Night Haunter (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
curzed) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
unfinishedlibrary2025-11-07 11:03 pm
curzed) wrote in unfinishedlibrary2025-11-07 11:03 pm
late night reading
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.
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.
no subject
"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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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.