ORIGIN - Our Own Eden

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Pride felt himself deeply pleased with Mercurius' reaction. He had, at first, feared that his tale would be poor; then he had been so absorbed in the retelling that he had forgotten to worry at all. Now, he was taken from his idle dreaming by the realization that it had actually been well-received, and Pride lowered his head with respect and appreciation. His antler-tines swept low and held there for a long beat as he fought back the joy that threatened to burst over through his over-filled chest. No. He had to remain polite, humble, and swallow that joy down--pride or not. It would be unseemly to bound up, to race about and frolic with joy!

Instead, he lifted his gaze at length and looked to the white lion with what was distinctly, despite his stag's face, a bright smile.

"It means the world for me to hear you say that, though I haven't known you all that long--you feel like an old friend to me. Perhaps another spark of the universe; perhaps as but stones, we knew one another," he added, then laughed in a self-deprecating manner, as if he were laughing at his own referencing of his story. "But truly, I do not approach your skill. I wish-..." and here he paused, his expression lifting into a sort of distant ecstasy--"...to think up a thousand stories, to tell them, to spread them, to live them through the caves. Perhaps we can create stories together! Perhaps we can share them to the others-..." And here Pride trailed off, looking back to Mercurius with an expression that slowly sobered.

The white lion didn't seem the sort to parade around the caves, no. He seemed reclusive, shy even, and Pride realized that he might be bringing his new friend anxiety, fear even, or imposing on him in some way. He again bowed his head. "If you ever wished to, that is. I've no desire to push you past what you're comfortable with; you seem happy in your garden, and I don't want to seem as though I'm chasing you forth!" Honesty, plain and simple, and another kind dip of his head. "I owe you a debt for teaching me of stories, Mercurius. However did you come up with the idea? I think I would never have imagined them--not in a thousand years."

His tone was softly-awed, though he could not know what he was asking of his friend.

@Mercurius

Mercurius had never been the greatest at deciphering another's exact emotional state --- especially with someone so unfamiliar, yet --- but even he could tell exactly the amount of excitement and, well, pride his companion was trying to hold in. A barely-restrained smile was all that truly outwardly showed the deer's glee, and he couldn't help but smile back. "Perhaps, in another life," he murmured, smiling at the thought, "stones have been known to, on occasion, give life back to themselves." The Ancients, however odd they were, seemed notorious for it. He had recently heard whispers of an enormous serpent rising from the trench, constructing a new tunnel through the bone pit. The pale beast had yet to see it, of course. A good-natured bark of laughter erupted from him at Pride's self-depreciation. Mercy stifled his chuckles, disagreeing: "don't be too critical of yourself!"

But, the idea of becoming a... traveling storyteller, of sorts, was tempting. Mercurius knew he could not spend the rest of his days, however infinite they could be, tending to this garden and awaiting the off-chance someone should find it and visit him. It had endured without him, and he had endured without it. Wandering about the Caves could perhaps give him further inspiration to think of more stories, more lore to spin. He could meet and discuss with the Lorekeeper. He could search for his beloved and his son, wherever they were.

"No. No! It'd be good for me to stretch these tired, old muscles," the lion deflected, spreading his limbs out for emphasis. The arthritis was getting worse as the days passed and blurred together. "You'd just have to bear with me," Mercy chuckled softly, "and my slowness." At risk of sounding like a tired old man, he would have added that his legs just didn't work like they used to.

The smile upon his face suddenly disappeared, though, as he was abruptly plunged into the long dark of what he had repressed for so long after failed attempts to come to grips with it. "No..." he trailed softly, moonset eyes staring down into his paws. They shifted over to the trefoils, swaying gently in the breeze and barely visible through the fog. "A... while ago," Mercy paused, trying to decide whether or not he could bring himself to hide it and lie to what could be, quite possibly, one of his closest friends. But, he continued with a flicker of magicka. "A while ago, I..."

Best to start at the beginning, right? A little light formed before his eyes, dancing above the trefoils and darting between their leaves. "I was born in Tunnel N. I couldn't get out of my chrysalis and there came a voice, crying 'Wynry! Wynry!' and he freed me. But then he---" the lion's voice hitched softly, though no tears came, "he called me a Beast and Filth. And that was my name for cycles and cycles as he hurt me and kept me prisoner for some crime I still don't understand. Someone had wronged him and he took it out on me." He shook his head, subconciously tucking his limbs closer to himself and taking on a bit of a submissive stance. "T-that's not too important, though."

"One day he brought someone to his home... Orion. She was white, pale, a deer like you. Her name was---" Grief and mourning cut his words off and he focused for a moment on the firefly-esque orb of light dancing between the leaves. "Clover." Caves, it had been cycles since he said that out loud. The word felt foreign on his lips, and he mulled over it for a moment. "She wasn't like him. She was pure, the sweetest thing in the Caves. She taught me to harness light and told me many stories. She brought me here and "

His admission ended abruptly, just as his small orb vanished from sight, "but she's gone now, has been for cycles now" Mercy added, to clarify, "gone." Finished speaking, his ears flickered back and every involuntary response beat into him threatened to come back full-force. But, all for the better and because he could not possibly handle the concept of facing his inner demons, he forced himself to straighten. No bow of the head, no curled tail. Only stiff optimism. He could just... push it away. Just as he always had. He'd mourn in solitude again.

@Pride

Pride listened, his head canting ever-so-slightly to one side, his brow furrowing only faintly.

From what he could tell, Mercurius had, then, been a victim--of what, he wasn't sure. He didn't know what a "wynry" was--or who, perhaps? Was it a name? But it was clear that Mercurius had been close to this other white deer. As he gave his mournful description of her, pure, sweet, Pride was reminded strongly and abruptly of the fawn Karma: a stranger, then a friend, he had not seen in some cycles. Was she, too, dead? Had she been a reincarnation, perhaps, of this... Clover?

And it struck him, too--had Mercurius been drawn to Pride in part because he, too, was a white deer? He studied the lion for a moment, sadly, though the sadness was for Mercurius's loss.

"I have known someone like that," Pride answered at last, softly. "Pure and sweet. I am sorry that she is-... gone." He paused, and then a rare impulse of warmth spurred him to add, "If she fell, may I ask--what happened to her stone? I know that we may give life to the stones of one another, even if they have... left us." Perhaps, if the stone yet existed, either he or Mercurius could bring it back--or perhaps it had been already. He had no idea how similar the result might be to the original Clover, but the possibility was there.

Hell, if he did it, it would be another, quite simply, white deer--a friend, perhaps, for Mercurius as it once had been. Though he himself was a white deer, and the lion's friend, was he not?

"I am sorry to have brought up something painful, Mercurius. And regardless--should you ever wish to travel the caves, I would be honored to travel with you."

This was softly-spoken, accompanied by another sweeping, slight bow of antlers. Pride then looked to Mercurius once more, studying him with worried silver eyes, concerned that he had simply caused the lion more harm.

@Mercurius

To Pride's unconscious thoughts, the pale beast was struck and realized that perhaps why he had become so attached to the deer was the similarities Pride bore to Clover. There was no effervescent glow to the graceful creature, yet there was the dainty grace and effeminate voice with which he spoke. There was the gentle, considerate nature — although a little further exaggerated in Pride's mannerisms — and the eagerness for storytelling and listening.

But, Mercurius would not mention it.

He would stay silent, focusing on listening rather than speaking, on untangling the mass that had formed in his throat. At the question, he was hesitant — and disappointed, with himself — to answer. After a moment of silence, he shook his head mournfully, a bare whisper offered to the air: "I don't know. I never… found her stone. Only her—" Mercy couldn't bare to finish the sentence himself. He shut his mouth, only opening it to offer a hurried "it's okay."

Eager to change the subject, the storyteller nodded and finally met silver eyes with his own. "I would love to travel the caves, thinking. Perhaps I could tell you some of… her stories." Focus on the positives, the good times. As a narcissist once said, don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.

@Pride

Pride listened closely, sombrely, and yet again inclined his head. It was becoming his unique gesture, really--one of agreement, of respect. A catch-all motion filled with quiet dignity, befitting the white stag.

"I would be glad to hear them," Pride agreed softly. Something occurred to him, then--something born of his own story of crystals, of the idea of a lost white deer, of life beginning anew. "Mercurius, have you ever created life, as you have a story..? I have not, but..."

Pride hesitated. He knew what he wanted to offer--there was no hesitation in that--but not how. He closed grey eyes, considering his wording, then opened them to peer at the white lion. His new friend, innately trusted, gentle and so full of kindness and imagination, wonder and care.

"It is a difficult thing to phrase without sounding flippant. But if you ever wish to create life in these caves, I would be honored to do so with you. My stones, perhaps, or yours; but I believe that..." He trailed off, looking around the grove.

Imagining little white lion cubs--or even lion-fawns--leaping and bounding about the secret haven, chasing one another. Laughter filling the quiet peace. And in his mind's eye, too, he could see Mercurius--a smile on that placid face, indulgence in those pale and kindly eyes. Pride looked back to him, softened. "...I can imagine that as a story that your life could tell, that is all. I can imagine you with little ones, and I believe that of all the creatures reproducing in this cave, no more could be worthy to spread their ideals and their generosity than you. I can see you--with your wisdom and gentle nature--with children here. That is all; that is my offer, at least. I apologize if I overstep."

Another sweeping bow of antlers, and Pride fell silent, though the glow of the imagined memory stayed with him.

@Mercurius

The timbre of his voice shook rather boyishly as Mercurius mimicked the deer's gesture. "Someday," he repeated, agreeing softly. Moonset eyes narrowed to a pensive state again, of their own volition, as he furrowed his brow and thought of what tales Clover had told him. His breathing shifted subtly as he frantically tried to think of even one detail of them, but he forced himself to steady out. Focus on the earth. Claws in, claws out. There. Mercy decided then and there that he'd mull about it later.

Besides, he had every right to be a little shocked at Pride's question. The pale beast's eyes widened a little, then furrowed into confusion as the deer hesitated. In that moment of hesitation, he spoke, "I---I've never considered it, really, in any of my thirty-something cycles of being awake." Thirty-something was a rather rough estimate, given he hadn't been really keeping track of time while he slept away these past few cycles. Even then, he was quite off. Oh, well.

There was a preposition, at hand, to consider. Of creating life in these caves and raising little ones. A tumultuous wave, heavy as stone, washed over him as he nodded to acknowledge his companion's words and thought over them. Some attempts to push words through his mouth were unsuccessful, as he looked rather fishlike opening and closing it. "I've never considered it," Mercy repeated uselessly, glancing down to his paws.

Finally, with a quick, huffing sigh, he glanced to the side. "Thank you but... I need to think about it. You're not overstepping at all. You're a friend." Abruptly, the old lion rose to his paws and winced at the suddenness of the motion. The movement was annotated by a rather clipped offering: "shall we stretch our legs? She and I used to... have a garden on Orion as well." It was not nearly as nice as the grove, as his tone implied. He hadn't wandered through it in cycles. The possible disrepair was unimaginable.

@Pride

Pride listened, politely silent, allowing Mercurius his time to think--and to respond.

The stag pricked up his ears at the mention of a garden, however, rather surprised.

"Truly? I have lived in Orion for most of my life; I had never seen a garden. But then, these caves are large," he added, musingly. Up he pushed, long legs uncurling from beneath him. He paced over, impulsively, to offer Mercurius a kind and brief nudge with his nose--a gentle touch, friendly and companionable. Had he been capable of hugging, perhaps he'd have attempted that.

He turned, then, gracefully picking his way out of the garden. "Shall we, then? I've so many more stories I must think of. I'd another in the works, so to speak, but... it is the ending that bothers me. However do you imagine them?"

Hooves whooshed softly through the moss, antlers shearing off a bit of overhanging foliage accidentally, which then clung to their tines. He shook his head but it remained there, and he decided to leave it be as he made his way out. "I posed a conundrum, in my second story, so great that I myself cannot answer it." He sounded faintly amused. "Perhaps I can leave it open-ended, as a lesson, for the listener to decide--but that may be frustrating for them... unsatisfying. What do you think?"

exit Pride ; @Mercurius

"My gardens have been known to be well-hidden," the lion rumbled softly, an amused tone at the edge of his voice. Moonset eyes traced Pride's path as he approached, nosing gently at his forehead. Mercurius was tempted to shy away from the touch, rather uncertain of what his companion was doing, but he returned it in kind. It was a simple, but soothing gesture. It was funny how they already seemed to be such close friends, as if they were worlds apart but so similar. His paws carried him eagerly in the pale deer's path. "Let us visit your home, then."

And good-natured conversation would begin, putting a soft smile on Mercurius's face. He appreciated the casual banter, the discussion. "It's hard to find an end which matches the beginning," he began, mulling over his own processes of thinking, "but I often just imagine a great number of endings and decide on what one best suits the story I wish to tell." The pale beast chortled, "that's rather unhelpful."

Full-on snickering at the folly of Pride's antlers, he mused, "perhaps... it is a conundrum not meant to be answered by one Gembound." Perhaps it was to be decided by whoever heard the story, thought of it, rolling it between the vestiges of their mind and seeing all perspectives they wished to.

; exit Mercurius

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