☼ RUTH OF HOUSE IESHAN ☼רות
"O YOU MISUNDERSTAND, / a game is not a law, / this dance is not a whim, / this kill is not a rival. / I crackle through your pastures / I make no profit / like the sun / I burn and burn, this tongue / licks through your body also."
"O YOU MISUNDERSTAND, / a game is not a law, / this dance is not a whim, / this kill is not a rival. / I crackle through your pastures / I make no profit / like the sun / I burn and burn, this tongue / licks through your body also."
Here is what I know: there are situations, when facing down a dangerous creature, that it is best to run, best to fight, and best to remain perfectly still.
The Solterran nobility is full of dangerous creatures. (Solterra is full of dangerous creatures.) My household is full of dangerous creatures. I have been looking over my shoulder twice since Adonai fell ill, though I know that I am the last member of my household that anyone, even from within, would want to target.
My old tutors used to say that it was polite to keep eye contact with people when you were speaking to them. I keep my eyes trained on him, and I know, though I am not good at such social courtesies, that nothing of this gesture is the same.
I am, he says, confirming what I already know; his tone is perfectly innocent. (No proper Solterran would trust perfect innocence.) He is allowed them, isn’t he?
“Did you think,” I say, expressionless, “that he isn’t?” It is less of a question than it is a refusal to answer. I am not my siblings; I do not go about disclosing private matters to any dazzling stranger who catches their eye. (And besides that - I am hardly dazzled.) I keep my gaze trained on him, and I wonder what he has noticed. I wonder what he thinks of my brother; I wonder what he thinks of the way that my brother is treated. I wonder what Adonai has said to him.
I wonder what he imagines, when he looks at us. I probably know the truth; but I don’t care to speak it. I don’t even care to think of it.
You are not hosting. He does not say it in a way that means anything; and, though I have the distinct feeling that I am being mimicked, I only continue to stare him down. I could play the hostess, if he wanted me to. I learned how to smile eventually, and most of the time I do not forget when and how to do it to be polite. I am not normal. There is something wrong with me, inherently, down to the bone - but sometimes I can pretend to be, when I feel like trying.
I am a hostess in name. I am an Ieshan in name. But - unlike most of my siblings, I can say with confidence that I am something other than Ieshan.
I don’t bother to entertain him with a courteous smile. I have not yet; I will not do it now. “Pilate is the head of the house, and most of my siblings are exceptional socialites,” comes my response, utterly collected, “but I am only a doctor.” I wonder if he expects the answer; I doubt it. People expect a doctor to be kind, and to be warm, and I am cold and hard like the edge of a surgical blade.
I was never in line to inherit any portion of our household, but I was unwilling to be idle, too, like my other siblings who were skipped over in matters of rank - and besides, I have always been fascinated by taking things apart and putting them together again, and medicine, I know, is good. (When I was younger and more foolish, I used to think that my profession could make me good, too, but that was futile. There are some things that cannot be set straight, no matter how hard you try to fix them.)
But am I - only a doctor? There is nothing of pride in my voice, and nothing of interest; but there is nothing, either, that suggests that I am belittling my position, beyond my words themselves.
(I don’t care enough to explain it.)
@Vercingtorix || <3 || atwood, "fox/fire song"
The Solterran nobility is full of dangerous creatures. (Solterra is full of dangerous creatures.) My household is full of dangerous creatures. I have been looking over my shoulder twice since Adonai fell ill, though I know that I am the last member of my household that anyone, even from within, would want to target.
My old tutors used to say that it was polite to keep eye contact with people when you were speaking to them. I keep my eyes trained on him, and I know, though I am not good at such social courtesies, that nothing of this gesture is the same.
I am, he says, confirming what I already know; his tone is perfectly innocent. (No proper Solterran would trust perfect innocence.) He is allowed them, isn’t he?
“Did you think,” I say, expressionless, “that he isn’t?” It is less of a question than it is a refusal to answer. I am not my siblings; I do not go about disclosing private matters to any dazzling stranger who catches their eye. (And besides that - I am hardly dazzled.) I keep my gaze trained on him, and I wonder what he has noticed. I wonder what he thinks of my brother; I wonder what he thinks of the way that my brother is treated. I wonder what Adonai has said to him.
I wonder what he imagines, when he looks at us. I probably know the truth; but I don’t care to speak it. I don’t even care to think of it.
You are not hosting. He does not say it in a way that means anything; and, though I have the distinct feeling that I am being mimicked, I only continue to stare him down. I could play the hostess, if he wanted me to. I learned how to smile eventually, and most of the time I do not forget when and how to do it to be polite. I am not normal. There is something wrong with me, inherently, down to the bone - but sometimes I can pretend to be, when I feel like trying.
I am a hostess in name. I am an Ieshan in name. But - unlike most of my siblings, I can say with confidence that I am something other than Ieshan.
I don’t bother to entertain him with a courteous smile. I have not yet; I will not do it now. “Pilate is the head of the house, and most of my siblings are exceptional socialites,” comes my response, utterly collected, “but I am only a doctor.” I wonder if he expects the answer; I doubt it. People expect a doctor to be kind, and to be warm, and I am cold and hard like the edge of a surgical blade.
I was never in line to inherit any portion of our household, but I was unwilling to be idle, too, like my other siblings who were skipped over in matters of rank - and besides, I have always been fascinated by taking things apart and putting them together again, and medicine, I know, is good. (When I was younger and more foolish, I used to think that my profession could make me good, too, but that was futile. There are some things that cannot be set straight, no matter how hard you try to fix them.)
But am I - only a doctor? There is nothing of pride in my voice, and nothing of interest; but there is nothing, either, that suggests that I am belittling my position, beyond my words themselves.
(I don’t care enough to explain it.)
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HE FEEDS ME RED MEAT / HE WATCHES THE BLOOD POOL IN MY MOUTHlaughs at my red teeth❂please tag Ruth! contact is encouraged, short of violence
