Garden of roses

[Diana Warren]

A quiet laugh escaped Diana, soft enough not to disturb the garden around them. There was no mockery in it, only the warmth of someone amused by another's certainty.


"And yet words brought us to this conversation," she observed, hazel eyes drifting from the blossom back to the woman's face. "If they truly meant nothing, neither of us would still be standing here."


She let the thought linger before smiling, the expression subtle and genuine.


"I think beauty can become a curse, but only when people mistake possessing it for understanding it. A rose imprisoned beneath glass may live longer untouched, yet it no longer sways with the breeze or perfumes the air as freely. Preservation has its own price."


Her gaze wandered over the sea of blooms, taking in the endless variations of crimson, blush, and ivory before settling once more on her companion.


"As for music..." Diana's voice softened. "Perhaps that's why I love it most. A performance belongs only to those present. Even a recording is only an echo of that moment. Every hesitation, every breath between notes, every imperfection—it dies the instant it's born. There's something wonderfully honest about that."


She folded her hands behind her back, taking a slow step along the path.


"I speak Spanish well enough to hold a conversation and stumble my way through Latin when necessity demands it, though I'd hardly call myself a master. Languages, like music, reveal how differently people see the same world."


A sidelong glance carried the faintest hint of mischief.


"You seem to place great value on what lingers in memory after the moment has passed. Tell me... has there ever been a piece of music, a painting, or even a single conversation that has stayed with you for the majority of your existence—not because it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever experienced, but because it quietly changed the way you looked at the world?"

[Alicia Silvers]

Softly joining in the laugh for but a moment, the little teasing play clearly having had some effect at least.
"Our minds are not alike." Gazing out over the park without fully looking away from the woman. "They can convey anything and everything, but in the end they are hollow without the action to back them up." Looking back towards her in full. "Action is all that matters, actions are oh so much harder to make a lie."

Moving herself closer towards a flower, without getting closer towards the woman not wanting to try and close that distance.
"Flowers been taken from their natural homes, picked to slowly die for fleeting beauty." Caressing it´s petals. "Wars waged for it." Pathetic really. "Tales of myth and legend alike born because of it." Sighing. "Death, feuds, pain and curses rampant. Beauty like everything has its price, the more something holds it the higher the price they might have to pay." Shaking her head silently. "What matters how to wield that curse well enough to make the price worth it."

A shine going up in her eyes at the words, tasting them, licking her purple lips as purple eyes grows a bit kinder and more intrigued by the woman.
"That was beautiful." Love being a strange choice of a word though. "What kind of music draws you in, any favorites that truly tickles your fancy?" Scanning her body for a brief breath. "Or do you perhaps play or even sing yourself?"

Raising an eyebrow in surprise, the Spanish well that was common enough but Latin.
"You speak Latin to such a degree, now that is not something you see everyday." Shaking her head a little, taking a second to think. "How do you say lets see." Tapping her lips. "Valde infigo" Not certain if she had ever really spoken the language aloud to anyone before this. "What made you study a dead language to such a degree?" Certainly there must be some tale there.

Cocking her head with a soft smile.
"I do suppose I have asked my fair share of things, and you have answered so hmm." Sorting through her mind for a bit, trying to pick a moment. "It is not music, it is not art, not as you would know it at least. During my second life I met a man with a view of the world so far from anything you could fathom, the way his eyes and words could crumble reality, reshape and rebuild it, its beauty forever etched into me. Such understanding of fundamental matters, of the universe, of every molecule, a symphony." Sighing. "To bad his life was cut short." But such was the price for his folly.

[Diana Warren]

Diana listened without interruption, her expression softening as the woman spoke of action, beauty, and the price both demanded. She found herself smiling—not because she agreed with every conclusion, but because conviction was always more interesting than certainty.


"I think our minds are more alike than you give them credit for," she said quietly. "You simply have less patience for words than I do."


Her gaze drifted toward the roses, following the delicate line of a crimson petal as it swayed in the evening breeze.


"Action gives words meaning, I won't argue that. But words have started revolutions, ended wars, inspired discoveries, and convinced people to walk willingly to their deaths. They are not hollow. They're seeds." She looked back to the woman. "Whether they bloom into something beautiful or poisonous depends entirely upon the hands that plant them."


Her smile became almost wistful as the conversation turned to music.


"I've always been drawn to the piano. Chopin when I'm reflective, Rachmaninoff when the world feels too small, Debussy when I need reminding that music doesn't always have to resolve." A soft laugh escaped her. "I never had any formal training. Cannot play a note of it, but I can listen. Singing..." She gave a small, self-aware smile. "Best avoided entirely."


The compliment toward learning Latin drew a brighter smile.


"My father insisted I start learning it." There was unmistakable affection in the memory. "I'm not fluent yet, but I'm working toward it. History, philosophy, theology... they all become richer when you can read them without another person's interpretation standing between you and the author."


Her eyes lit with genuine amusement.


"And your pronunciation wasn't bad."


She repeated the phrase, slower and more deliberate, carefully shaping each syllable as she spoke.


"*Valde infigo.*"


"I've always loved languages. Latin especially—it opens doors to understanding things as they were originally written, without layers of translation softening or shifting their meaning. Every language carries ideas another culture found so important they created words the rest of us have to describe with entire sentences."


Then she fell silent as the woman spoke of the man she'd known.


Diana didn't interrupt. She simply listened.


When the story reached its end, she inclined her head respectfully.


"People like that leave strange ghosts behind." Her voice had lowered. "Not hauntings... echoes. You begin to see the world through questions they taught you to ask."


She folded her hands loosely behind her back.


"I don't know who he was." A brief pause. "But I envy anyone fortunate enough to spend time with someone capable of changing how they perceived reality."


Another thoughtful smile.


"I suppose that's why I love both music and art. Neither changes the world, but it changes the person hearing it."


Her hazel eyes met the woman's violet ones.


"They change the person looking at it. Sometimes that's the more impressive miracle."

[Alicia Silvers]

Cocking her head ever so slightly towards the woman, a coy smile priding her lips with the faintest of shifts to a softer tone, a bit curious as to why the shift to a softer voice.
"The price of being raised on sweet whispers and gentle lies." Or just high society. Calmly listening to the tale of words with intrigued eyes before chuckling at the argument of them. "Are those the words though, or are they the action to give a speech, to inspire, and people choosing to act on them?" To her it was just a prelude. "The words got power cause they resonated and gave birth to action." Tasting the thought for a moment whilst inhaling the scent of the flowers around them. "Seeds you say, I like that, its a beautiful way to view it. Regrettably so does action still serve to move me more than words ever could. But I shall admit that words and words are not the same."

Shying back at the words, not even trying to hide the distaste at the mention of the piano.
"I'm familiar." Brief and cutting off the talk of piano from her side there, having nothing further to say. "A shame, did you yourself not speak of words being seeds, and the beauty of music born in the moment?"

The emotional touch evident to read, not certain what Kindred would be so open with such matters but not like her and the hers weren´t known for seeking the strongest of feelings or being emotional.
"Then what of Hebrew, Koine Greek, and Aramaic? If you wish to read theology are they not all vital tongues to learn?" Not so much for the other parts but for theology they were vital. "Latin in all its glory, a strong tongue, filled with centuries of history but no single tongue is ever the end all be all, even when we venture into dead languages."

Having to hold back from laughing, of course her pronunciation wasn´t bad, placing a light smile on her lips with a playfully raised eyebrows.
"See sometimes watching Asterix gives an advantage at the most random of times." Moving slightly closer amused by the words, not having heard many whom valued them as she did, whom saw the potency of them in their full vigor. "Now you are speaking my melody Ms.Warren, there are so many wonderful ones, filled with so much more than most give them credit for, English, Spanish, Latin, French, Sumerian, old and new, not a single language without a depth of intricacies to explore and master, each with their own melody and fascination. A living piece of history, sometimes of a time so old none alive can recall it."

Arching her neck back ever so lightly with a dismissive brief laugh.
"Well that bastard did nearly put me six feet under so he got what was coming for him." Moving her neck back down again, the memories bittersweet in their fullest sense. "His mind was quite something, but a self serving bastard through and through."

"And do they change us as it were intended, or do we as a species collectively force our own meanings unto matters, distort the original purpose and twist it to our own preferences?" Needing a second to sort through her mind. "The turner diaries causing radicalization with over 150 lives as the price. Scream with copycat murders, not to mention the dangers of the song My Way by Sinatra. None of them intended."

[Diana Warren]

Diana let the conversation settle between them for a moment, reaching out to brush her fingertips across the velvet petals of a crimson rose. The bloom bent beneath the light touch before springing back, resilient despite its delicate appearance.


"A whisper can be every bit as dangerous as a battle cry," she said quietly. "Sometimes more so. No one braces for a whisper."


Her hazel eyes lingered on the flower rather than the woman beside her.


"I think you are missing some of the picture. You agreed with my analogy of words as seeds. I see them as seeds as well—but seeds alone are never enough." A faint smile curved her lips. "They still need tending, action, intention. Without that, they remain nothing more than potential. It is what we do with them that allows them to grow into something real."


The scent of roses filled the silence before she continued.


"As for music..." Her expression softened for only a heartbeat before becoming unreadable once more. "There are melodies I would rather leave buried. Some doors, once opened, never quite close again."


She didn't elaborate.


At the mention of ancient languages, however, genuine interest returned to her features.


"I've always admired that no language truly dies. Even when no one speaks it, it lingers in those that follow. Latin echoes through medicine and law. Greek preserved scripture. Sumerian survives in clay and dust, waiting for curious hands." She smiled faintly. "Immortality, of a sort. More honest than fairy tales."


A quiet laugh escaped her as they wandered farther between the rows of roses.


"And yes... Asterix has taught more people fragments of Latin than many classrooms ever managed."


When the conversation drifted toward intention and consequence, Diana's smile faded.


"I don't believe meaning belongs solely to the creator." She plucked a loose petal from a bloom that had already begun to wilt, letting it rest in her palm. "The moment words leave your mouth—or ink leaves your pen—they cease being entirely yours. Every reader carries a different history, a different wound, a different hunger."


She released the petal, allowing the night breeze to carry it away.


"Some find courage in a story. Others find permission. The story hasn't changed... only the soul reading it."


Her gaze finally settled on the other Kindred.


"Perhaps that's what makes language so extraordinary." A thoughtful smile returned. "Not that it possesses power on its own, but that it reveals the power already waiting inside the person who hears it."

[Alicia Silvers]

Keeping a calm look upon the gold clad woman, giving her time to fully speak on the analogy, on her views of the matter before parting her own lips to respond.
"Or I simply do not share your view in full." Sharing a base commonality yes but not the end. "Question being where you take the difference between words and action, is nurturing a reaction an action of the one whom speaks, or is it just words? Is as you speak nurturing matters not in itself an action, it is just yours, words fueled by your own action to use them. You having shown your colors in them." More so curious to see how far the woman would take the discussion at this point, the chance to gain a glimpse into another's psyche seldom a wasted opportunity.

Taking a steady slow breath through her nose, lips parting with the start of a melodic tune only to bite down, head moving slightly to the side with a playful smile upon her lips.
"Don´t we all have those." Not curious enough to pry further in this moment.

Placing one hand upon each side of her own shoulders.
"Beautiful words." Turning her head down, making sure to just keep her feet in view to be able to move away if needed. "So very beautiful." Sighing. "Yet so saddening." Shaking her head ever so lightly before looking up. "Here you speak of Latin and Sumerian, even mention Greek." Looking a bit disappointed. "Part of me thinking I had finally encountered someone else whom sees languages for their beauty and yet you speak of Sumerian, of history, of matters of preservation and immortality." Letting out a second sigh. "And not a word of the Akkadian tongue."

Making certain to keep a safe enough distance to be able to react as they moved around the roses.
"Meet the people in the manner that speaks to them and all that, we do have a few hundred thousand speakers left of the tongue certainly at least some draw their origins to such simple beginnings."

Thinking for a moment, wanting to let the words sit for a second as she admires the flowers, taking in their scent, having sought a calm night to begin with.
"And what does that mean for what they bring forth? Does the originator/creator carry a responsibility, or are the actions born purely from the recipients minds and they are to be held responsible?" And where were the lines. "What meaning is part of them and what interpretation is solely on the audience?" Taking up her Fum mod with a slow inhale. "The tale was woven, it is there, the themes there, as you said it does not change but it had a message, someone could find something in it, does that in itself not hold any meaning? Where are the lines, or is the topic simply uncomfortable?"

Feeling the breeze dance against her cheeks, carrying the scent of flowers with them along with small broken off petals.
"So does art, imagery, eternalized markings, and sculptures. Bound with a depth that transcends words, that transcends time, that was born in an era none can even begin to fathom, can even begin to truly comprehend the world the person lived in, how their day to day was so fundamentally different people of today could never understand them. And yet it can speak to them, can give them something deep beyond words, revealing things hidden deep inside."

[Diana Warren]

Diana's eyes wandered over the sea of roses, each bloom different despite sharing the same root. It seemed almost fitting.


"I wonder," she mused after a thoughtful silence, "if immortality would grant us more opportunities to assign meaning." Kindred were not immortal after all.


She paused beside a white rose, tracing the edge of a petal without disturbing it.


"A mortal lives long enough to witness one generation reinterpret a story. An immortal would have the privilege—or perhaps the curse—of watching it happen again and again." A quiet smile found her lips. "Heroes become villains. Monsters become martyrs. Saints become politicians. History has a remarkable talent for changing its mind."


Her gaze drifted upward toward the moonlight filtering through the garden.


"It is why I try not to become too attached to certainty. Certainty has a habit of embarrassing those who cling to it."


A soft chuckle escaped her.


"I suspect that is why I enjoy the physical so much. The body is honest. It tells you when it is failing, when it is healing, when it is starving. It can deceive, certainly, but only for so long. People..." She smiled knowingly. "People can spend centuries convincing themselves that the stories they tell are truths."


She looked back toward the other Kindred, curiosity replacing contemplation.


"You strike me as someone who has spent a great deal of time studying humanity." There was no accusation in her voice, only genuine interest. "Do you still find people surprising?" After all of these years was the silent part she couldn't say aloud.


For a moment she simply listened to the breeze stirring the roses.


"Or have we all become predictable once you've heard enough stories?"

[Alicia Silvers]

Taking a long time to just let the other Kindreds words sink in, beholding the flowers, breathing in the night not saying a word until she had fully spoken her mind.
"Is the immortal one individual, or are they a group, or is everyone?" Important distinctions. "The lonesome will watch the world in one manner, the group will in time find one to lead whom the rest will shape around, if everyone akin to elves would tales even take room, would things matter to begin with, would there be any depth, would meaning be there?" Shaking her head at the thought. "We do are making massive strides in telemores extension, which if we are unfortunate might result in vast life extension and possibility of a potential biological immortality one day." Horrible. "But if we hold no fear of death, of time not running out, of not being able to be killed would anything hold meaning?" Even they had the threat of final death looming over them.

Chuckling ever so softly.
"Certainty, I do not like that, never has, kings certain of their rule falling, armies crumbling, medicine disproving it, time and again all we know are put on its head."

Is she that old, or is that simply her way of viewing things?
"No, people are not." Looking away with just half an eye lingering upon the woman. "They never have been, their actions are saddening, you try to believe in them, try to give a chance, but in the end they are not surprising not at all. Their tales the same today as they were during the renaissance, the middle ages, or during the height of the Roman empire." People did not change. "The idols changes, the eras shift, the names change, but all I see are people that were the same then as they are now. Classes or castes, the many serving the few, the same goals and ambitions, ready to do the same, each thinking themselves unique, when in reality nearly none are." Sighing with a shake of the head as she looks back towards the woman. "Seeking it though, seeking the new is an eternal curiosity that at least can levitate things." Or perhaps just an eternal doomed to fail attempt to capture the height of feelings once more.

Lips parting, a warm tune beginning to take shape only to close once more to just speak.
"Mind sharing why we shifted to such a sudden depth of philosophical curiosities?"

[Diana Warren]

Diana listened without interruption, her expression contemplative as the other Kindred unraveled her thoughts. When the question of immortality came, she found herself nodding almost imperceptibly.


"I think death gives weight to choice," she admitted. "Knowing our time is finite forces us to decide what deserves it. If tomorrow were guaranteed forever..." She shrugged lightly. "Procrastination might become the defining trait of every immortal."


A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.


"Perhaps that is why we are not truly immortal. Death still exists. The defining trait of a club member still reminds us that existence has a cost." She was talking about Kindred and the beast.


She fell quiet as the conversation shifted to humanity.


"I wish I could disagree with you."


The words carried no bitterness, only resignation.


"I've worked with people my entire life. As a trainer, guiding others through their limits and ambitions." She folded her hands loosely before her. "I've seen remarkable kindness and astonishing cruelty, often from the same person. Given the right circumstances, almost anyone is capable of either."


Her gaze drifted to a rose whose petals had begun to brown around the edges.


"I don't think humanity changes nearly as much as its technology does. We simply find more sophisticated ways to express the same virtues... and the same flaws."


A gentle breeze stirred a loose strand of hair across her cheek.


"But I still look for exceptions." Her smile returned, quieter now. "Not because I expect to find them often, but because when I do, they remind me why the search is worthwhile."


Then came the question.


Why had they wandered so deeply into philosophy?


Diana's soft laugh barely disturbed the stillness of the garden.


"I spend most evenings discussing tactics, territory, obligations..." Her eyes wandered over the roses before returning to the woman beside her. "Necessary conversations, but predictable ones."


She tucked a hand into the pocket of her jacket.


"This..." she gestured subtly between them, "is far less common."


A thoughtful pause lingered.


"I've found that philosophy tells me more about someone than their accomplishments ever could. Anyone can tell me what they've done." Her hazel eyes met the other's steadily. "Very few people reveal how they think."


Another faint smile appeared.


"And I happen to enjoy meeting minds before reputations."

[Alicia Silvers]

"There is an old work that speaks of the differences immortality, the ones born with it, and those whom acquire it. Going into how the mind of those whom are born into it does not have the same issues as those whom acquire it, just being part of their biology to start with." Shaking her head. "And the mind numbing boredom that befalls those whom acquire it, I do wonder how true it is." It did have some merit but with no chance to actually try it well that was hard, not having met any being that was truly immortal and even less one that had a human like psyche to begin with.

Not giving a single response to the words of the woman calling them immortal, just giving her a brief but stern gaze of caution, knowing all to well that there were hunters and enemies around inviting them was hardly a wise choice.

"The soul is grey, it can be colored whichever way the holder desires, more often than not it does not meet backlash of the dark, making it easy to succumb to cruelty." Eyeing her with a soft look. "I am still intrigued to look into a training meeting should we come to meet again." Cocking her head with a little curious look. "And what are exceptions, kindness, the mind who sees it, the one whom dances the lines, what do you truly seek."

Caressing the petal of a rose as she slowly shakes her head, adjusting her hair, cupping it carefully and pulling up just hard enough to raise the flower head off its stem and handing it towards the woman.
"Then I hope we can have a more genuine conversation one day, one where we do not dance like this." She herself having shown very little genuine truth just dancing in safe paths and expecting the woman had done the same. "Technology changes man kinds ways, it does not change man kinds mind or beings, only giving them new way to express it but for now."

Backing away with a little wink towards the woman.
"Save me a dance for next time our paths cross." Backing away until no longer able to see her, turning around a corner and hurrying back towards her bike ready to go home and get some studies in before the infernal Sol would arrive.