Late-Night Reading

What a beautiful moon out tonight.

Damian was curled-up on top of his bed, reading one of the various texts he had stolen brought over with him to the island. Ah, Norton. It was by far the heaviest book he owned, except for perhaps his massive, updated dictionary of the new year, but it was worth it: an anthology of British literature, all at his disposal. John Donne, Shakespeare, and even the complete books of Paradise Lost . . . It was habitual reading, yes, but reading material nevertheless. He had to read something.

As per his usual randomizing system, the boy had flipped to a page by the will of gravity and wherever the pages desired to lie. Damian ended-up in the middle of the pseudo-epic poem "Rape of a Lock"-- an interesting read, if anything else. Damn long, too. Perfect.

And so, the boy had been reading for a good hour, immersed into the text and not at all paying attention to the beauty of the night. There would be other nights to gaze.

Husk had been rather curious as to what that tall building on the other side of the meeting hall was. "The Aviary". The words meant nothing to him. What was an aviary supposed to be used for? It didn't, however, strike him as a private home.

Husk left his physical body asleep in his home. He'd gotten into the habit of exploring the island in his astral body. It was faster, and there was never the threat of getting lost with his innate sense of where his physical body was. He targeted the Aviary as his next area of exploration.

The ladder wasn't down this time around, and Husk felt that it rarely was. He didn't need it though. He hovered up the length of one of the stilts, and, not even bothering to come in through the window, he phased in through the floor.

Husk hadn't actually expected there to be another person in the building, and upon seeing him, he quickly faded into the invisible plane. The man may have seen him for the briefest of moments before he disappeared.

"For, that sad moment, when the Sylphs withdrew
And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew--"
Was there someone outside?

Damian quickly slammed the book shut, peering out of his rounded doorway but not leaving the comfort of his bed. Perhaps . . . it was nothing. It was never just 'nothing,' though. Sighing, the boy grudgingly got up, stretched his bare arms a little, checked his wings habitually (no noticeable growth since the previous time), and gazed outside into the darkness. His feet brushed along the black molted feathers scattered along the wooden floor as he moved, leaning farther and farther out . . .

See? Nothing. His red eyes never lied, though. Not before, not now.

"Anyone out there?" he called out in the night, just to make sure. Caution never hurt.

(( 4.12-13 ))

Damian's sudden slamming of the book startled Husk a bit, afraid the man had noticed him. It was then he noticed the man's red eyes and they reminded him strongly of an old friend of his.

..He truthfully didn't know why he was even hiding at the moment. It wasn't as if he could be harmed in this form. Husk lowered himself so it appeared as if he were standing on the ground, however he was hovering one of the many feathers scattered about the floor. The black plume was visible inside of his foot and easily gave away that he wasn't actually standing.

Without saying a word, he returned to the visible plane and waited for the man to turn around again.

No response. Sighing, the district leader turned around, not looking forward to re-finding his spot in the anthology--

Damian jerked back a little, almost to the point of falling out of the Aviary and plummeting downwards into the darkness. Again. He stopped himself in the nick of time, though, sending splinters up into his bare, battered feet. He didn't dare allow a smile to creep onto his face due to the slight irritation/pain, instead turning his focus towards properly examining the strange visitor . . . including the visibility of the plume. Damn him.

"That's not fair," the boy immediately retorted, frowning as he squatted down and blatantly stared at the plumage. "You're effing floating. How can you do that so easily?"

Not even a simple 'hello' . . .

Husk's eyes creased a bit as the man seemed to examine his feet. When he looked down himself, he noticed the feather inside of his foot and lifted it. The plume remained undisturbed, however the slight action caused the rest of his body to float up a bit more so he hovered just above the floor. Moving in this form was a gentle practice.

Husk moved back and tried to "stand" just behind the feather. His nerves wouldn't let him find that balance though, and he gave up. Instead he crossed his legs, hovering several feet above the floor. This was the easiest position to maintain for whatever reason. He shrugged. "I don't know it just happens." Everytime he closed his eyes...

Husk eyes wandered the room now and he noticed the bed, a pang of guilt going through him. "This is your house? I thought it was just some building.."

Damian glared at the boy as he floated higher . . . and higher . . . as if he were flying. Lucky! His face twisted in obvious frustration, frowning deeply.

"Some guys get all the luck," he mumbled mostly to himself, continuing to scowl up at the newcomer. It was true: some people were simply born in better circumstances than others. He should know; he was once one of those guys. That was a long time ago, though.

It hadn't occurred to the district leader before that his odd housing choice wouldn't be recognized by others as a private residence. In his mind, it was rather obvious.
"It's both a house and a building," he informed the floater, still steaming about he being able to fly while he was still grounded. One of these days. . . . "The Aviary. District Leader housing," he added with a smirk. In the few encounters he was going to have on this silly island, he was oh-so going to enjoy abusing that title. Let's see the floater squirm now!

Husk's eyebrows creased at Damian's statement. He didn't consider himself very lucky to have this ability. Sure it came in handy for exploring the island, but it was useless in an emergency. Not to mention all the harm it caused him in the past. Husk would have much preferred never to have had the ability. He could still feel pain. There was no escaping pain for him. Never.

However Husk choice a different way to phrase his response. "Why? I can't touch anything. So what if I can get to placed other people can't? Once I'm there I can't actually do anything."

Husk's expression turned to a question one. He spoke as he didn't believe Damian. "You're the district leader?"

Damian merely continued to furrow his brow-- was this guy taking pity on him? "Not being physical may be a 'minus,'" think of all the pain he would miss out on! "but, you still get to fly." He stressed the word with such longing and desperation. . . . He wanted to fly, already! Grow faster, wings! "You get to soar high in the sky and pay witness to the things below you. . . . It must feel great," Damian concluded, his face softening from the rage and becoming more neutral. Why else would anyone learn to fly?

Hah! He didn't see that one coming.
"You bet your ass I am," he grinned, not quite understanding such a colloquialism but not really caring too much about it. Take that, floater-- they were even, now! And, when he finally could fly, he'd be ahead.
"Name's Damian. Yours?" Not that he really cared.

Husk was feeling rather pessimistic now. Damian's fantasies were begging to annoy him. "It doesn't 'feel' like anything. Not to me." And personally he preferred it that way. He didn't need to be able to feel pain to both his physical and astral bodies. Nothing would make it worth that. "You can't fly with those?" He gestured to the man's wings with his chin. The question was practically redundant. Obviously he couldn't if he seemed to be so jealous of Husk's own abilities. Really he was asking why he couldn't fly despite the wings protruding from his back.

"Okay.." He said the word a bit dismissively, not altogether impressed with the position or the wording in Damian's response. Damian didn't appear to be an appropriate district leader to Husk, but so what if he was? Husk couldn't care one way or the other as long as Damian didn't try to act as if he were superior or had some sort of control over him. "Husk." He answered simply.

The district leader frowned, narrowing his light red eyes slightly. "Surely, you feel something-- you just have to!" He was obviously not going to take 'no' for an answer, especially with flying.

He sighed heavily at such a question, insulted, yes, but mostly saddened by the reminder. He couldn't fly!
". . . No," he answered rather quietly and with a scoff. "Not yet. They aren't big enough." Damian started to cheer-up quickly, though, at the possibilities. "They'll become big soon enough-- just you wait!" Then, he could fly high above the forests as much as he desired!

"Husk?" He rolled the name on his mouth; it was an odd one, but he had heard odder. "Interesting. What do you do around here, Husk?" Not that he cared-- just more opportunities to rub his power in somebody's face. . . .

Husk shook his head, beginning to get annoyed with Damian's enthusiasm. "Nothing. I can't feel anything like this." Oh, this was a complete lie. He could still feel anything his physical body felt, but he wasn't going to tell this to Damian or anyone else.

Husk made a begrudging sound of understanding, and it showed that he was rather unimpressed. Somehow, the idea that Damian's wings were too small for him to be able to fly with them made him seem younger. A boy who wasn't finished growing, yet somehow ended up as the district leader of Woodenway.

"I'm a hunter," Husk shrugged after giving the simple answer.

"Can't . . . feel anything?" Damian repeated, horror genuine. How terrifying-- a world without pain! "That's . . . wow." He staggered a bit, resolving to sit on the bed rather than remain standing-up. A world without pain . . . He couldn't imagine it anymore. To think, at first he avoided it all, but now . . . What would it be like?

The district leader snapped out of his train of thought with the grunt Husk made towards his wings. Hey-- he was rather sensitive about that! He began to 'preen' his wings, picking out the odds-and-ends the fell into the otherwise-perfect black feathers. They were already so shiny, obviously well-cared for.

"A hunter?" Such an occupation actually peaked his interest, but not enough to pry himself from his wings. "So . . . you kill things?" Good-- this was a man that could provide trained pain for him. If he played his cards right, then maybe . . .

"No, and I prefer it that way." He answered rather begrudgingly. Why would he want to feel pain? He already felt enough pain in his real body without having to do so in his astral body as well. And why was Damian so surprised? He was basically a ghost right now. What could he possibly feel in this form if everything just phased through him? It was in no way a staggering a fact. He was incorporeal.

Husk's eyes narrowed a bit at Damian's interest in his occupation. "Yeah.." Though, he hadn't actually gotten a crossbow yet, so hunter wasn't entirely accurate at the moment. For now, he was stuck trapping. "And?"

"Prefer--!" Damian could hardly believe his hears (then again, if he couldn't believe his ears, than what could he trust?). Prefer not to feel pain! This was an outrage! "How do you know that you're alive, then? That you're still existing? Pain is the only way to establish that reality-- if it's not there--!" Then, what was left to hold onto? Nothing. They would just hang there like flies caught in a web . . .

At Husk's answer, the district leader managed to compose himself long enough to get out a proper explanation. Maybe the man didn't understand life's grasp, but he could at least understand his job.

He cleared his throat loudly, completely ignoring the previous hysteria. "Well, then: since you are a man of such skills, then physical harm is something you are familiar with inflicting, correct, if not feeling?" Please say 'yes' . . . Please, please, please say 'yes' . . . !

Husk looked visibly outraged by what Damian was saying. "Pain? Are you insane??" Was he trying to say that he actually enjoyed the feeling of pain?? He shook his head. "I'm talking to you right now. That's all the proof I need."'

This man was insane. It was starting to become increasingly obvious that he had some sick obsession with pain. Was he really asking if he intentionally inflicted pain on other living things? Why?

Husk's eyes were narrowed and angry as he answered. "I hunt to kill." As quickly as possible in any given circumstance. That was the courtesy he gave to his prey. He didn't intentionally prolong their suffering. He wasn't sadistic in that way. "There's a difference."

Oh, great-- just what he needed. The classic 'I think, therefore, I am' argument? Really? What did he do to deserve such repetitiveness? Damian palmed his face and began rapidly with a counter-argument.

"Consciousness of the mind is easily fabricated: how else does one explain a dream, a nightmare? You did not exist in those realities, and yet you are convinced to believe, in those very moments, that the dream-- the pseudo-reality, if you will-- is very-much real. The consciousness is fooled into accepting the falsehood. How can one convince-- nay, prove to himself that this reality in itself is not a dream? Simple: we perform a test, like all good reasonable beings."

It was at this point that Damian reached over towards his faithful Norton Anthology once more, weighing the hefty volume carefully in his hands as if inspecting gold for its value. Yes. Yes, this would do. He hovered the volume over his bare right foot . . .

"Thus, my counter: 'I feel, therefore, I am.'"

He dropped the volume without hesitation, staring directly at Husk all the while. His eyes did not waver, nor did his skin rise in a flinch. He had felt the breaking of his dominant right toe several times before. Only the third was an accident. There was joy, of course, but not enough to display the certain bliss.

"I felt that. One does not feel pain in figments of consciousness, or when one is dreaming. Reality is deemed when our bodies are linked with our minds. Therefore, if I process the pain, I exist. I am real. For all you know, this could merely be a passing dream, but for me . . . I know the truth: this is my reality."

He paused briefly, then picking-up the tome once more, revealing a horribly cracked and bruised toe underneath. The spine was most-certainly stained, as well.

"You hunt to kill?" Damian confirmed, brushing-off the spine absentmindedly. "A shame. You never give your victims the chance to confirm. You are not robbing them of their life, Husk; you're robbing them of their sanity."

How long it took for him to learn that.

"Would you like a drink?" the district leader asked, still focused on the Norton. "Or, are you leaving." No question the chap would, after his argument being so horribly beaten by his own logic . . .

Husk surprised himself by letting Damian finish everything he was saying. He strongly wanted to interrupt several times. The argument was greatly flawed. Damian assumed that their two existences were the same.

He scoffed. "Maybe you're in a dream, but I'm not. I don't dream; I don't sleep. Ever. If anything, I'm more existent than you, because I'm conscious 100% of the time. I don't need to feel anything to know that this is real. There's nothing else for me. Frankly, I pity you for having to do that to convince yourself that this isn't a dream."

"I am, because I always am." Husk looked away for a moment, as though frustrated for having to repeat himself. "I'll say it again. I don't need any more proof."

Damian's comment on his kills did provoke some thought. What Damian had just said didn't affect him personally, but he guessed it affected other living things. Was it really worse to kill quickly? He shook his head though. If he had to die, he'd want it to be as quick and painless as possible, because he'd still feel the pain of dying in his astral body. If his astral body would in fact survive after his physical body was dead, which he also believed to be the case. He knew how it felt to suffer though. Not knowing wouldn't make you lose your sanity, having to suffer at the hands of some sadistic monster would.

"I kill as painlessly as possible so that they don't have to carry that pain with them in death." Husk didn't answer Damian's last questions, frankly was insulted by the first. How was he expected to drink anything like this? Hadn't Damian seen the way the feather fazed into him?

"An endless dream . . ." Damian retorted underneath his breath but did not continue; it was obvious the man would remain stubborn. No use wasting his time further. Things to read, new pains to feel.

"Pain in death would be interesting," the district leader admitted-- he certainly would enjoy it. Confirmation of existence, even in death . . . Hmm. The boy walked absentmindedly towards the Aviary's entrance and grabbed onto a shingle outside for support. He was getting them drinks, regardless. "My kitchen is upstairs-- would you like tea? Or, something a bit stronger?

"Or . . . do you eat like that at all?" Damian could not resist but ask, glancing towards the hunter with a sly grin. No pain, no food-- this person became more and more dead by the second.

Damian's insistence that Husk was currently alive was seriously beginning to annoy him. He hadn't gone through everything he'd gone through for some masochist to tell him that he wasn't currently existent, and the fact that his evidence was based on his ignorance only made it worse. "Just because I don't feel now, doesn't mean I never feel, but I'll always prefer not being able to be harmed over constantly being in pain." Not that any of these last two points were actually true. Actually, they were practically the exact same thing. Of course he could be harmed, and if he was harmed, he'd constantly feel the pain of it until it healed.

"Pain in death? What, so you're saying you'd like to be able to feel yourself rotting six feet under? You'd like to feel yourself being eaten alive by maggots, decomposing until there's nothing left of you?" This was actually how Husk picture death to be. For himself if no one else, at least. He'd the feel the pain of himself decomposing until his astral body disappeared forever. That's what "science" had told him anyway.

Husk shook his head, not in way that said he was declining Damian's offer, but just in a show of frustration. Was he dumb? How could anything that he couldn't touch be expected to stay in his stomach? "Not like this." Regardless, Husk moved up, floating through the ceiling and into the room above them.

Damian could only shrug at the words, not affected too much by their overall meaning. Yes, being harmed was a concern to most-- when you could heal seemingly indefinitely, however . . . 'Harm' became only of the mind. And, the mind was malleable.

Another funny thing: death.
"I doubt I'll ever die, Husk," the district leader whispers in reply, his face not in view as the boy made the ascent to the upper room. The main difference between the two areas was in cleanliness; this was the room Damian wanted visitors to see, not the bottom one. When his wings were fully grown-out, he would make the switch. Until then, visiting was dealt with here.

The boy walked over towards the small, wire-styled oven, its dual coils on top rusty but functional. He turned the dial to high, then filling a nearby iron kettle with water. His face is still shaded, attempting to ignore what just ran through his head. No. No, he would not think such thoughts. Everything in this world was mind over matter, and he would win. Every time, every time.

He took a deep breath in . . . and, forced a sly smile on his face. Better.

"Can you help me pick out a tea?" Damian continued conversationally, his eyes still avoiding the hunter's and instead focusing on the small line of tea packets, the shelving placed just above the old appliance. "Earl Gray? Thousand Mountain Jasmine . . . or, a Mate tea-- 'My Morning' has a nice kick to it."

(( All of these teas, it should be noted, has more caffeine than the 'usual' teas. ))

Husk rolled his eyes in annoyance. He was tired of this thread of conversation. He wasn't going to be a hypocrite though. For all he knew, Damian really may have been incapable of dying. However, that one word "doubt", seemed to spell out Damian's fate clearly enough for Husk, enough to make him relatively certain that Damian was in fact destined for death, anyway.

Husk had only tried tea a few times. He liked it, but he'd never learned the different brands or the tastes that came with them. Maybe one of the one's Damian listed had been the kind he'd tried, but he wouldn't know. "Thousand Mountain Jasmine." He chose a random one.

He hadn't missed the some-what suspicious smile, but honestly had no desire to know what the man was thinking about.

Damian merely smiled at the hunter, picking up a small tea packet and prepping it for the water-- it wasn't near a boil yet. That would take a while, which meant more silence from Husk. Damian wasn't a socialite himself.

"So." Damian twirled back around towards the hunter, the district leader's grin bright. "What is it like on the island? Anything exciting happen recently?" He honestly didn't care about the subjects, but for the silence to continue . . . He wouldn't be a good 'host,' would he? There were certain rules to such a position. Not that he cared about such things.