Open Gods made of Stone

[Arianthe Swansong]

Time: 21st of Winter 512 AV - Late Afternoon.
Where: The Fountain of Cascading Harmony
Tagged: Open

Arianthe sat in her usual place by the fountain. It was not that she supposed she left her room that day with the intention of approaching the structure for, truth be told, she was not sure she believed much in religion anymore... apart from Kelwyn, there was something intensely romantic about a god of lost causes.
To her great surprise when she had stumbled upon the fountain and decided to stay there for a while, praying, wishing, hoping, there was nobody to be around. This surprised her intensely but she was determined to make the best of the situation.

She had never really had the time to look at the fountain properly - it was grandiose, that much she knew, but the detail, the craftsmanship had been something she had never taken the time to notice. Although it was a shrine to Laviku and the goddess of time, she felt there was something about Kelwyn about it, for was it not a symbol of lost causes? The sailors who would come with their hard earned cash just to give it away for a prayer and maybe the hope of a different future, the children who had lost a dearly beloved object and, with tears in their eyes, poured into the fountain the loose change that they had collected over months from their parents... even a romantic, an artist who had lost his love and was seeking desperately to find her, a philosopher who had lost all meaning in his life and was hoping that a chance encounter by the fountain would make him find his zest for living. They came, clutching brightly coloured stones and little gold coins, to pour their hearts out to the gods.

What did they wish for for the most part? Money, Fame, Glory, Love? In a way, she wondered if shallow selfishness and ambition were at the core of a large majority of the prayers uttered in this beautiful location. What if they wished for something which was unkind to another or detrimental to one's purity? Revenge, Power, Retribution. How would the gods react?

The stone figures had kindly, wise faces. Ageless, beautiful and strong, though not wholly youthful and, behind those stone eyes, Arianthe fancied that she could see a certain melancholy, a certain pity for the humans below... though she could be imagining things again.

[Valo]

It was late afternoon and Valo was truly sick of his work. He hadn't so much spite for painting in a while - in fact he hadn't so much anger built up in him since he was merely a youth, becoming frustrated with the lack of improvement in his techniques. But that day he had spent the entirety of the morning and afternoon painting, without making a single mistake but he was still not content. In fact he became suffocated, claustrophobic inside his own head. His mood progressively getting worse and worse. The side of Valo that no one was to see. A man so detached from reality that he yelled at paint and paper and buried his head in his palms in restlessness. Seemed it was unhealthy for his very soul to stay inside for prolonged periods of time.

Wrapping him self up in warm clothing, he slammed the door behind him and stormed out into the streets of Zeltiva. And as if waken away by the sea breeze,the bad mood had left him, his mind calm again, ready to return to the presentable Valo.

He wasn't quite sure why the Fountain of Cascading Harmony became the destination to which his long legs had carried him. None the less, after a good bell or so, of simple strolling, he found him self near the centre of the city where it was located. The fumes having now completely disappeared, were replaced by the involuntary muscle contractions which were shivering. And in this shivering state of his, a flash of honey blonde hair caught his eye and almost a smile appeared on his face, for it was quite some time since they had ran into each other. Arianthe Swansong sat alone by the fountain with her book again, a portrait of just that, harmony.

"Hello miss Swansong." he said, walking in her direction and halting a good couple metres away from her. A soft crescent of a smile upon his chiselled features. Suddenly a great piece overcame him too, with the stress of the earlier part of his day now no longer lingering in memory. The look in his eyes was that of detachment, as if he had been a ghost. "Beautiful day is it not?"

[Arianthe Swansong]

Arianthe looked up from the fountain at the familiar voice, and saw Valo standing there.

"Indeed it is a beautiful day. One would almost thing that it were not quite Winter."

Her initial reaction was to act with reserved calmness, or even hostility, but she was in far too good a mood to act with meanness towards anyone, even if that person had insulted and embarrassed her upon their last meeting. Anyway, what did she object to in him? His libertinage? Well, that came across as part of his nature and she really could not dislike him for something so basic in him if the rest of him was charming. And he helped orphans, so he could not be a complete useless excuse for a person - there must be good in a person who gave up their time so selflessly.

"How are you?" she ventured polite niceties, "Are you here to paint since I have heard that the fountain is a particularly popular subject for artists... and I can see why. It looks like the gods might really be hiding within the structure, laughing at the mere mortals below who think it is merely symbolic. The colours, the time and effort, and money it must have taken to make."

With this, Arianthe had looked away to stare back at the fountain, then turn to the scenes going on around it. The centre of Zeltiva always thrilled her - she loved Zeltiva, for she was certain that, though she had not travelled, there could be nowhere else in Mizahar with more charm.

[Valo]

Upon their previous encounter, Valo had thought the lady to be bitter, selfish and prudish. She had spoken to him as if he was a door mat on the floor, not a human being. She looked down on him as if his simple attempt at making conversation was an attack on her personal space, is if he was not a gentleman but a rat in fine clothing. Arianthe seemed to have taken an immediate disliking to him, but could he really blame her. A season had shifted into another and Valo was nothing but a new man - back then he thought him self a gentleman but was really a finely dressed brat. He thought him self so high and her so unjust. Perhaps it was the recent humbling that he experienced, that truly allowed him to communicate with Lady Arianthe Swansong.

She did not lash out, insult him or looked down upon him. A nymph, a creature of whimsy she sat there elegantly and spoke, beautifully formed words flowing from her beautiful mouth. The vocalisation of simple human interest.

"Ah no." he smiled, thinking back to earlier on in the day. What caused him such a moment of pure madness? It was preposterous to bite his thumb at canvases. Art had never before been his dismay. "I am merely a man, looking for some serenity. It was only by chance that this search led me here." admitted Valo. He took a few steps closer and seated him self directly opposite her, yet a distance away. "I see what you mean about the fountain. The craftsmanship is truly splendid, as if carved by the hand of a god it self."

For a moment he had looked where she did. The city of Zeltiva with it's citizens of all shapes and sizes, cohabiting the same space but never really knowing each other's names. They lived their lives with their emotions and dreams, oblivious to one another, merely getting though the day. He found him self wondering what it would be like if the gods of the fountain were to spring free from the stone cast and began walking with the mortals. Their hard forms suddenly becoming animated in a fabulous display of anatomy, for the figures truly looked like they may at once spring to life. Such foolish thoughts lingered within the mind of an artist. After all the goal of an artist is to give meaning and to breathe life into their very creation.

[Arianthe Swansong]

"Serenity in the centre of the city of Zeltiva?" questioned Arianthe, picking up on the word with a light laugh, "I am afraid you have come to the wrong place, though it is holy, for I am sure there are many, many better places to enjoy the peace and quiet rather than this never-ending commotion. Unless, of course, you do not mind the hustle and bustle and we have simply got very different accounts of what serenity is... which seems to me to be a highly probable notion."

At this, she turned back with a slight smile, watching Valo sit down opposite her. She wondered how this meeting was going to end - hopefully better than last time since Arianthe was not in the habit of making herself enemies, though she wasn't really in the habit of making herself many friends either anymore.

[Valo]

She spoke much truth and this caused a gentle smile upon Valo's chiselled features. He was calm now, just like the statues. "I say, dear lady Swansong, that serenity and tranquillity are in the eyes of the beholder. You see sometimes the hustle and bustle of the city can prove much more serene than the turmoil of one's own mind. Wouldn't you agree?" he spoke gently. He too wondered whether his relationship with this woman would improve, or once again spiral down into a flaming abyss, like almost every time they met. She wasn't a terrible woman, of course not. But just like him, she was no saint. Besides, he was in no shape to quarrel with her today, it seemed, all ability to quarrel had been sucked out of him by his tireless work. And perhaps this was the reason the two seemed to converse in peace now... or perhaps it was the divine, watching over them to prevent a bloody battle of the word. "How bout you miss Swansong?" he asked. "What brings you here?"

[Arianthe Swansong]

"Indeed." said Arianthe with a light smile. The hustle and bustle of the city could often prove much more serene than the turmoil of one's own mind, she knew that all too well. In fact, it wasn't the serenity of it which had appealed to her when trying to drown out the sounds of her own mind, but the way it did exactly that - it was loud enough to drown out the dangerous whispers and murmurs which tortured her when she was in her room alone, the ghosts of her past that teased her with their sharp nails and laughing faces, smiles cut across like pulsating, bleeding red wounds from ear to ear and their strained, tired or vicious voices. They had not come to her for a while, and they never came here in the light of the centre of the city, where the voices spoke over theirs.

"I am not here for any particular reason. I'm not doing a lot. I am afraid to say that you will surely find me wholly dull."

[Valo]

"Au contraire" he smiled. "Not dull at all." They sat in silence for a prolonged moment and it seemed this silence was more natural than any kind of fake dialogue they could engage in. For the truth was, Valo understood little about the woman before him. She seemed as alien to him as anyone could ever be. And perhaps in the past the artist would tell him self he was not her, he had nothing in common with her and it'd be best if they simply avoided one another, for no common ground could ever be reached. But he was also a man who frequently engaged in deep pondering. After their last meeting he had spent many a night pondering which eventually caused a change of perspective within him. Despite being so incredibly different, they were both human, bot living an breathing. Beings with both pasts and emotions and ghosts which haunted them. Everyone had a ghost. Even he who had such a wonderful childhood. And this mutual humanity was enough to say he was in fact her. Though very different all human beings are fundamentally, at their very core, the same and this was enough a connection to at least make an effort to understand her. Knowing so little about the lady before him, it was truly terrible to judge her so quickly. Funny how in a wall of noise, the mind had a habit of choosing the sounds it wanted to hear. For a wall of noise was in fact the proper description of the centre of Zeltiva. But from beyond this noise the clearest sound to Valo was the tranquil sound of water as it fell from the fountain and broke the surface of the pool below. A relaxing sound both to the mind and body.

[Arianthe Swansong]

Arianthe smiled lightly and turned away then turned back to Valo with a pensive and slightly mischievous grin. "I want to show you something." Without waiting for a response, she delved a hand into the pocket of her cloak and took out the book of her poems which she always carried around wherever she went, something which had now become a trademark of her persona. "I wrote this after that day at the orphanage. It is not very good, but I am not very talented in the first place and certainly far less so when I am angry since I never know how to form the words." She flicked quickly through the pages, through every sight in Zeltiva, through the seasons and the days, through morning and night and lazy afternoons and evenings sparkling with a million stars, through humans and Kelvics and Nuit and everything in between... feelings, feelings she could not share with anything other than dead paper. Finally, she found the page she wanted. Her dark brown eyes glassed over so that they were illegible and she jutted out her chin as she handed the book over, open at the right page. "There was once a man of the Inarta With hair of burnt orange - flaming fire But the Libertine who crossed the Suvan Sea Indeed is too primed a pistol for me, For although we must never have taken The promise that we might be forsaken Too literally or act with too much pride An unborn child is too difficult to hide." With a light smile she waited, watching as he read it.

[Valo]

"There was once a man of the Inarta With hair of burnt orange - flaming fire But the Libertine who crossed the Suvan Sea Indeed is too primed a pistol for me, For although we must never have taken The promise that we might be forsaken Too literally or act with too much pride An unborn child is too difficult to hide." His eyes skimmed though the words, taking them in merely as pretty sounding; but with the very final sentence he was forced to read the whole passage over again. Did she know? Did she know of the child in the orphanage? Was there some hidden meaning behind this poem of hers? Valo's green eyes grew wider and his entire expression fell and had he not been so good at self composition, that very state would have lingered upon him. Handing back the book to Arianthe with the most fake of pleasant smiles he replied. "Fine poetry. You are very talented miss Swansong. Very talented indeed and I feel it my duty to apologise for my behaviour during our last meeting" he said, smiling the entire time. "However I must also apologise for cutting this meeting short, for I have just realised I have somewhere urgent to be. I do hope you have a wonderful day and I shall see you again soon." It was lies, all lies. He had nowhere to be, for an artist has never any urgency. But so easily, it seemed, he had been thrown off balance and needed much more than a mere moment to compose him self. Valo hadn't been returning to the orphanage as of late. In face he hadn't visited since the middle of Fall for hope of banishing that memory. Not once had he seen the delicate, copper haired baby girl. Though for all he knew, she wasn't even his but just an unfortunate coincidence. Still he had not wanted Arianthe finding out. He had not wanted anyone finding out. And his heart had grown cold and oblivious and he had made his peace with it by now. With a polite goodbye he walked away, leaving nothing but yet another memory behind.