late night reading

[curzed]

Who: Konrad Curze, Kaiisteron, later on: you?
What: Making Mistakes
When: sometime after 'night', it's obligatory (several days before Storytime)
Where: Somewhere in the Stacks, it's a big library. Probably time-out later. Maybe worse places.
Content warnings: Violence, daemons, primarchs, gratuitous bodily harm, the problems with uncontrolled powers, making a mess.



Sooner or later, someone in power is going to regret the group of misfits that have been taken here as Editors.

Like Konrad. He's been more or less behaving since arriving, aside from commandeering ALL cardstock of a particular color and texture, collecting singing bowls of a dozen sizes and leaving them in little clusters in the kitchen and bunks, and leaving a trail of fine, tiny glitter for several days on everything he touched. His efforts to find a way out of the Library are ongoing and unfruitful, prowling the Stacks without bothering to sleep more than once in several days.

But this time his path through the endless shelves of books is for a different purpose in simply putting as much distance between himself and the other people dragged here as he could. He has no control over when his 'gifts' chose to strike and drown him in the worst outcomes possible, but he does know when it's coming, and here there's no locked room with reinforced doors to make use of. Distance will have to do. There is a point, in the rending pain of things that haven't even happened yet, where Curze can no longer tell where he is now in favor of where he will be then.

It makes for a pathetic sight, something his size on the floor with his head in his hands in the shadows between towering shelves scaled towards his height and not human average, back pressed against the cold rows of books.

The sharp scent of blood is probably fine too. Ignore it. Everything's fine here.

Comments

[curzed]

"I haven't encountered one, I have no means to compare beyond secondhand, sparse information." He's not impressed by the idea. If gods are real, then there is much They need to answer for. If they are not real, then he's going to find ways to kill the ones claiming divinity without being able to back it up.

But Curze's impression hadn't been something utterly inhuman wearing a human shape. Just.. human+, maybe. "The rules are analogous enough to pass muster. 'Thou shalt not kill' is as old as the human race, and seems to be a firm line in the sand here as well."

As far as he knows, he's never been wrong. All his visions inevitably, relentlessly come true, as inexorable as the tide. He doesn't need to second guess it. "Is it still thinking poorly of you if I know you can't actually do it?" His smile is a flash of sharp teeth, but it doesn't last long. "Can't or won't. Events will conspire. I will live on." Whether or not he wanted to. "My victim, Kaiisteron should be dead," he adds as an afterthought. "I struck hard enough to kill my own astartes. If the powers that hold sway here can reverse that then there's nothing to fear."

[angel_of_baal]

Sanguinius gives a frustrated sigh--not aimed at Curze, but this whole situation. "We need a proper Librarian. Our kind." The very kind their father has denied. But still.

"Killing is a part of our existence, brother." His Blood Angels were loyal, but they fought, they were meant to fight, and they needed war as much as the Emperor's wars needed them. "Some rules do not apply to us."

"Do not underestimate my abilities." He was probably not the most likely to contravene fate--that would be Magnus--but if it came to it, he very possibly might also bend the world to his will.

"Are you suggesting this place can heal mortal wounds, or that Kaiisteron is stronger than one of our sons?" He's not sure which option is worse. He'll wait to decide.

[curzed]

A solid two or three entire minutes pass before Konrad says anything again, watching Sanguinius unblinkingly, brow slightly furrowed. Whatever thoughts are rattling around inside that head, they're probably not pleasant ones.

"I know it can heal mortal wounds," he begins slowly, "But that aside, why are you intent on taking so much as a personal offense? Not just what I say, but what that servitor did as well. I may be unfamiliar with your temperament, brother, but every tale I've ever heard of you praises your sweetness, not such a strong impression of fears of inferiority."

[angel_of_baal]

'That aside'. As if it were nothing.

And it wasn't nothing. They both knew that. But it was Curze's attempt, once again, to divert from the topic at hand.

He had sought Curze out because of concern, wanting to hear his side before he judged--wanting, in fact, not to judge. If he were honest, he wanted to find a way to back Curze in front of others.

And it had turned into...this mess. This accusation.

It was going nowhere, that was clear. He had precious little dignity left, but he gathered the tatters of what he had around him, rising to his feet. "You mistake my concern for weakness. Others have done so in the past, in error." He flicks a wing, sticky with blood, dismayed. "I have taken enough of your time and you have taken enough of my patience. I will leave you to your rest."

[curzed]

Aside from a slow inhalation, and equally slow exhale through clenched teeth, Curze says nothing. This is precisely why he didn't bother trying to reach out to his brothers. It didn't matter what he said or did, it would inevitably be taken the worst possible way, just as relentlessly negative as his foresight was.

In that, at least, there was familiar symmetry. One hand rises briefly, impossible to tell if it's a goodbye or a dismissal; it doesn't look like Curze is intending to move any time soon.