks back at the book. ]
We already know that the Fae have been taking Adopted as "pets" for much of their history. It's how they've managed to hold events like the Wild Hunt going back millennia. But the introduction for this section—like I said, it's in a tense that indicates something that was over and done with far in the past. And together with some of this historical terminology... It's referring to the practice of taking Adopted as something antiquated, ancient—something that hasn't been done in centuries at this chronicle's time of writing.
And... here. This word. [ He points to a clump of Fae text like he's pinning it against the page. ] From what I've seen in other texts, it usually indicates some sort of violent conflict—a war, a coup, an uprising. But here, it's what marks the end of the Fae taking more Adopted.
[ If anything, it should be good news: an implication that something made the Fae think twice about taking any further captives for the span of multiple centuries, at the very least. But Daniel looks troubled; there's something he isn't saying. ]
Like I said, there are a few terms I don't understand, [ he mutters. ] I'll need to read to the end of this chapter to be sure...
[daniel's mind is fast. claudia's technically should be faster, but there's a very hard ceiling to it arising from the concrete reality of her own ignorance. she doesn't mind. she's busy feeling the chill of revelation right now, the inverse and opposite of her knowledge hard-won from the ordinary libraries of earth. back then, she'd been looking for hope. for community. the faintest fucking glimmer of possibility in the eternal night. this—
well, this lays there between them with the leaden weight of a curse. a bleak promise of unprosperity. her imagination is spanning backward to the history he describes, and then, immediately, rotating on its axis, venturing forward. a war, a coup, an uprising. like theirs. her red eyes sharpen back into focus, and cut toward daniel, wordlessly, a squint grooving her smooth brown forehead. you mean, like us? she doesn't say it. do we stop this?
do they want to? yes, she thinks. best of all, if it somehow closes the door home—for her.] You think that's a two-way magic? [her eyes fall to the page, and then her lips fold in between her fangless set of teeth.] Don't answer. Ignore me. Keep reading. I'll have my eye out.
[ Daniel is just about to ask her what she means when she cuts him off, tells him to ignore her. He obligingly shuts his mouth, nods once, and turns back towards the book. ]
Thank you, [ he murmurs, grateful for a chance to just absorb what's in front of him, to think through all its dizzying implications. And he's only just gotten through the introduction. Sun help him...
What follows is a prolonged period of silent study, the quiet broken only by the turning of pages and the scribble of Daniel's pen, at least, to mortal ears. No doubt Claudia will be able to sense more minute fluctuations—the fluttering of his heartbeat, the occasional hitch in his breath. Yet, he doesn't look up from his work, seeming to forget he has company at all.
By the time he finally emerges, the afternoon sun is but a smear on the horizon. He finally tears his gaze away from the book and rubs his eyes—then lets his shoulders slump, his face still buried in his hands. ]
Damn it, [ he whispers. ] We should've known. It's been happening right in front of us...
[ If Claudia couldn't sense his agitation already, it's clear enough in the tone of his voice, strained and incredulous.
[daniel owens, occult librarian extraordinaire, is freaking her out.] Daniel Owens. You're freaking me out.
[she is only discreet when she wants to be, generally the politics of survival, and this moment doesn't call for it in the immediate and mundane sense. not so vulnerable to admit to fear, when terror is smashing through daniel's considerable composure before her eyes, a din in her ears. the body of a vampire doesn't take emotion and translate it to noise the way human physiology does, not that linear ratio of brain chemistry to the pattering heart, the stink of sweat. but claudia feels the surge in herself, like it's an empty hallway standing behind the thunder of daniel's unholy revelation, holding his horrible echoes.
daniel is not an animal that panics easily. young that he is, like mortals always are to her, even when they're technically older—the febrility of old age likens to the helpless of infancy, in her mind. but there's a reliable strength to daniel. anger, conviction, mystic power, are the other tools that buoy him up against the hard sag of his leg, the limits of his mortality. he's said before, he felt vulnerable, during the wild hunt. weak. but it's always been hard to imagine.
less difficult now, watching him basket his head in his hands. she edges closer, a sideways shuffle of small shoes. automaticaly, can't help but peer down at the incomprehensible text laddering the open page. no. no hide nor hair of it, to her eyes. she places a slow hand upon his shoulder. there can't, she thinks, be anything worse than—] Are we dying?
[ Daniel lifts his gaze enough to see Claudia over the crown of his fingertips. What is he to tell her, dead in her own History, this wretched realm her only hope of survival? Will it even matter to her that the Fae see to it that the version of her who lives on isn't really her?
It doesn't matter. She had been the one to unveil this knowledge to him. She must be told. He takes a shaky breath. ]
No, [ he murmurs into his hands. ] Though I admit, I would find such a fate preferable. [ His hands drag down his face and come to rest, fingers laced, under his chin. ] I cannot find what happened to the last generation of Taken before us—whether they were sent home or destroyed or otherwise when the practice was abandoned. But those who came before them, those who were perhaps here too long... [ A shuddering exhale and his expression softens with dread. ] They were turned into Fae. [ He gestures restlessly to his own golden eyes, transformed in the wake of his death in the Wild Hunt. ] That's what all these changes, these rewards are leading up to. It's— [ His lip curls, disgust flashing over his features. ] It's a means of Fae reproduction. They turn their pets into more of them.
[ Perhaps Claudia can think of nothing worse than death, but to Daniel, this is a more hideous fate by far. To be transformed into one's own tormentors, to be doomed to repeat one's own abuse on others—it would be kinder if they were all dying. ]
There are almost certainly Fae we know now who were once Taken themselves. [ The realization brings with it a new wave of horror, along with an emotion Daniel has never once felt for the Fae: pity. He swallows, the knowledge sitting like a stone in his throat. ] I find it doubtful they even remember the people they once were.
[well. this is a fucking nightmare. the principle of which is not new, but the content—is more novel than she wanted. it's not like she had no idea that this was a bit of a trope, modus operandi, repeat theme in tales of the fae. but enough had been different, in all the window dressing, the magical particulars, that she'd begun to assume none of that was relevant. after all, tales of janet and tam lin and mushroom circles didn't mention anything about fake prom or blonds who turn into dragons.
her brow knots hard. her eyes slide in and out of focus, cutting back to daniel's face. it occurs to her, it probably cost him something, to tell her. he's just too good a guy to have withheld it. but what's she going to do, really? sell them out? in exchange for what? death is transformation, and if transformation is death, too, maybe she's screwed either way. but it's something, that this won't be a secret wedged between them. nor the flood of grief stinking off daniel's skin another divider. because she's seen that. had that, from the men in her life. she raises a hand to touch him, give him a comforting squeeze, but that seems—too small, in the face of this.]
It don't say anything about those who finally get home?
[for you, she means. her voice is quiet, encouraging. it's a backward thought, corner attic in her mind. armand is going to fucking hate this.]
I don't even know if any of them did make it home. They disappeared. That's it.
[ They could have gone home. They could have been killed. Either way, they were the lucky ones.
That is, perhaps, the silver lining in all of this: that someone had fought back. That it had made a difference—at least, for a matter of centuries, it had.
Daniel takes a slow breath. There's a part of him—a significant part of him—that wants to give into panic. He is already being changed, after all, after less than a year here. How much time do they have left before they all lose themselves entirely? Centuries? Years? Months? No time-frame had been given. There is no way of knowing.
Yet, he cannot forget that this is a moment of triumph, however bitter. They'd stolen one of the Fae's secrets, learned the truth behind their lies. They must not squander the opportunity they've wrested from their captors. ]
I'm sorry, [ he says to Claudia, voice strained, ] but I must ask that you keep what we've learned a secret for now. I need to confirm all I've read, for one, and we cannot let the Fae know that we have this knowledge before we've decided how to use it. [ His mind races. Dispensed carefully, the truth could move many more to their cause—but indelicately, it could sink even more of them into complacency. It is not knowledge to be freed without forethought. He has to hope Claudia sees that, too. His eyes lock on hers, imploringly. ] Will you trust me with this?
[would she rather disappear into the ether, die at the hands of the théâtre's pretentious french rabble, or morph into fae? it's not a question claudia has a ready answer to, but she's a creature of strong convictions, and fully prepared to hate all of it. except, you know. for the fact that armand is going to fucking hate this.
schadenfreude. what kind of vampire would she be without it? her red eyes make the liquid hop back to him, and for a moment, his question doesn't seem to register, her face blank in contemplation again. the next, her brows arch high. it's not real surprise. his request is more than reasonable, as is the concerns implicit in it. she's a remarkably popular person in faerie, for a fifty-year-old superpredator trapped in the body of a black teenager. few would call her friend, likely, but she knows people. the adopted like to talk to her, and she is not shy about her opinions.
she is, however, competent with secrets. most of all with those she loves.]
Ain't gonna tell no one. [her palm alights a friendly pat upon his shoulder.] You probably should, though. Sooner than later, if you ask me. One thing our little movement is short on, it's goodwill from the Adopted. Anger's easy. Fear is every day. Takes more than that to get people to lay down and die on a hand grenade. [and yes. yes, that was casually deliberate: our.]
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no subject
[ Daniel isn't naive; he would be the last person to characterize himself as a champion of "openness and disclosure." He is a Librarian of the Watchman's Tree, in service to the Door-in-the-Eye, yes, but also to Calyptra, those jealous guardians of forbidden knowledge. Information may be sought and kept, but it also isn't merely to be given away on principle—and certainly not to any who have proven themselves as undeserving as the Fae.
He turns his attention back to the page before him. There is a heading designating this chapter's subject as the history of Fae interactions with the Adopted and/or humans—oftentimes, their literature uses the terms interchangeably. Yet, as Daniel's eyes scan downwards, a furrow creases his brow. After a few moments, he reaches for one of the grammatica at his side to cross-reference. ]
Hmm... It's looking strange, I'd say. This entire section seems to be written in a very particular form of past-tense. Usually, one would see this when reading of events that occurred and definitively concluded at a very distant point in the past, yet... Give me a moment.
[ He falls silent as he continues to piece together the section's introduction, taking notes as he does so. Claudia may have to find the means to amuse herself in the meantime—for the next while, he is totally engrossed. Still, it won't be that difficult for her to figure out when he's found something; the quickening patter of his heartbeat will give that much away. ]
I... need to confirm this, [ he mutters. ] There are some terms I don't understand, but— [ He breaks off, glances around the Library. ] This section on Adopted—or humans—they use the terms interchangeably—it's... Well, it's very unusual.
[ So unusual, that he's hesitant to state his suspicions outright. He could still be wrong; he'll need to finish this chapter at the very least to feel any amount of confidence, and do some cross-referencing with other sources on top of that. How could this not have been mentioned anywhere else? He looks up at Claudia, his gaze anxious. ]
Your senses are sharper than mine. [ He doesn't say this—he whispers it, knowing Claudia will still hear. ] Is there anybody else in the library with us?
no subject
she stares at him through the stacks and their long, blocky shadows, fingers splayed over the neglected page of her book. it'd be disturbing, probably, the weight of that gaze, triggering the subtle scintillation of instinct through nerve fiber, predator that she is. but then—then he speaks, and she twitches straight, shoulders squaring. tilts her head, unnecessary for listening, but communicating her assent.
then there's a brief pause, a downward dig of her brow. she holds up a finger, one sec, and vanishes in a smear of movement then cut frame into nothing. just the aisles standing there, quiescent in the sun laking through the window. mere seconds later, she steps up beside him, chin lofted without half a degree to spare for humility.] No one. With or without a heartbeat, unless they got some real fancy tricks up their sleeve. Funny tenses got your back up, Daniel. What's going?
no subject
We already know that the Fae have been taking Adopted as "pets" for much of their history. It's how they've managed to hold events like the Wild Hunt going back millennia. But the introduction for this section—like I said, it's in a tense that indicates something that was over and done with far in the past. And together with some of this historical terminology... It's referring to the practice of taking Adopted as something antiquated, ancient—something that hasn't been done in centuries at this chronicle's time of writing.
And... here. This word. [ He points to a clump of Fae text like he's pinning it against the page. ] From what I've seen in other texts, it usually indicates some sort of violent conflict—a war, a coup, an uprising. But here, it's what marks the end of the Fae taking more Adopted.
[ If anything, it should be good news: an implication that something made the Fae think twice about taking any further captives for the span of multiple centuries, at the very least. But Daniel looks troubled; there's something he isn't saying. ]
Like I said, there are a few terms I don't understand, [ he mutters. ] I'll need to read to the end of this chapter to be sure...
no subject
well, this lays there between them with the leaden weight of a curse. a bleak promise of unprosperity. her imagination is spanning backward to the history he describes, and then, immediately, rotating on its axis, venturing forward. a war, a coup, an uprising. like theirs. her red eyes sharpen back into focus, and cut toward daniel, wordlessly, a squint grooving her smooth brown forehead. you mean, like us? she doesn't say it. do we stop this?
do they want to? yes, she thinks. best of all, if it somehow closes the door home—for her.] You think that's a two-way magic? [her eyes fall to the page, and then her lips fold in between her fangless set of teeth.] Don't answer. Ignore me. Keep reading. I'll have my eye out.
no subject
Thank you, [ he murmurs, grateful for a chance to just absorb what's in front of him, to think through all its dizzying implications. And he's only just gotten through the introduction. Sun help him...
What follows is a prolonged period of silent study, the quiet broken only by the turning of pages and the scribble of Daniel's pen, at least, to mortal ears. No doubt Claudia will be able to sense more minute fluctuations—the fluttering of his heartbeat, the occasional hitch in his breath. Yet, he doesn't look up from his work, seeming to forget he has company at all.
By the time he finally emerges, the afternoon sun is but a smear on the horizon. He finally tears his gaze away from the book and rubs his eyes—then lets his shoulders slump, his face still buried in his hands. ]
Damn it, [ he whispers. ] We should've known. It's been happening right in front of us...
[ If Claudia couldn't sense his agitation already, it's clear enough in the tone of his voice, strained and incredulous.
Of course. Of course. ]
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[she is only discreet when she wants to be, generally the politics of survival, and this moment doesn't call for it in the immediate and mundane sense. not so vulnerable to admit to fear, when terror is smashing through daniel's considerable composure before her eyes, a din in her ears. the body of a vampire doesn't take emotion and translate it to noise the way human physiology does, not that linear ratio of brain chemistry to the pattering heart, the stink of sweat. but claudia feels the surge in herself, like it's an empty hallway standing behind the thunder of daniel's unholy revelation, holding his horrible echoes.
daniel is not an animal that panics easily. young that he is, like mortals always are to her, even when they're technically older—the febrility of old age likens to the helpless of infancy, in her mind. but there's a reliable strength to daniel. anger, conviction, mystic power, are the other tools that buoy him up against the hard sag of his leg, the limits of his mortality. he's said before, he felt vulnerable, during the wild hunt. weak. but it's always been hard to imagine.
less difficult now, watching him basket his head in his hands. she edges closer, a sideways shuffle of small shoes. automaticaly, can't help but peer down at the incomprehensible text laddering the open page. no. no hide nor hair of it, to her eyes. she places a slow hand upon his shoulder. there can't, she thinks, be anything worse than—] Are we dying?
no subject
It doesn't matter. She had been the one to unveil this knowledge to him. She must be told. He takes a shaky breath. ]
No, [ he murmurs into his hands. ] Though I admit, I would find such a fate preferable. [ His hands drag down his face and come to rest, fingers laced, under his chin. ] I cannot find what happened to the last generation of Taken before us—whether they were sent home or destroyed or otherwise when the practice was abandoned. But those who came before them, those who were perhaps here too long... [ A shuddering exhale and his expression softens with dread. ] They were turned into Fae. [ He gestures restlessly to his own golden eyes, transformed in the wake of his death in the Wild Hunt. ] That's what all these changes, these rewards are leading up to. It's— [ His lip curls, disgust flashing over his features. ] It's a means of Fae reproduction. They turn their pets into more of them.
[ Perhaps Claudia can think of nothing worse than death, but to Daniel, this is a more hideous fate by far. To be transformed into one's own tormentors, to be doomed to repeat one's own abuse on others—it would be kinder if they were all dying. ]
There are almost certainly Fae we know now who were once Taken themselves. [ The realization brings with it a new wave of horror, along with an emotion Daniel has never once felt for the Fae: pity. He swallows, the knowledge sitting like a stone in his throat. ] I find it doubtful they even remember the people they once were.
no subject
her brow knots hard. her eyes slide in and out of focus, cutting back to daniel's face. it occurs to her, it probably cost him something, to tell her. he's just too good a guy to have withheld it. but what's she going to do, really? sell them out? in exchange for what? death is transformation, and if transformation is death, too, maybe she's screwed either way. but it's something, that this won't be a secret wedged between them. nor the flood of grief stinking off daniel's skin another divider. because she's seen that. had that, from the men in her life. she raises a hand to touch him, give him a comforting squeeze, but that seems—too small, in the face of this.]
It don't say anything about those who finally get home?
[for you, she means. her voice is quiet, encouraging. it's a backward thought, corner attic in her mind. armand is going to fucking hate this.]
no subject
[ They could have gone home. They could have been killed. Either way, they were the lucky ones.
That is, perhaps, the silver lining in all of this: that someone had fought back. That it had made a difference—at least, for a matter of centuries, it had.
Daniel takes a slow breath. There's a part of him—a significant part of him—that wants to give into panic. He is already being changed, after all, after less than a year here. How much time do they have left before they all lose themselves entirely? Centuries? Years? Months? No time-frame had been given. There is no way of knowing.
Yet, he cannot forget that this is a moment of triumph, however bitter. They'd stolen one of the Fae's secrets, learned the truth behind their lies. They must not squander the opportunity they've wrested from their captors. ]
I'm sorry, [ he says to Claudia, voice strained, ] but I must ask that you keep what we've learned a secret for now. I need to confirm all I've read, for one, and we cannot let the Fae know that we have this knowledge before we've decided how to use it. [ His mind races. Dispensed carefully, the truth could move many more to their cause—but indelicately, it could sink even more of them into complacency. It is not knowledge to be freed without forethought. He has to hope Claudia sees that, too. His eyes lock on hers, imploringly. ] Will you trust me with this?
no subject
schadenfreude. what kind of vampire would she be without it? her red eyes make the liquid hop back to him, and for a moment, his question doesn't seem to register, her face blank in contemplation again. the next, her brows arch high. it's not real surprise. his request is more than reasonable, as is the concerns implicit in it. she's a remarkably popular person in faerie, for a fifty-year-old superpredator trapped in the body of a black teenager. few would call her friend, likely, but she knows people. the adopted like to talk to her, and she is not shy about her opinions.
she is, however, competent with secrets. most of all with those she loves.]
Ain't gonna tell no one. [her palm alights a friendly pat upon his shoulder.] You probably should, though. Sooner than later, if you ask me. One thing our little movement is short on, it's goodwill from the Adopted. Anger's easy. Fear is every day. Takes more than that to get people to lay down and die on a hand grenade. [and yes. yes, that was casually deliberate: our.]