Nightfall Glimpses

[Nightfall]

Nightfall sat on the floor staring at the box. Despite the oddities that had surrounded getting it, there it was. He hadn't opened it since it was handed to him, and he still remembered the instructions it came with.

Picking it up, he stared at it, and set it back down.

Although his voice was still in there, and not with him, he felt an odd peace. He hadn't been able to go back home, but at least now he hadn't left anything behind, either.

He still didn't understand the meaning of Sybil's words as payment, but he was indebted to her --all of them-- for helping him. He was whole again.

Picking it up again, he considered Lisaundra's words before they had gone to the Market. Truly, it frustrated him at times, but he knew the root of that frustration was anger and resentment. Much had been taken from him, but not this, any longer.

Having it was enough, for now.

[Nightfall]

Nightfall took the little box down off of the shelf, and sat on his bed, staring at it. Things seemed to keep coming and going out of his life, constantly changing. Nothing will ever be the same. He had tried. Stayed out of the Freehold. Stayed out of Court business. Just minded his own business, worked, and tried to have some semblance of normalcy.

In the first half of his life, everything had been taken. Now, everyone had simply left him. Everything changes. You can't depend on anything, except that nothing is forever. What other lessons were there?

As long as the box remained, that could be taken again, too.

So, he opened the box.

[Nightfall]

Neil dribbled, faked, and shot a perfect fadeaway. A buzzer beater. A hero. Fans swarmed onto the court, lifting him, laughing, on their shoulders. Hands grasped at his legs in congratulation. The legs of a PAC-10 basketball star. Not a fencer's legs. Not a dancer's legs.

He smiled and laughed, basking in the praise and yelling at his teammates, coach, fans... family. Neil gave in to his father's bear hug, and camera flashes caught the moment.

Never had his father looked so proud, or happy.

Neil blinked rapidly once or twice, pulled his coat closer, adjusted his ball cap, and left.

[Nightfall]

With a flourish, the mime presented the girl with a flower, seemingly made from the penny she had given him. Smiles exchange; she blushes, and runs to rejoin her friends. Squeals and laughter fade as they continue on their way.

A final look around, and the mime bows to the last of his audience... a hot dog vendor. The Archer begins his Lonely March, wiping at the face paint.

Again; alone.

For the second longest Freeholder, he knew few others. The one he knew best, had the innocent lack of expectations of a child. Others, he had danced past, stopping once or twice to try to evoke a smile: Derry, Juno. The closest relationship he had came and went into the night; again, without expectations or commitments.

He didn't question how, or why, such had come to pass. Nor did he question if it was, or was not, who he was.

Hands pulled the toggle coat closer, as Winter chilled him.

[banner]nf[/banner]

[Nightfall]

It is never enough to have a gift. Gifts need a purpose.

He had always been a gifted athlete; more importantly, he was a dedicated one. Hours, days, weeks, years could be sacrificed to the pursuit of perfection. He had done it before. He knew how.

Perfection was the only thing his father had accepted; the only thing he'd wanted.

So he was perfect.

Even when he passed the point where his father's critical eye could gauge, he did not stop. He would not stop.

Not now.

Because he wasn't perfect.

But Nightfall was.

...and there was nothing else for him to give.

...

Duct tape covered the the holes in the fingers of the glove; bandages underneath that. Training tape covered the linear lacerations on his forearm.

He wasn't perfect, yet. Not with this, not yet; but he was out of time.

The Archer took aim, and put the gift to purpose.

...

It would be dismissed with a charming, rakish grin; blamed on a friend. A tow truck would soon have the tire changed and the newlyweds on their way.

He would know, though -- know that the perfect life was a lie; know that the Archer still pursued perfection.


[banner]nf[/banner]


Both halves are developing well;
My wounds are remainders
Painful as hell
- KMFDM

[Nightfall]

Voila Le Crepe.

Despite looking like a baggie of sticky flaky crack powder, that's what was in it; available only by catalog from Williams Sonoma.

Let no one be fooled:

It is not easy being easy.

Neil had long ago learned to travel with a mini toothbrush and toothpaste rolled up inside a t-shirt with boxers and socks. The devil is in the details, though. If you have to leave early, do in style.

He'd also learned long ago that most single women live on granola bars and frozen yogurt, supplemented by lettuce wraps and Starbucks. Which... didn't leave many options for making them breakfast.

Hence the baggie.

While the stove warmed up, he jogged down to the corner gas station for a bottle of milk, a half-carton of eggs, and blackberry jam. A few wild flowers plucked on the way back, and he was set. Once mixed, he started flipping crepes, setting the table, finding a vase, and pouring the rest of the milk into a glass in between flats of fried goodness. A plate on top to keep them warm, wash the frying pan, and he was done.

Why crepes?

For one, his mother made them, and he loved them. A couple rolled up were perfect for walking home or to the bus stop. Secondly, crepes were crepes. They said, "I had a great time, and I'm sorry I had to leave early." Much better than, say, a bag of donut holes.

He stopped to take one last peek at Alison before he left, and to remind himself of why he'd been wearing a silly smile all morning. It was incredibly tempting to snuggle back into bed with her... but he had students, and the bills they paid.

He'd had a great time.

He was sorry he had to leave early.

[banner]nf[/banner]

[Nightfall]

Nightfall entered the auditorium, with his pass on a lanyard around his neck. As a teacher of prospects, he was allowed in the guest gallery with the other teachers.

He walked around, examining faces. Today, here, at tryouts for Duke's fencing team, the area would be awash in emotions... but the teachers were the best. Many of them were failed hopefuls, and many more were simply past their prime. Here, watching their passions fulfilled vicariously, many would even weep openly as their students triumphed... or failed. Even in triumph, their own sorrow wouldn't be denied.

Then he saw him.

Sure, the tide was going out on his hairline, and saggy jowels had replaced a sharp jawline, but he still recognized him.

Neil sat down next to him, with a polite smile, their ages a stark contrast and reminder of what once was. A reminder of the Thief of Always.

The students began, and both men watched and mumbled critiques, letting their common interest forge a companionable bond.

"I once almost made the Olympic team, back in '92" the other man said in a pause. They'd been chit-chatting for over an hour now, and credentials began to be displayed in a verbal mirror of what they were watching.

"Oh? Really? What happened?" Nightfall replied, as a new pair began.

"The other guy got lucky because I was coming off of an illness," the man replied with a sigh.

There was a long pause before Nightfall answered. "He was better and faster, and exploited a weakness in a poor forte to foible technique."

The man spun in his seat, shock clear on his face, and his eyes darted to Nightfall's pass.

Neil Fields, not Nikolay Filippov, pointed to the stage disingenuously. "There... Did you not see?"

The ashen-faced man turned away, and Nightfall leaned forward to place his face in his palms, concealing his smile at his coup de grâce.

Reaching out, he began to gather, and the man beside him was the cherry on top.

[Nightfall]

They say that the depth of any emotion is the capacity for it's opposite.

There was a reason for the mime in the park. Beyond the shitty hot dogs, hecklers, and ball cap of change. Even beyond the smiling children and ringing laughter.

It was where the old man stopped on his morning walk, to give his failing bear of a body a rest. Sometimes he was accompanied by a bluish-grey haired old woman, thin, with bird-like movements. Today, the pretty blond was with them, with a stroller.

They'd had to adopt, of course.

Still, the love and affection were genuine. He could feel it.

A flower appeared from nowhere for her, and exaggerated expressions animated his face for burbling laughter from the baby. Even without the face paint, or slicked back hair, there wasn't worry. His jawline was still razor sharp; there was no beginning bulge of a paunch. His movements were graceful, supple. He was younger.

Their laughter was the laughter of the Thief of Always, taking the light from his eyes, filling him with pain. With sorrow. Their laughter was the bittersweet memory of happiness, and he did not begrudge them it even as he evoked the purity.

He was another story. The mime never came when he was there. He never would.

Especially not now.

It wasn't fair.

A coin spun lazily across the back of his hand, disappearing, spilling out as three more when the hand opened.

One was for a mystery, with as many secrets as he had.

One was for purity, and a life of lies he knew he could not lead.

One was for a question, and the answer.

The coins disappeared again; gone as if they never were, gone as if they were spent.

The mime bowed -- the show was over.

He understood, now.

Sorrow was for all things lost. Happiness wasn't it's opposite.

[banner]nf[/banner]

[Nightfall]

Nightfall sat in the grass of McClatchy Park, drinking a lemon Propel. He had greeted the sun with a run, then several katas, taking his normal morning routine outside. Sweat trickled down his bare back; more than one person had stopped to 'tie their shoe' earlier when his well-toned body had been on display as he stretched it though exercises.

Now, though, it was only him, and the pinkish-gold light that drenched him, lighting his skin with radiant purpose. It was his first morning as a Lord of the Morning, and he met it as the darkness was banished, as the light of revelation exposed choices and opportunities.

Inside, the wisp fluttered, beating it's wings like a newborn drying them in the breaking sun's warmth. Strong, insistent.

Purposeful.

Neil could feel it had grown -- perhaps because he had stopped fighting it; perhaps because he had joined purpose with it.

"What do I have left to give?"

The words echoed back now, the words he had asked of Arianna.

He hadn't known, then.

Now, he was beginning to understand.

[banner]nf[/banner]

[Nightfall]

The silver dollar rolled down the mime's forearm, dancing through shards of light like a child running through a sprinkler. As it rolled onto the back of his hand, a knuckle raised to set it spinning, and he captured the silver orb on the tip of a finger.

Heads.

Tails.

Darkness and light.

Day and night.

Sunrise and sunset.

Two halves; faces of the same, born as one, spinning to make a whole.

As the mime drank in the starry-eyed dreams of his audience of children, the sweet, pure light of all things possible, he wondered where his brother was.

[banner]nf[/banner]

Find out the way that it feels
Structures fall to pieces, Deny Your Ideals
Bury the Earth Let's take every nation
Systems struggle, Borders fall, Shake the foundation

Both halves are developing well;
My wounds are remainders -- Painful as hell
Either one face each on one side
Like a wall in the heart, Like twins torn apart
- "Split", KMFDM