creator_raven | (no subject)

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Raven is seated, crosslegged, on the floor. There is a large chunk of fine clay beside him, as well as a putty knife, and several other instruments.

Incense is burning, and he has laid patterned ribbons in a neat star shape around him.

He is waiting for aid.

This is as far as he can go alone.

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*There's a hesitant knock at his door, almost as if Adam isn't sure he's welcome, or truly wanted.*

It requires only a slight effort of will to open the door, and Raven is very tired.

He pulls, and it opens.

"Well met, Adam. Come in, if you will."

*He does so, nodding on his way in, and taking the door and closing it for Raven. He puts an arm on Raven's shoulder, and leads him back to where he'd obviously been working.*

So, what am I supposed to do?

Raven sighs, and pulls some threads from his pocket.

He weaves a deceptively simple shape, and pushes Adam's hands into it.

"You are going to hold me to me, while I go deep, to fit myself back together. It may prove . . . difficult."

A pause, and he Looks into Adam.

"Will you aid me?"

*Adam looks at the shape, rolling it between his hands, and feeling it. He closes his eyes for a good five minutes before he raises his head and looks Raven in the eye.*

Yes.

"Good."

Raven nods, once, and settles himself down.

His left hand is clenched, and the knuckles are white.

"Hold on, then."

He closes his eyes, and dives Deep.

Always work inside out--hardest first.

Back to the beginning, bird, before you were a bird.

It hurts.

*Adam holds tight to the object Raven gave him, and watches as Raven settles down and starts to work. He can feel the heat, the pressure, working their way up, though it's not yet a struggle to hold on.*

The beginning is easy, really.

There are waves, and the smell of salt.

Mother, worry not about the fish. I can find them.

Sunrise and sunset over and over again, and fairs, and revels, and love.

So much love.

Let there be light. And laughter. Oh please.

And then the dark, followed by the Dark.

And it repeats, again.

No Mother, this time.

It took her quite some time to find Raven's room. Especially when the halls kept changing.

There's a soft knock at the door. She doesn't want to wake him if he's sleeping.

~~Onna perch~~

There is a loud, wet THUMP, and then the clatter of several metal implements.

Then the door opens.

Raven has a smudge of clay on his nose, and his jacket and shirt are off.

There is clay smeared there, as well.

"Hello, Ace. How well can you hold a mirror?"

*Adam watches with interest at the waves and the dark and Raven, being and been and becoming.

It's when the dark turns to fire that Adam first gasps, and nearly drops the object on the floor - nearly drops Raven.*

"Um. Pretty good. S'long as you don't want me to hold it with my toes or something odd like that." She wants to know what all that racket was about... but isn't going to ask. Yet.

It begins with sorrow, long and deep and endless, in its fashion. It is the desperation that makes it harsh, and sparks it to flame.

No. Not you, never you. Not again--mine, this time. Always mine, my hand my will not yours never yours no no no no NO.

And they burn, again, and again, and again.

Always a new beginning, and the desperation stretches.

It ends in fire, and ash.

And darkness

none left. Not again. Not mine, not ever again.

and cold.

He gestures her inside.

"Only if you want to, I expect. Practicality is the order of the day, here."

A pause.

"Coyote has not been by, yet, so I must patch myself as best I can. I can't see behind myself, though. Not well. Hence, the mirror."

He passes it to her, and picks up some clay.

"Hold it so I can see behind my arm? Also, how have you been?"

*Adam reaches for the object - for Raven - and holds on tight, screwing his eyes and hands together in concentration. And when he opens his eyes again, there is sunlight so bright it burns - burns, but in a clean fresh way - and when he looks at Raven again, he is fresh and new and

empty black dark

empty.*

There is a long time of this emptiness--searching and wondering and

what is it, to be human?

learning, even as he teaches.

And the emptiness fills--with the Raven that exists now (or something much like him).

And then there is a body, and things change.

Moving, always moving--staying too long is dangerous, for you for them for everything rules rules and bindings free only in flight only sometimes never free in truth

A door opens, and opens again.

And Raven opens his eyes.

"Well done, indeed, Adam. I thank you."

*Adam nods, and then slumps slowly to the floor, where he mostly manages to arrange himself decently before looking up at Raven.*

What was that?

She takes the mirror, and settles in behind him so she can angle the mirror as best she can.

...

This is a first-aid trick she's never learned.

"I'm alright. Got into a bit of a fight with Tim the other night, got hunted down by friends when I stormed off. Lotsa fireworks last night, that was fun."

Raven grins.

"That does sound enjoyable. I regret I missed it."

A pause.

"I would ask about the fight, but I have never married, so I do not know how such things work. Friends are fine things, though."

He shrugs, drops part of the illusion, and begins to plaster over a fissure in his shoulderblade.

It is slow going, and looks awkward.

Raven looks at him, solemnly, and does not blink.

"That was me."

A pause, and a very slight smile.

"My life."

Another pause.

"How did you find it?"

He is curious.

And the fissures are gone.

All of it?

*he looks stricken with awe*

Raven considers.

"All of it, yes. More than I remember, certainly."

He shrugs.

"It is the only way I know."

*Adam nods*

And now you're

*he waves a hand up and down*

you're back.

She bites her lip when the illusion drops - she hadn't realized he had been doing that. It looks like a rather painful procedure, patching the cracks up again.

"Err. Do you want me to... try to do that? It'd be less of a strain..." She doesn't know much about clay, other than it is dirt-like. Woe.

Raven passes her the putty knife.

"If you could smooth it over, I would be much obliged. I have not the angle for it."

He sighs.

"I hate this. Muchly."

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