folkmeme | texts from folkmore; tffm

"You may pretend all you like, my love," Mayerling says gently, lightly teasing, back. How much he can pick up from his interactions with mortals, the effects of his greater senses, is not the sort of thing they discuss commonly; however, Sharon is well aware of it. For social comfort, Mayerling usually says nothing of it to people he interacts with. They may not like it, and he cannot help but hear and smell and see what he sees. Someone could no more ask others to go about blindfolded, so as not to see their facial expressions, as to ask him to dull his senses. In fact, a blindfold would not be enough, for he could see through it.

He focuses on Sharon, on the wonderful person with him for whom he would discuss anything and consider whatever she might ask. That is no guarantee he would go against his principles and all that matters to him, but Mayerling knows she would not ask him to, not without good reason. Ergo, conversation. Communication. Teamwork. "It was not so rare in that day," Mayerling says, "not among my family, uncommon though it was outside it. Yet we have our faults. We pressed some, within our territory, but could not—did not commit ourselves to—such betterment of all vampires. With that weakness, that acceptance of their status quo, we too have a part in dooming our race. I do."

There was a point in their relationship where she'd become acutely aware of how much Mayerling could pick up, but he'd never drawn her attention to it; he never made her uncomfortable or concerned. Nowadays, it's not a concern. If she lies to him, which happens on occasion, especially if she's working her feelings out, she knows he'll give her grace, just as he knows she'll eventually speak with him on the subject truthfully.

It's difficult for Sharon to remember that these memories are thousands of years old. So far out that his family has died off and all that's left is him. She gives him a squeeze. "What do you feel you could have done differently?" She has a habit of writing off the misdeeds, mistakes, and even horrifying crimes of those she loves but that's not what Mayerling is looking for.

Mayerling appreciates Sharon's presence more than he could say (and certainly he has tried), yet thankfully she understands. She's present. She grounds him no matter where his thoughts lead, whether the impending extinction for his kind or the distant past. It is all a part of him, and he lives in this moment with her. He lives with her so long as he might have her. In places like Trench and Folkmore, there is no guarantee it should even be so long as a human lifetime, short as that is.

"Much what we could do, we would need to have done as a family," Mayerling explains, "I was not so important a member of my family, and I accepted that and took advantage of that fact to indulge in my passions and my loves, while leaving the worst of it all to those greater in rank than I. I could have focused more greatly on my martial and political prowess to rise in importance and to have a greater say. With those ranks and privileges, I could have martialed my family to face the greater vampiric community, either in politics, though it would mean living in the Capital and all the lurking dangerous behind soft words, or in war, though it would mean great bloodshed, to change what it means to be a vampire, what it means for vampire-human relations. While there is no guarantee it would work, I have already seen what a lack in action means."

His family dreamed too small, and humans and vampires alike have paid for it.

"They say hindsight is 20/20," Sharon starts gently. She reaches up to affectionately tug at the beads in his hair. He's had many, many years to look back and see his failures; to recognize where his family chose the path of lesser resistance (though hardly the path of least resistance). "Like you said: there's no guarantee it would work."

She rubs her thumb across his cheek. "It's too damn easy to look back and see where we'd gone wrong. Your family still tried. You were still a positive influence even if the rest of the world couldn't see that." No matter how things ended, the Mayerlings tried. It wasn't enough, could anything ever really be enough in that society, but it didn't change how different they were from the rest of the vampires.

Were he in a joking mood, Mayerling would point out that his vision far exceeds that of a human's 20/20 vision. The metaphor is clear, however. Things are easier to understand, to analyze, and to follow the causes once they are complete, rather than mired in the muck of the present time. Never mind that the time it would take, the fraying relationships, means the best time, the time to start, likely would have been with the invention of synthetic blood, with the great shift that caused in vampire and human relations. Had he the same realization only two thousand years ago, would that be enough? He thinks not.

"We held true to the original vampiric beliefs, the teachings passed down to us," Mayerling says, "Others twisted their meaning to suit their own purposes, and others still tossed them aside for the belief in vampire superiority." He leans into her touch and sighs. "In the lifetime of the universe, even ten thousand years is but the blink of an eye. We are all of us only transient guests, here for a short while, no more masters of the universe than the humblest organism."

Even, Mayerling believes, Thirteen and beings like her. Their power may seem unimaginable, vast, and far beyond anything any of them have ever known, yet she too must have her limits and her time, long though it may be to what they know. "We do what we can, no more, no less."

The original vampiric beliefs, no doubt, were passed down from the Sacred Ancestor before he disappeared. It's always felt somewhat religious to her, more so because of how it's been twisted and cast aside than the fundamental beliefs it's built on. She traces the edge of his cheekbone with the pad of her thumb. This sorrow has made a nest in his chest and he will always see where they, as a people, failed.

"We do what we can," she agrees softly with a nod. What they cannot do, they must learn to live with.

Her attention drifts back toward the flames. They're smaller now. Slower but no less hungry. "Tell me about the first time you stepped into the sun here with your wings," she requests with a quick, curious glance up at him.

Even without the fire, Mayerling would share any of these topics with Sharon, discuss them with her at any time. There is simply so much more it is possible to discuss than there is time to discuss it all. However, that grants them this opportunity to save the local spirits and environment. Mayerling's confessions, Sharon's prompts and listening, teamwork that only works together in the end, for he cannot save it alone.

His gaze follows Sharon's, and he sees too that they are not done. Mayerling smiles, and he turns part of his cloak to metal, so that he can hold Sharon with it, so that he can demonstrate as well as tell, though telling is itself important.

"I landed in Willow in the autumn, in the middle of harvest season, in the afternoon when there would be no protection for a vampire from the sun. I thought it a cruel twist of fate that I would burn immediately upon arrival," Mayerling tells her. In the flames, depicting his arrival, Mayerling cringes in anticipation of burning. All the more ironic when presented in flames. "Incredibly, I did not burn. What met my eye was something you are well familiar with, for Thirteen had the presence of mind for me to arrive surrounded in a cocoon of my own wings protecting me from the sun. It was not pain but the pleasure, the first true experience of seeing colors illuminated by sunlight for the first time."

The colors in the memory are brilliant and sharp, not realer than real but feeling so overwhelming with the emotion of memory. They are no less wondrous today than that day, but Mayerling has learned to function without being so overwhelmed in awe at every little thing he sees or else he'd never get anything done. "I utilized my family's gift to extend my clothes between and beyond the barrier of my wings, and I danced."

Not content to let memory rule, Mayerling does the same, extending so that he has something like feet on the ground, enough support to let him dance, and he uses his whole body in the same dance routine, while carrying Sharon with him effortlessly. It feels different with her, and he adjusts the the arm movements and some of the rest to include her more actively. The joy is the same.

Sharon's smile widens with amusement at Mayerling's eagerness to demonstrate the experience. Yet, as always, his storytelling is enthralling, capturing her full attention and making it difficult to focus on the memory in the flames. He had been prepared to burn but was instead greeted by something he had dreamed of his entire life. Whatever her issues with Thirteen, she is grateful that this was his first moment in Folkmore.

The emotions echoing through their bond are infectious, and she allows herself to be swept away by them as he begins to dance, still in his arms. Laughter bubbles up from within her, joyous and unrestrained, as she is carried away by the exhilarating rush of it all. The crackle of the fire softens but she's since lost sight of it and the memory playing out within.

"And you spent the rest of that day taking it all in," she assumes, her voice filled with curiosity and amusement. She can’t imagine how the rest of that day could have possibly been enough, not with so much to see and experience. Folkmore had offered him something he had yearned for his entire life—a dream come true. Even now, it continues to bestow upon him new experiences.

The flames near them burn out to embers until it is only the two of them dancing in Exile together, joyful and full of love. It's sharp and bright compared to the atmosphere of Exile, yet Exile itself and all those within it should know that love and happiness is possible, even for them, even for those exiled and alone. Mayerling has spent so much of his existence alone and miserable, but Folkmore is a place of joy and love. It too has colors he'd never seen before coming to Folkmore, and Mayerling appreciates their soft tones as much as the rich honey of wheat.

"That day and more," Mayerling admits, "I went without sleep for some time to take it in, for I did not wish to sleep the day and its colors away. It took some time to learn to sleep at night, much as it might a human to learn to sleep during the day. I have yet to run out of sights I wish to see and experiences I wish to have. All the more true now that you are here with me."

Without the crackle and glow of the wildfire, the comfortable gloom of the swamp settles back down around them. She drapes both arms over his shoulders, linking her hands behind his neck, her smile playful. Six thousand years and still there's more for him to see and experience.

"Tell me something you wish to see or experience that I can help you fulfill."

Mayerling keeps his hold on Sharon, a position that alone would make him happy, much less that she helped him extinguish the fires and save the spirits of Exile, spirits who have been through enough. She's beautiful inside and out.

Something Mayerling wishes to see or experience? Something new? Something Sharon can help with? He does not respond immediately, the way such kindness and grace immediately banishes any ideas from his thoughts. How many times has he thought he's seen all he will and what remains will be iterations of what has come before? At least for him, personally, much as he watches human society grow from a distance. That's where change and growth is back home. In Folkmore, however, it is as Thirteen says: they all have potential. For themselves, for new experiences.

"It may sound impossible," Mayerling says, "or it may be as simple as asking Thirteen for it. I would like to walk in the sun, to touch the beautiful plants as they live, not only once they've died, without the shelter of my wings. As much as Folkmore has given me, I admit I want more, unreasonably greedily more, yet I ache for it."

The sun! Her smile curls. For a while now, she's considered a way to give him the ability to walk freely in the sun without harm, but the solution has always evaded her. Maybe it's time to seek advice from the vampires she knows in the realm who can endure the sun's rays, to see if they have any ideas.

"So greedy," she drawls, rolling her eyes playfully as she shakes her head, her tone dripping with sarcasm. To her, he is the furthest thing from greedy (and, no, she doesn't care that she is very obviously biased). "I don't want to leave you aching for anything, so I will help you find a way to walk in the sun and touch every rose you see without it wilting away."

She leans in to brush her lips against his, and as she pulls away, she whispers lovingly against them, "Because you deserve it." In her heart, she knows he deserves the whole goddamn world.

As simple a desire as it may sound, given it is something any human can do without a second thought, without consideration to how special and incredible it may be, Mayerling knows that it is greedy in its way. Vampires have so many advantages over humans, such dominion over the night, that were they to broadly gather such an ability, humanity might never have gained and might even lose their independence. Yet he does not wish to use it to dominate, to rule with fear, to amass any power. It is beauty and the simple but forbidden things he wishes.

"You give me so much, Sharon da Silva," Mayerling says, "It is because of you I know the taste of food, the rich interplay of flavors and textures and more. A year ago, Thirteen may have given us the experience of a human life together, but you seek to enrich my life as who I am and who I have always been. You are incredible, and life with you is what I want most of all for you are more beautiful and incredible than any rose could be."

Oh no, heartfelt words directed at her about her! A part of her wants to shy away even as her heart swells with emotion. No matter how often he compliments her, it still manages to leave her pleasantly flustered, her cheeks flushed. For all that she might doubt herself, she never doubts him. She smiles brightly, eyes gleaming.

"I love you," she says, the words serving as much of a statement of fact as they do an explanation and an expression of gratitude. She's never been as skilled with words as Mayerling. She can hold her own in an argument, and her ability to bitch just has to be Top 5 in Folkmore, but she's never been smooth or poetic. "You make me happy, Johan Mayerling, and for that, I would give you the world."

This world or any other, it doesn't matter. She loves him. He deserves everything that could grant him even a moment of joy.

Her words make Johan as happy as any he could say; their poetry lies not in the selection of each word or the melody of their flow but the earnestness and honesty with which they are said. It matters more than anything else. His centuries of embracing his love of drama and the romantic (for good and ill) expectations of others lead to the nature of the words he chooses. He enjoys them immensely, and Sharon's acceptance and beyond that pleasure in them is all he could want from her.

"That brings me joy. Your happiness is a world unto itself, and I am blessed immensely to have both that and a place I can live in peace without looking over my shoulder to be blamed for any ill deed within my vicinity."

It is more than he could ever ask for. Than he ever would, and with Sharon's encouragement, he has expressed a wish for more, one he tenuously believes might happen because Sharon accomplishes miracles.

Sharon adjusts the collar of his cape affectionately, taking a second to admire him and them in this moment. She can still smell the remnants of the fires and, beneath that, Exile itself, a wet and earthy rot. Together, it's not unpleasant, especially beneath his wings where the world smells more of him than anything else.

"Blessed," she breathes the word out, a chuckle beneath it. "Isn't that a little holy for a vampire?"

Blessed. Yeah, maybe that's the right word for such happiness, even as other, more complicated emotions surrounding Folkmore buzz at her gently beneath that joy, feelings easily stowed away; feelings that shrink and falter when faced with what Mayerling manages to stir up within her.

It's a good thing. A great thing. Perfect in the way only something handmade and imperfect can be. Blessed

Mayerling smiles back at Sharon, amused at her joke. "The cross became a sacred symbol for humanity in the Frontier partly because of its effect on vampires, but humanity does not have a monopoly on blessings. For indeed there is no other way to describe my good fortune at having you in my life."

He twirls them around, enjoying the presence of so much life around them and knowing that it is safe.

"Where would you like to go? I would gladly take you anywhere and do anything together, now you've helped me."

Sharon makes a show of consideration, locking her lower lip between her teeth—an action that doesn't dim her expression. She'd be happy doing anything anywhere together but for now...

"What if we just stayed here?" With the wildfire gone, she is wholly content. "We can enjoy what your confessions saved." Exile is her favorite area of the realm after all.

A contentment spreads across Mayerling's chest. He'd come to Exile first and foremost because it felt like the right place to be in that moment. Admittedly, he'd been brooding, the reason for which he could remember if he tried but in Sharon's presence felt meaningless, yet the fact remains that's what he'd wanted in the moment. Only, instead of a quiet place that felt of solitude without entirely being alone, that held dangerous and intelligent beings like from the Frontier while understanding his melancholy, Mayerling found the fires and was forced to adjust accordingly.

So it is foolish, perhaps, how much it pleases him that Sharon wants to stay, but it feels yet again like he gets everything he wants. It is so much happiness it is almost too much to bear. So much happiness it reminds him of how temporary it all is. Not the moment for that. Not when this moment is so wonderful of one. "It would be my pleasure," Mayerling says, "Sometimes I come here simply to sit and to exist. To be. In all of Folkmore, it is one of the areas that most reminds me of home."

To sit. To be. There is nothing more Johan Mayerling than that. "We come here for very different reasons," she admits with a soft chuckle as she sways gently in his arms, "but it kind of reminds me of home, too." But her lips twitch at the word, and she corrects herself. "Well, my Otherworld. A lot brighter but there's a... a "

No, because when she thinks of home, she thinks of people. Of Rose waking her in the morning with chocolate milk in a coffee mug. Of Chris coming home late at night to find her still working away at homework. Now, Mayerling is home, too. The realization makes her heart feel topsy-turvy and warm.

It would make Mayerling so happy to know that Sharon thinks of home as people, that she's had people enough of her life that they still define the feeling. Sharon is Mayerling's anchor, and wherever she is is where he wants to be, so long as she lives. Given the Sleeper blood in her system, that may outlast that of a typical human lifespan, something that would also make him happy. Yet he's been alone so long that home, that sense of belonging, no longer conjures the family he still loves no matter how long they've past, no longer brings to mind the handful of people he's loved, no, instead it conjures the large emptiness of a castle and the closed confines of his carriage, it brings to mind the land itself dangerous and free. So like Exile.

"A similar quality," Mayerling suggests as an end to Sharon's sentence. He's experienced her Otherworld, been hunted by her, and faced the personal demons it conjured. It too feels familiar, the experience of ages sped up to a near constant barrage. He doesn't compare her Otherworld to home, not aloud. "It is a part of you, and I love all of you, including Otherworld. It's incredible what you can do."

"That's very sweet of you given that I tortured you with it," she says playfully. Some days the memory can dig at her but she's learned to give herself some grace—at least where the Pthumerians (+ Thirteen) are concerned. He doesn't hold it against her so neither can she. But the fact he can love even that, it's a next level sort of acceptance, one that nearly makes her heart feel like it could burst. It's no wonder he's home.

"Some days, I'm proud of it. Like sure, it's all kinds of awful, but it's my awful. Other days... I'm not so sure." Because her abilities don't make any sense to her. Why does she have them? Is it because she's the vessel? A glorified incubator? "What if it's not even my awful?"

"Nothing I haven't tortured myself with for far longer," Mayerling reminds her. The physical manifestation was different, but he's also experienced physical dangers when in emotional turmoil before. It was challenging. He respects Otherworld for what it is, and he's glad Sharon has means to protect herself. Even should someone get out of Otherworld, it recommends not tangling with Sharon again. There's no guarantee a second time would go as well.

"What do you think of it, when you wonder if it's not your awful?" Mayerling asks. He invites her to say more. His thoughts and feelings are not as important as hers. Through their bond, he offers grounding and comfort, no matter what she thinks or feels, he's there for her. He loves her.

The reminder gets a soft sigh of acknowledgment and a gentle, "I know." That didn't make the fact it happened any easier, the last thing she wants to do is torture him, after all, but it's done and over with. At most, it's a tiny sore spot on her heart and even then it's a part of their story, which makes it something to cherish.

Sharon adjusts her hold on him and slips her arms around his middle to better tuck herself up against him, embracing the feelings that echo from the bond; allowing them to settle the rampant buzz of anxiety the question stirs up. "It fucking terrifies me," she admits, her hold on him tightening. "If it's not mine, it belongs to something else inside of me." And that fills her with such a great unease she almost feels ill.

"Do you think they could have been right? Do you think it could be god? Because I'm afraid I do."

Mayerling holds Sharon close, familiar with the terrible reality of being able to do little about something inside someone that terrifies them, that they must live with so long as they live. It is his turn to comfort Sharon and to be there for her, to love her no matter the reality.

"It is not god," Mayerling says with complete certainty, "That is the desperate idea they clung to in order to feel powerful. Whether it is yours or something else inside you, you have mastered this power, this place, and made it yours, yours and yours alone. Fear is healthy, but nothing in Otherworld is stronger or more terrifying than you, you incredible wonderful person."

His sincerity fills his words and the bond between them. Whatever might be inside Sharon, Sharon is stronger and more powerful; Mayerling knows that fact deep in his heart and trusts it, trusts her. The fear may always be there. A place like Otherworld deserves respect at all times, much like the Frontier. It is hers but also a wild place, much as she is a wild person.

texts from folkmore; tffm

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