OOM: For Sinric on Halloween

[cook_the_rude]

It seems like an invasion, the dirty, scruffy barbarian striding into the clean, civilised room. Kitchen and bed, desk and dining table, book cases and sofa are all still there. The prints on the walls today are vintage 1950s fashion plates and pin-ups, giving the place a touch of playfulness.

The large polished table with six chairs awaits the pleasure of the diners.

Comments

[cook_the_rude]

"And they still strive and hope and send home money to their villages, where the grandparents look after the kids, and the working people only return home once a year, for New Year," Hannibal carries on. "People are amazing creatures, even Chinese factory workers."

Beat.

"My unfortunate contemporaries give you trouble for being a slave?"

[thewidewideworld]

He smiles softly and leans in to kiss Hannibal, slowly and sweetly. He loves how Hannibal sees the complexity in people, the humanity. Rather than writing them off by categorising them.

He sighs and rest his head on Hannibal's shoulder, tracing the lines of the tattoos that cover his chest. "Some. Some find the idea repulsive and as if I am some how tainted by it. Some wish to lecture me on the evils of a system I have no more power to change than the horses in the stables."

He ducks his head. "And worse, they pour scorn on my beloved master without understanding how fortunate I am to be his, or believing that there can be kindness and love in such a relationship. And then they scorn me for defending him as if I am some whipped child who knows no better." He can feel his eyes film with tears of frustration.

[cook_the_rude]

Hanibal kisses him back, and then listens quietly to all Simric has to say. "That is rudely disrespectful of your entire way of life, of everything that has meaning to you," he says. "Just as many Westerners will not accept that a Muslim woman may wear her veil by choice, not because some man forces her. None of these people who criticise you are entirely free, all are part of a system, and many keep in confines as rigid as those of the Chinese factory workers."

[thewidewideworld]

"I know they do so out of ignorance and rarely out of malice." With one exception at least. "And drive to believe their way is right. I suppose that only here can one look outside one's own cultures and time but there are few who truly see, or want to look."

[cook_the_rude]

"That's because they think history is an upwards spiral, and they're necessarily superior to the past," Hannibal says. "Never mind that the best violins and cellos in my world are several hundred years old, and nobody can duplicate Greek Fire. So they don't need to question either the values of old times, or the values of societies they think are backwards."

[thewidewideworld]

"How can the future exist without the past?" Sinric muses, fingers tracing the shapes of the tattoos in a lazy motion. "If those who came before are not respected, how can those who come after learn?"

[cook_the_rude]

"They think that the past is their foundation," Hannibal says, "but they've built further; so they respect the past while at the same time thinking themselves superior because they built beyond the foundation. They completely fail to see that history isn't a tower."

[thewidewideworld]

"Towers fall and fall again." Sinric sighs, eyes half closed. "No matter how well built."

[cook_the_rude]

"History is a sprawling house of labyrinths and ruins, cozy nooks and sudden pitfalls," Hannibal says. "Nothing near as structure as most people believe"

[thewidewideworld]

"I like that image." Sinric nods, still happily snuggled. "And even more so that this place is a hall that sits between the rooms."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal lifts his head just enough to touch his cheek against tousled golden curls. "It sits between them, and none of the rooms that connect to it is in any way preferential. A door is a door."

[thewidewideworld]

"And all our doors open somewhere different." He hums philosophically. "You make me wish I had the gift of a poet, to spin a net of words around that image."

[cook_the_rude]

"Different," Hannibal says, "but equal. The only place that stands beyond, in some way, is this one."

[thewidewideworld]

"I can't but wonder if any of the great poets came here before is. If epics have been sung, weaving in the tales of a place that stands beyond but without knowing, the listeners didn't regard it. Has this place has other names in the memories of man, recognised only by those who already knew it."

[cook_the_rude]

"It might have," Hannibal says. "And it's a thought, to explain why so many stories transcend so many worlds, and we meet those from our stories here."

Pause.

"That doesn't fully explain the different versions, though."

[thewidewideworld]

"Perhaps memory and culture tints the way we see the place. Or the way we tell the tale."

He falls silent a moment, hand paused on Hannibal's chest. "I want to tell my Lord before he dies. I want him to know the truth."

[cook_the_rude]

"How are you going to do it?" Hannibal asks, running his hand over Sinric's bare shoulders.

[thewidewideworld]

He sighs, leaning into the touch. "A song. I've been writing it for some time now. It's... not very good. It's the first time I've written anything this complex."

[cook_the_rude]

"Would you like to sing it to me, later?" Hannibal says. "For some constructive criticism?"

[thewidewideworld]

"I would like that very much." Sinric smiles, sweet and a little vulnerable. "It's in the Greek of my time but you speak it well."

[cook_the_rude]

"I do," Hannibal says, "and I would very much like to hear it."

[thewidewideworld]

"Then when we are both rested, I would be glad to sing it for you. I still... there are parts of it I am yet to be happy with."

[cook_the_rude]

"I will be glad to help you with them," Hannibal promises.

He strokes Sinric's warm skin, and falls silent for the moment.-


[[OOC: Fade here?]]

[thewidewideworld]

{ooc: perfect. That was lovely!}