To Nereus
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IamLEAM1983
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To Nereus
What do the other rebels think of your relationship with Meris?
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IamLEAM1983
- Site Admin
- Posts: 3710
- Joined: Tue Jan 08, 2013 4:54 am
- Location: Quebec, Canada
As Nereus
"Well, to answer that, you have to consider the fact that I was born in the Sixth House; Harrogath's House of Sin. The stars made me a sensitive and passionate man, and I was supposed to apply this passion to my service. Meris stepped in and stole my heart before any of this could happen. I'd spent centuries waiting for some sort of connection to form, for me to finally feel called to Amaxi and her Brothers, but there were no dark stirrings of desire between me and the Many-Armed. She tried, repeatedly so, but no amount of earlier apparitions in the Darkhallow stoked my fire.
I suppose I always was a xenophile, deep down.
Anton's love for Eithne was more brisk, as I was told. More practical, even more rooted in their common projects. He felt very little for very few people, and that allowed him to remain hidden amongst the Prelacy for decades. He only had eyes for Eithne. If I'd met the man, I suppose he would have chastised me for basing my love for Meris on pleasure alone, for creating a place where we could express our love without interference. The truth is I kept pursuing my initial plans only because I saw them as a means to return to Meris. I've spent centuries hiding the fact that I was secretly famished for her. With the both of us being freed from our obligations, I have feverish fantasies of latching onto her and never letting her go, ever again.
Of course, we both have jobs to hold down. I suppose I'll have to content myself with evenings and nights... Ah, the vagaries of the amorous salaryman!
Lulroth, now Lucian, had a more elderly approach to his own relationship with his Mary. He'd purchased her in her prime and even as he was already old, and was already surrounded with foreign flesh and blood. Very little in his mansion still held true to the precepts of the Black Books and the Others, but he hid it very well. He was already more of a xenophile than I would ever be, but his lack of stamina kept his love on a largely intellectual level. He loved Mary with a chaste and reverent adoration. Where I would lick every inch of Meris' skin with my tentacles to scrape every fragrant particulate from it to try and fill myself with that elusive sense of what makes Meris who she is; Lucian was the kind who meant more with longing glances and held hands than I ever could.
I remember being forced to exchange a smirk with Meris when we first met them. These two had already forgotten more about love than I had ever learned with her.
Today, Lucian is a sort of graceful widower. He extends heaps of praise towards the fairer sex, but you can plainly feel he isn't allowing himself to fall for anyone else. Mary is too strong a figure in his heart, and he believes few people could understand what it means to fall in love with someone's mind and spirit, rather than how comely or youthful their features were. She died of old age, as far as I know, but did so with the sort of quiet honors that would have been expected of a queen - at least in Lucian's old mansion. She wasn't simply the headmistress for the rest of the manor's help - she was the head of his little family. He goes so far as to consider that the descendants of his slaves as well as those of the children that were born and grew up in his manor are his descendants by extension. There's a few Rothchilds around America and England who have heard of a venerable relative in antiquated clothes and with a wispy beard, and a scant lucky few who email or write him on a personal basis.
The short of it is that my love for Meris is an ideal we all share, although it's expressed in different means for each of us. Anton probably won't survive his first year of conjugal harmony, not after having been such a busybody for so long. He'll have to keep working on something or risk going mad out of sheer boredom. He will, however, be happier than he's ever been. Lucian is far too old to hope to tie the knot with someone a second time, but he's received a bit of pleasant news, recently: a branch of the Rothchilds has implanted itself in Hope, and they're willing to offer him room and board, along with nursing services.
I don't think anyone could ask for more than a few twilight years spent with loving relatives, honestly."
I suppose I always was a xenophile, deep down.
Anton's love for Eithne was more brisk, as I was told. More practical, even more rooted in their common projects. He felt very little for very few people, and that allowed him to remain hidden amongst the Prelacy for decades. He only had eyes for Eithne. If I'd met the man, I suppose he would have chastised me for basing my love for Meris on pleasure alone, for creating a place where we could express our love without interference. The truth is I kept pursuing my initial plans only because I saw them as a means to return to Meris. I've spent centuries hiding the fact that I was secretly famished for her. With the both of us being freed from our obligations, I have feverish fantasies of latching onto her and never letting her go, ever again.
Of course, we both have jobs to hold down. I suppose I'll have to content myself with evenings and nights... Ah, the vagaries of the amorous salaryman!
Lulroth, now Lucian, had a more elderly approach to his own relationship with his Mary. He'd purchased her in her prime and even as he was already old, and was already surrounded with foreign flesh and blood. Very little in his mansion still held true to the precepts of the Black Books and the Others, but he hid it very well. He was already more of a xenophile than I would ever be, but his lack of stamina kept his love on a largely intellectual level. He loved Mary with a chaste and reverent adoration. Where I would lick every inch of Meris' skin with my tentacles to scrape every fragrant particulate from it to try and fill myself with that elusive sense of what makes Meris who she is; Lucian was the kind who meant more with longing glances and held hands than I ever could.
I remember being forced to exchange a smirk with Meris when we first met them. These two had already forgotten more about love than I had ever learned with her.
Today, Lucian is a sort of graceful widower. He extends heaps of praise towards the fairer sex, but you can plainly feel he isn't allowing himself to fall for anyone else. Mary is too strong a figure in his heart, and he believes few people could understand what it means to fall in love with someone's mind and spirit, rather than how comely or youthful their features were. She died of old age, as far as I know, but did so with the sort of quiet honors that would have been expected of a queen - at least in Lucian's old mansion. She wasn't simply the headmistress for the rest of the manor's help - she was the head of his little family. He goes so far as to consider that the descendants of his slaves as well as those of the children that were born and grew up in his manor are his descendants by extension. There's a few Rothchilds around America and England who have heard of a venerable relative in antiquated clothes and with a wispy beard, and a scant lucky few who email or write him on a personal basis.
The short of it is that my love for Meris is an ideal we all share, although it's expressed in different means for each of us. Anton probably won't survive his first year of conjugal harmony, not after having been such a busybody for so long. He'll have to keep working on something or risk going mad out of sheer boredom. He will, however, be happier than he's ever been. Lucian is far too old to hope to tie the knot with someone a second time, but he's received a bit of pleasant news, recently: a branch of the Rothchilds has implanted itself in Hope, and they're willing to offer him room and board, along with nursing services.
I don't think anyone could ask for more than a few twilight years spent with loving relatives, honestly."