I was definitely hoping for airproof. Although I don't know how I could work that into the story....
Circumstantial “You can’t have her! I have granted her mercy, and she is mine! Take someone else, anyone else!” Mercy gripped the edges of the balcony so hard that they were starting to splinter in her hands, and she was leaning forward over it. There was a heat haze around her as her anger literally boiled up and reddened her skin. “That was my proposal,” said Moros. Still looking like the Sun King Louis XIV he adopted a slightly foppish pose, leaning on his cane. He tilted his hat back on his head slightly to better see Mercy. “I shall take you instead then.” Mercy stared for a moment, then spat. A diamond-like blob of viscous liquid arced through the air and landed on Moros’s forehead, splattering across it and down his nose. “Very eloquent,” said Moros. He didn’t move, didn’t try to wipe it up or clean it off. “Is that your final answer, Mercy?” There was a crunching sound as the wooden balcony gave up fighting back and two chunks broke off in Mercy’s fists, scattering sawdust and splinters across the faces of the Incarnates below. “You never once asked me why I was protecting her,” said Mercy. Her voice was still rageful, choked and twisted from its normal tones, almost growling. “Not once. Would it have killed you to do so?” “No,” said Moros. “But I don’t care. If I listened to reasons, excuses,… circumstantial evidence I wouldn’t be Fate. I’d be Mercy.” “So what do I do when the reasons are good, the excuses are valid, the suggestions are intelligent, the appeals and whatever else are sensible? Do I shrug my shoulders and say, no, Fate has decreed that it be so?” “No,“ said Moros. “You come and ask me for a new fate for that mortal, because you believe that they are entitled to mercy. Sometimes you may get one. Sometimes there are other reasons, excuses, whatevers that take precedence. But I will listen to an intervention and I will weigh it. Fate is not unchangeable, for all that I am unchanging.” “I want—” “No, Mercy.” Moros’s interruption was calm like the desert at midday. “This is not news to you, nor to any being here. Save perhaps the Trespasser, to whom it doesn’t apply anyway. It is too late now to pretend otherwise. Your Fate is also sealed.” “But—” Mercy’s reply, whatever it would have been was cut short as the blue foam nerf dart from Death’s nerf gun popped through the air, arcing back along the trajectory that the spitball had taken, rising just slightly at the last moment to strike her between the eyes. There was a sound like hundreds of doves taking flight together and Mercy seemed to split apart into pale white shapes, each the size of a snowball, that wobbled and fuzzed like the blob-god when it was angry, slowly fizzling down to smaller and smaller points in the air, and finally vanishing altogether. What now? asked Cernunnos, directly to Death. A new Mercy will arise, replied Moros. There are very many small Mercies out there; the strongest will strive to fill the space left open, and one will succeed. But for the next few years or so the world may find it harder to obtain large mercies, or much compassion. I meant the Trespasser, said Cernunnos. They don’t look like they think the show is over yet. How do you send it away? Moros shrugged, and walked back to his not-a-throne. I was hoping you’d figure that one out, he said to Death.
Emily stared at her mother, who sighed with impatience. “You really shouldn't accept circumstantial evidence, dear. Yes, Chris disappeared, yes, there was a body. No, it wasn't Chris. Now. Come with me. We have a ferry to catch.”
3 comments:
I was definitely hoping for airproof. Although I don't know how I could work that into the story....
Circumstantial
“You can’t have her! I have granted her mercy, and she is mine! Take someone else, anyone else!” Mercy gripped the edges of the balcony so hard that they were starting to splinter in her hands, and she was leaning forward over it. There was a heat haze around her as her anger literally boiled up and reddened her skin.
“That was my proposal,” said Moros. Still looking like the Sun King Louis XIV he adopted a slightly foppish pose, leaning on his cane. He tilted his hat back on his head slightly to better see Mercy. “I shall take you instead then.”
Mercy stared for a moment, then spat. A diamond-like blob of viscous liquid arced through the air and landed on Moros’s forehead, splattering across it and down his nose.
“Very eloquent,” said Moros. He didn’t move, didn’t try to wipe it up or clean it off. “Is that your final answer, Mercy?”
There was a crunching sound as the wooden balcony gave up fighting back and two chunks broke off in Mercy’s fists, scattering sawdust and splinters across the faces of the Incarnates below. “You never once asked me why I was protecting her,” said Mercy. Her voice was still rageful, choked and twisted from its normal tones, almost growling. “Not once. Would it have killed you to do so?”
“No,” said Moros. “But I don’t care. If I listened to reasons, excuses,… circumstantial evidence I wouldn’t be Fate. I’d be Mercy.”
“So what do I do when the reasons are good, the excuses are valid, the suggestions are intelligent, the appeals and whatever else are sensible? Do I shrug my shoulders and say, no, Fate has decreed that it be so?”
“No,“ said Moros. “You come and ask me for a new fate for that mortal, because you believe that they are entitled to mercy. Sometimes you may get one. Sometimes there are other reasons, excuses, whatevers that take precedence. But I will listen to an intervention and I will weigh it. Fate is not unchangeable, for all that I am unchanging.”
“I want—”
“No, Mercy.” Moros’s interruption was calm like the desert at midday. “This is not news to you, nor to any being here. Save perhaps the Trespasser, to whom it doesn’t apply anyway. It is too late now to pretend otherwise. Your Fate is also sealed.”
“But—” Mercy’s reply, whatever it would have been was cut short as the blue foam nerf dart from Death’s nerf gun popped through the air, arcing back along the trajectory that the spitball had taken, rising just slightly at the last moment to strike her between the eyes. There was a sound like hundreds of doves taking flight together and Mercy seemed to split apart into pale white shapes, each the size of a snowball, that wobbled and fuzzed like the blob-god when it was angry, slowly fizzling down to smaller and smaller points in the air, and finally vanishing altogether.
What now? asked Cernunnos, directly to Death.
A new Mercy will arise, replied Moros. There are very many small Mercies out there; the strongest will strive to fill the space left open, and one will succeed. But for the next few years or so the world may find it harder to obtain large mercies, or much compassion.
I meant the Trespasser, said Cernunnos. They don’t look like they think the show is over yet. How do you send it away?
Moros shrugged, and walked back to his not-a-throne. I was hoping you’d figure that one out, he said to Death.
Emily stared at her mother, who sighed with impatience. “You really shouldn't accept circumstantial evidence, dear. Yes, Chris disappeared, yes, there was a body. No, it wasn't Chris. Now. Come with me. We have a ferry to catch.”
Greg - I'm sure you would have found a way :)
A fitting almost finale. But, sure, leave the difficult bit for Death to figure out, Moros. Jeez.
Morganna - ooh, we're back to this then, are we? Excited to see what comes next!
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