"Bless me, Father..."
     "For I have sinned....
     "It has been..........."

     The confessional sits quiet, the gentle latticework still. Only a shadow can be seen, sitting against the close wall, listening intently. "Yes?" comes the voice softly, the sandalwood of the box wafting in the air...the kneeler and chair both gentle and restful.

     And that is where Kit ends. When was the last time he confessed? Has he ever? And for what sins? Do ravens break commandments when they find shiny objects? "Well, you know...it's been a while...Listen, just betwee you, me and The Almighty...are there degrees of stealing at all or...is it all just under the same heading? For instance, say.....you ...collected things you just happened to...find..." And so begins the priest's torturous confessional with Kit, the erstwhile Cherub of Blandine. "It's not exactly stealing is it? Or do you think the Father is particularly stringent in such matters...?" A dark eyebrow is lifted and grey eyes are alive with light.

     There's more silence from the other side of the lattice. The figure, male, sits quietly in profile. "Well," he says gently, beatific voice, "....is this Raven...is that your name?" A persona...it would not be the first time. "Stealing," he goes on, "...is wrong, it is a sin against God...he has given us all what we need...he provides. Why must you take what he has given to another? Even if it is abandoned....it is theirs from him. There may be degrees of theft, but in the end, it is still coveting what has not been given to you. Not money, not a spouse, not a small item at the grocery store, or even that old adage about stealing someone's heart....all are his to give...."

     "Ah...but...and follow me on this for a moment," his Irish accent is tripping light across the baritone voice. "...what if the Almighty had meant for me to find those items. For if everything is from the Almighty, and He is...we all agree, I think...perfect, then ...would not finding them be showing honor to the gift he originally gave?" Kit pauses for only a moment. "For surely, if the person to whom God had given the item still required it in some way, the Almighty wouldn't have seen fit for them to lose it. Yes?"

     "You forget Will," the voice says again. "It is your choice to have or lose something. The Almighty seems to not force the issue once the gift has been given. It is yours to keep up with. If you choose to let it go, and you need it, that is your choice..."

     To that, Kit grins. "Then how can it be a sin, if I find it? That is not stealing. They chose to lose it. I chose to find it, father..."
     Kit sighs and settles back in the confessional. "Ah, what a relief. I've nothing to confess..."

     "Losing it is from the loser's point of view," the voice comes back with, "...taking it is what the other does. Even if it is still abandoned, you have taken something who's rights belong to another..."
     "Is there something you wanted to discuss in detail?" he asks, hearing the sigh of relief. "Maybe an incident?"

     Kit smirks from behind the panel. "But I thought you just said the person chose to lose it. That is, in essence, making the item a gift to the universe, is it not? To...relinquish a thing out of choice to some...other thing. I merely was on the receiving end of it..."
     Kit pauses a moment. "Well......"

     "Well?" the voice says, not responding to the attempts to foul his logic. He'll not discuss gifts to the universe, or whatever that means. "Please, I am here...for you..." now that rang faintly memory-tripping...

     "I ...did...happen to find a pocket watch..." I am here for you? That stops Kit again. A raven brow lifts and he leans in, forehead resting against the panel. "You know, father....I was going to give it to someone else I care .....very much for. But now...this gift from the sky...I do not know. I suppose...I can take it to the police..."

     "Maybe the police," the voice seems to shed former pacing and accent. Now more familiar. "I'm sure someone has not realized...that they have lost something. It might be dear to them..."

     Now, it is agonizing. Who are you. I know you. He leans back. "Ah, better yet...I will put out an advertisement...." Kit grins. "Yes...I will put an ad in the paper. Thank you......father," If that's who you really are, "....for helping me through this veritable mine-field of ethics...'

     You do know that voice. It sounds like summer heat and sweet spring's calm. Change incarnate. The Chamberlain. Does not the profile now strike you...it's changed somehow behind the lattice. Hand leaves his chin. "That's good of you," he says, "...I know that in your heart, you want to do nothing but what is Right..."

     "You Malakim really know how to suck the joy out of Item Discovery," Kit chuckles. Yes, he knows who you are. He leans in toward the lattice and his voice drops to a breath. "I should have talked about coveting things vastly more interesting if I had known it was you back there. Fancy meeting you here....how is My Favorite today?"

     "Counseling," Soldekai replies easy. He sighs and reseats himself. "It seems to be my work today..." he explains, hand reaching up...and the lattice lifting. A curtain going up to reveal the lead actor. "Actually, I had to speak to someone today....fairly directly." One could only imagine. "And how are you?" he finally smiles a little.

     "I read poetry to young college students and tried to help them find meaning in Browning. Sometimes that's hard to do. I did a little guitar-playing in the commons...thought about what might be occupying my charge," that's You. Kit sighs a little and then tilts his head, looking to you. "I dreamed about sitting in beanbag chairs being held by you...with a Malakim in one hand and a Guinness in the other. It was...all in all...a good day. Oh...I have something for you..." He reaches into his black t-shirt's pocket. Dangling from his fingers, a pocket watch on a chain. "When you open it, it chimes out 'Hallelujah' from The Messiah..."

     "Oh, yeah?" Soldekai says, chiming himself. He smiles and reaches through the square to lift the watchcase. "That's nice," he smiles. "For me? What would I do with such a thing?' he grins.

     "I'm not really sure," Kit clips back, baritone warm and lilting Irish. "I suppose you could tell what time it was in Clearwater, whenever you wanted. Or just listen to the music. It's rather old, so it doesn't have any dancings stars or moons or the like...but...I like to give. Even if it is stealing..." And then he laughs.

     Soldekai grins at that, accepting the watch. "Thank you," he smiles, leaning against the dividing panel. He likes looking at you, and free hand reaches out to brush your cheek. "So," he begins, eyes lowering, "...a Malakim in one hand, Guinness in the other...in chairs. Where and when?" he smirks, looking up to you once more.

     "Is now good for you?" Kit lowers his own glance and grins. "Or does the Almighty not allow for.....breaks?" Eyes are grey...but you see the silver wink. "But ...before we ruminate too much on it, My Sun, we should head out of the house of God. I could blaspheme at any moment..."

     "A good idea," Soldekai grins, "I would hate to get you into any mischief." He smiles and sits up quickly, dressed in appropriate priestly frocks. Too bad he's shaped like a Marine. The screen's lowered and you can hear the rear door of the confessional opening...

     "And the wind...cried...Mary," comes the baritone voice, there is a kind of rough sweetness to his voice. A throatiness. Kit heads out of the confessional, blows a kiss to the Holy Virgin, and then wheels about to find you. He's not the most....reverent being in the universe, but he has a good heart. The look....hmm...I'll meet out outside?

     The priest smiles at the lone person sitting in a pew. He glances at you and heads toward the courtyard door that leads to the rectory...

     Soldekai pushes at the side doors, heading out towards the courtyard.

     "An angel dropped down from heaven yesterday..." Kit has a song for every occasion. "Do I still have to call you father, father?" Or have you changed? Kit folds his arms against his chest and inclines his head. His hair both short and long is as haphazard as ever, a dark curl hanging before one grey eye. "So...care to head to the flat above the tavern?"

     As he takes a few steps, Soldekai's clothing changes to something more appropriate. Now...he'll just be a guy coming from the rectory. He nods at you, "Sure, a...sit..." his word for something more relaxing, "...would be nice. And a drink." He turns to head towards the exit from the courtyard, expecting you beside him. Something archangelic and learned. "You sound as if you've had a busy day..."

     "Not so much," and Kit does pull up alongside...well...alright, a pace behind you. He doesn't even realize it. "I had a few hours of inspiration...a few hours of music. In comparison to your day, it must seem quite relaxing..." He laughs at that. Arms yet folded against his chest, Kit looks down to his feet. Or is it something else he's looking at? "My work is enjoyment...it is not what I would call busy, however..."

     "This," Soldekai notes, "...is a little slow." This walking thing. He smirks and near a set of bushes, there's the familiar swirl of a gate. "Shortcut?" Now when did he learn that?

     A dark brow lifts and lips twist in a ribald smile. "Nice trick...." Kit gives a wink and heads on in. "I'm fond of shortcuts, you know that..."
     He grins and waits for you to go, extending a hand towards the gate.

     The apartment is just as you recall it. Artistic. Littered with "doo-dads" and knick-knacks. The glorious rock collection has grown. There are rocks...everywhere. Shiny and glittery. Pyrite and malakite. No relation, he's sure. Obsidian and basalt -- his favorite. Quartz and amethyst. Geode bookends. And a rather huge piece he must have purchased, currently serving as his coffee table. A huge opened amethyst quartz geode, topped by a pane of sturdy glass. There is a guitar and a violin resting nearby it. The seating area contains one sofa, rather 'worn' in, and beanbag chairs as promised. Kit enters after the seventh lock is unlocked and he tosses his keys across the room. They land with a chime. "Beer or whiskey?"

     "Something cool," Soldekai smiles, immediately moving to one of the geodes. Earth. How Fire understands it. "I'll have whatever you're having," he says softly, hand barely alighting upon the stone, feeling it under fingers. You've taught him how to like all things bright and shiny. "I like your things, it's always so...pretty...in here." Odd word from those lips.

     "It reminds me of home," Kit says. The Marches, he means. And in particular, Blandine's Tower. He heads to the near microscopic kitchen. The refrigerator is half the size of the average unit, but it's room enough for him. "I like things that glitter, sparkle...Oh Chamberlain of Fire." He looks back. Much like you, in fact. "I get these...catalogs...Geologists Anonymous is what I call them. At any rate," you hear beer cans opening and liquid pouring, "I send off for the larger bits. I mean, I'm not likely to find such specimens wandering around Clearwater." A half pause. "Then again, one never knows, yes?" He is carrying two large glasses of beer and heading for the sofa. "Very cool, My Fiery One..." And a glass is proferred to you.

     "Thanks," Soldekai smiles, something glimmering, surely. He moves to the sofa to sit, turtleneck and jeans comfortable. Something from a fashion magazine....he's avoiding that thing called Winter. A sip and he smiles at the glass, licking his lips and a bit of the head that's attached to him. "Sit here?" he asks, making sure of intentions.

     As Kit settled upon one portion of the sofa...legs stretching out...he reaches over with a hand and...pats the cushion beside him. All this while taking the first blessed swallow of beer. A sigh follows that. "Ah me, I have been needing a drop of the heavenly nectar since noon..." And then he looks to you, raking a hand trough his curly hair. "Aye...right here. I like this...." A finger gestures to the attire. "Not as much as I like the armor, but it is likely more comfortable. You know," he says in a conspiratorial whisper, "I have a suit of armor myself...I even..." Silver eyes flicker as he glances around briefly, "...have a sword, My Lord of the Burning Triplicity."

     "Do you?" Soldekai's arches lift. That's about as good as he'll get to a double entendre. He chuckles and takes a seat near you, about flush. Arm at yours, thigh at yours. "I'm glad you like the look...it's getting cool in Clearwater," he says, taking another drink of his beer.

     "The cold does not trouble me so much, but then...I am a child of the night stars," he murmurs. And so much for flush -- Kit lifts a leg and then rests it over your own. He is not ....shy. Another sip of beer and then he cradles it for a time. "When winter comes...I prefer to haunt the university ...ravenesque." He grins. "The new freshmen like to feed me yogurt-covered pretzels...." He wags his brows momentarily. "They learn better by their third semester, of course. The pickings are not quite so bounteous...still...I do whatever I can..." Kit tilts back his head. "How are you, My Favorite Ray of Light....?" His voice is ...softer. The depth has a certain and sudden ...warmth to it.

     "Oh," Soldekai murmurs, running hand across his hair, "I'm alright," even if he seems a little tired. "So, you like the students a lot then?" he asks, looking at your leg on his and sinking in his seat to lean against you. He brushes his nose at your shoulder and then takes another drink. "Why...do you appear..." he swirls his hand, "...like the raven? Instead of being...in this form?" Mortal.

     "My Mistress has soldiers who may watch but may not interfere. I have often admired them for this. And though I cannot do as they do, I devised a way, long ago, to approximate it. You see... while in the form of a raven...I may watch and observe without ...the subject becoming nervous. Or...hiding his or her thoughts, dreams or aspirations. Humans do not like to seem vulnerable to other humans. But they will talk a great deal to any beast of Our Creator's divising. St. Francis would preach sermons to birds and squirrels and write poetry to an audience of chipmunks. It is extraordinary. They are, in their way. And finding out the secrets they tell no one else -- that is the entry gate into the soul of a dream or a hope." Kit pauses, smiling at you. "Sometimes. And," he continues, after another swallow of beer, "it is a way to watch without really being noticed too much by....others who might be about. It is a good disguise..."

     Soldekai nods at that, seeing the simplicity and functionality in it. "I wasn't sure why you did it," he says softly, twirling his glass before taking another drink. "You know," he goes on, "...they say that...it's you all...your Archangel...who is going to lead us in the end..." he slips that piece of politic in. Amber eyes glance at you and he takes another drink of his beer.

     "Well...." Kit drawls, "to be totally honest, Flame of My Soul....it is fun...." But then you put that dollop of politics upon the conversation. It is not something that bothers him. Not in the slightest. "Perhaps that is why...after centuries of earth time, I have decided to leave The Marches. I ...am the Herald of Aspirations, Soldekai," he says your name, and there is strength as much as adoration in it. "The Herald always goes first, to prepare the way for The Charge. Is it not so?" Silver eyes look to yours of gold and he leans in toward you, smelling of patchouli and beer. "With Fire...and with Earth...and with Water...With Wind...the Armies of God will open the sky and the World shall know of the coming Salvation," he says, sing-song like Prophecy. "And their swords shall be of forged Hope. Their shields the shields of Righteousness, and the the Lord's Dream for Peace will be realized..." His lips are at your ear, his voice...barely a breath, and at the end of that...a kiss is placed.

     He could drift into slumber with words like that and you beside him. Soldekai's eyes close, a soldier always happy to hear the sweet prophetic words of success. "I always hope soon," he murmurs, comforted by you. And who is to say that you were not meant for each other in this way. You bring solace to Fire, so that it might rage later. What happens to the scourge when it is burns from its own flame, consumed? You release that pressure. "That's what they say," he whispers, repeating himself. That it is your kind that shall bring the End. And there's something nice about that too...ending in hope..not in conflagration. If it means his choir is relegated to the sidelines at the end, that is fine with him. They did their part. He lifts his drink to his lips again, tasting it with closed eyes, head still at your shoulder. Soldekai exhales as he brings glass back to his lap.

      "That is how The Creator's Dream spins out, for me...were I to be the one to scry it. Those who were parted should one day be reunited. That which was rent asunder shall be joined anew..." Kit turns his head, and he places another kiss upon you. This time against your forehead with a turn of his own. "That which was shattered shall be mended. It is a good dream." He loves to soothe you. To calm the soldier's wearied mind. He is more magician than warrior. His one arm is around you. His free hand brings his glass up for another swallow of beer. This one a long one. Draining it. He has learned something while on campus it would seem. "Although," comes the mulled baritone, "I think in the end, I shall have Blandine create a Tank of Dreams...I was rather good at it...I think I missed my calling..."

     "I hope that is how it goes," Soldekai says, a whispered hope of his own. Only you know them...as it goes. "I ask for the day that we no longer...are as we all are..."
     "You think that will happen soon, love...?"

     "If that is what you hope, My Charge, that is what shall be..." And that is the essence of it. Kit lifts his hand and fingers move through your hair. Leaning in to you, he no longer speaks, but sings. "Stars shining bright above you...Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"...Birds singing in the sycamore tree...Dream a little dream of me..." The voice is deep and even, both smooth and rough. And then your question filters in to him. And that word. Love. Kit pauses the song and grey eyes look to you. "I hope so. And in hoping, may it be done."
     "Love..."

     Oh, singing. When was the last time someone had touched him and sang so? Soldekai could not remember if he tried. Back before he became what he is now. Before anyone cared about the young Malakim. Before Gabriel had him loaned to her corps. Millennia ago. He smiles at the singing, so happy to be with you...the nervousness and reticence of months ago is now gone. In private, he is as he is with you now. "I should have learned to sing...I am the only one in the whole Symphony who cannot carry a tune...I sound like breaking glass..."

     "There is always need for percussion. Breaking glass can sound quite lovely in accompaniment to a grand march, Chamberlain my Chamberlain..." Kit chuckles, the hum of it lands against you as the motion of it embraces you. But then seriously....as much as he can manage...he murmurs against you. "You are Eternal Fire and Light...you can sing, Soldekai. If it is what you....aspire to do..." He can't help the grin. "Then you can do it..." Kit pauses, closing his own eyes. "Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you...Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you...But in your dreams whatever they be...Dream a little dream of me...." His voice is warm and soft, even and lovely.

     He grins again, his drink mostly done...but not quite. Soldekai drifts along with your voice, sometimes humming to keep up with you...he has heard this song, he thinks. Notes are out of place, but he tries anyway. He turns his glass up and takes a long taste, handing it to you. He's done. Licking his lips, he sits up, twisting back to you. "Want...to lie down a little bit?"

     There is only the ribald smile for your answer. You sit up, and then he rises. A motion of his hand for you to rise after. "I can do magic..." he says, in a soft challenge. As if you shall not believe him. "In less than two seconds, I will transform this living room into a ...lounging boudoir..." The Gaelic upon the french word makes a funny sound. And with a tug, his sofa becomes a bed.

     Soldekai raises brows. Immediately...entropy comes to mind. But that would call up all sorts of symphonic noise. "You sure?" he asks, thinking of abilities and not something more metaphoric.

     The expression is only slightly bland. Well, sir...you asked to lie down! But then he smiles. Nudging the sofa back with his leg...once to each side...it is scooted back long enough for the "bed's" unfolding to complete. "Ah, you forgot to time me. Well...more or less two seconds. Now...we are in my bedroom...care to lie down?"

     "Oh, sure," he chuckles, slipping out of his shoes. "I should get you some track lighting...that's what it's called...and we could set up your stone and things so that the lights make them sparkle when you dim the room lights...."

     Grey eyes go wide, and the silver shards that make them flicker seem to hold lightning at that. You have him quite enchanted now. And intrigued. And excited. Kit peels off his own hiking boots. And socks. The bed squeaks with his weight. "What a glorious vision! I ...would like that very much..." He looks to you, black curly hair both short and long. "Amazing that would be..."

     "We could do that," Soldekai smiles, 'I know some people into....electronics." Certainly among Jean's choir there is someone who enjoys house details. Networks oh networks. Soldekai grins, barefooted now. Turtleneck clings to him and he looks at a frosty window. "I wonder how cold it will get?" Minnesota? Winter? He doesn't come here very often, does he?

     "I have a space heater that looks like a fake fireplace," he offers, as if that shall be of any real comfort. "It is...slightly warmer than Oriel's last lover," one of Dominic's choir she was, "...and at least as cold as Iceland..." In the winter. Kit pulls off his shirt. There is another, longer sleeved shirt beneath it -- you could see he was in layers.

     "Well," Soldekai murmurs...and a candle suddenly lights up..."...to be fair Iceland is in the gulf stream," he notes, hands pulling up his turtleneck. Barrel-chest finely chiseled is bare for you to see for a moment, a flaring look from waist to shoulders. Hair is longer currently and it rises as the tunnel neck is pulled over. He exhales when it's off. "As for Oriel," he smirks, "...well. I'll leave that alone." If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it...cause certainly someone of his own choir is paying attention.
     And around the room, another of your candles comes on. And another....spontaneously...

     There is a quiet laughter, muffled in the lifting off of the other shirt. Briefly, Kit looks threw the opening before removing it altogether. "Oh, no fault to Oriel...nice bloke...his bird just didn't like me...no sense of humor. It's not a crime..." Grey eyes sparkle, aided by the sudden candlelight. The lifted shirt hides the ribald grin. When it is removed, his own figure and form is revealed. Not nearly as broad as you. Athletic, but softer than chiseled. Medium build, muscled...but not defined more in his arms, in his shoulders. His stomach is flat, but doesn't have the...more rippled contours of a warrior. He is a bit more wirey. Perhaps that is the word. Lean, without the same overlying muscle mass. But not quite to the point of being lithe.
     He lies back upon the bed...his feet yet flat to its surface, knees bent. And as his eyes and head are turned toward you, his hands begin to unfasten the button-fly and rather worn jeans. "I've never been to Iceland in the Winter," Kit mulls, a grin slanting after. "I merely thought it earned its name. Maybe it's Greenland, I'm thinking of...." And he drifts on that for a moment. He always gets them confused.

     "No, no," Soldekai grins, golden-red hair mussed. His turtleneck is tossed aside and he inhales as he works at his own jeans. "Greenland's south is green for a reason too," he smiles, "...and yes, Iceland's only in a part of the stream." Buttons undone, the flaps rest stiffly as he moves over to turn off your lights. Is this how all angels call it a night? "And of course," he smiles...did you notice how warm your sheets were already, bedwarmer seeming passed over them... "Tjulek," the tip where he spends time, "...has me." That changes everything.

     "My ignorance of Geography is starting to show, isn't it...ah...sweet heaven..." As the jeans found their way to the floor and the boxer briefs with them, Kit finds himself embraced by an already warmed bed. "That's it...you're moving in..." he whispers. Sitting up, he twists and reaches, grabbing extra cushions from the couch. Soft pillows. Now this is the Kindgom of Sweet and Pure Delight. "Turnip?" he says, a dark brow lifting. His version of Tjulek, apparently. "Odd name for a city. Does it have a special meaning apart from the honor of being your home?" The one room studio apartment is now suffuse with golden light. Soft and sometimes flickering.

     "No, that was the local name for it already," Soldekai says, padding back towards you. He grins at the idea of moving in, not really understanding the 'move' part. Oh well. It must be something sweet. At his side, he puts hands into the pants and push downward...for him, there is nothing underneath. He steps out of them and immediately seeks to crawl into the warmth made by him and augmented now by you. Sheet is picked up and he pulls it around him, resting upon his side as he squirms closer. "I think it means something like...frosted tip...but that's a strange translation..."

     "And a little scandalous as well.....but...perhaps that is only my translation..." Kit chuckles softly, and as you move toward him...he is moving to greet you. Flush against and suddenly tangling. As meaning always tangles in a dream....so he, around you. "And so...winter becomes summer..." he whispers against you. What place could contain Winter and You all at once?

     His eyes lift up, seeking the joke, then brows lift as he realizes it. "Oh, yeah," Soldekai breathes, eyes at the wall as it's processed. Maybe that's the thing he was missing...it was some entendre. He grins and shrugs, arms going around you. Warmest bed in all of Minnesota. "Winter becomes summer," he smiles, eyes looking past you as something catches his attention. Snowflakes.

     Kit has an entendre for every occasion. As you look past him, Kit lifts his head, his eyes seeking your fascination. And then he sees it. He smiles. Silver eyes are crossed with lightning...or perhaps that's some play of candlelight. "I will challenge you to a snow battle if it sticks...my Chamberlain..." Once more, Kit settles both beside and against you. Fitting so easily there. As if he, the smaller, were carved to slip within you. There is a kind of perfection in it.

     "Snow battle?" Soldekai smiles. "You might win that." What knows he of snow so close? There is fit to it, his body molding to accommodate the new part of himself that is you. A kiss is placed at your nose and forehead, broad arms encircling. It is only a gentle pause, a sweet hold for now...the snow no threat for the warmth generated in the small apartment.

Posted by rowan at May 04, 2003 07:25 PM