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Saga of the Man Called True: Sixth Moon
Sep. 9th, 2011 09:08 amSAGA OF THE MAN CALLED TRUE
Sixth Moon: "The Realization"
As the moon's light shines again, so we tell our stories. Where we left off, we shall begin anew.
Outsider found a new set of white clothes beside his bed as he went through his morning routine, and he changed into them, wondering why the voice had told him about their impending guests.
Surely it had no significance to him? He was a servant of the voice, so the guests would have no interest in him, would they?
After a moment, he looked for his weapons, for Never-Stained and the gun. He could find neither. The voice had left him unarmed for once.
Now he was concerned, but Outsider did not voice his worries. It was not his place.
As the day wore on, Outsider grew bored, pacing back and forth through the room. For all of his harsh life on the outside of the city walls, he'd never learned to deal with people, and so a certain amount of trepidation sank into his thoughts. How would he handle that night?
By the time the sun began to go down, Outsider's nerves were on the edge of falling apart, and only the arrival of the silent woman kept him from chewing on his fingernails. She beckoned for him to follow, and he did, stepping into the elevator.
It descended to a floor he'd never entered before, and he emerged with confusion and dismay on his face. They had stepped out into a massive ballroom, far larger than any room he'd entered on his prior jobs, with shining crystal lights, wide tables filled with food, and many, many people.
Then a tall, hard-faced man with dark brown hair came up beside Outsider, and he instinctively reached for his gun before remembering he was unarmed.
The man spoke, and it was the voice.
"So, Outsider," he said, "this is the first time we've ever met in person. Stay close to me, and you'll find tonight pass without any trouble."
Too confused to argue otherwise, Outsider did as asked, following the voice from one part of the floor to another.
As they moved about, the voice (or rather, the man, Outsider realized) spoke to various people as familiars, and they laughed and joked without any trouble. But as they conversed, Outsider noticed that these people had rough-faced, rough-handed people with them - people from outside, just as he was. They stood there, in clean clothes, looking just as out of place as Outsider did, and they seemed as uncomfortable to be there as he was.
The night wore on, and Outsider began to wonder what he was doing there. And then the man spoke to someone, and with him was the woman from outside, the one he had met on his first night in the city.
"Have they stopped you yet?" she asked Outsider.
"I don't think so," he replied.
"I think they have. Look around you. Have you noticed anything?"
Outsider looked, and then it hit him - all of the people that the man had spoken to had people from outside with them.
"It is fashion for them," the woman said. "They make themselves look good by bringing those from outside the city with them. You are a prop."
And Outsider realized it was the truth. He had not found a place in the city. He was not part of it. He was still outside of it all - and that was why they tolerated him. They kept him an outsider because they thought it made them look better.
Even as the thought churned his stomach, the man moved on, and Outsider moved with him.
But deep in his heart, he was already trying to figure out how to change this fact.
There are many more tales to tell, but the moon's light is waning. I shall meet you again when the moon shines anew.
Sixth Moon: "The Realization"
As the moon's light shines again, so we tell our stories. Where we left off, we shall begin anew.
Outsider found a new set of white clothes beside his bed as he went through his morning routine, and he changed into them, wondering why the voice had told him about their impending guests.
Surely it had no significance to him? He was a servant of the voice, so the guests would have no interest in him, would they?
After a moment, he looked for his weapons, for Never-Stained and the gun. He could find neither. The voice had left him unarmed for once.
Now he was concerned, but Outsider did not voice his worries. It was not his place.
As the day wore on, Outsider grew bored, pacing back and forth through the room. For all of his harsh life on the outside of the city walls, he'd never learned to deal with people, and so a certain amount of trepidation sank into his thoughts. How would he handle that night?
By the time the sun began to go down, Outsider's nerves were on the edge of falling apart, and only the arrival of the silent woman kept him from chewing on his fingernails. She beckoned for him to follow, and he did, stepping into the elevator.
It descended to a floor he'd never entered before, and he emerged with confusion and dismay on his face. They had stepped out into a massive ballroom, far larger than any room he'd entered on his prior jobs, with shining crystal lights, wide tables filled with food, and many, many people.
Then a tall, hard-faced man with dark brown hair came up beside Outsider, and he instinctively reached for his gun before remembering he was unarmed.
The man spoke, and it was the voice.
"So, Outsider," he said, "this is the first time we've ever met in person. Stay close to me, and you'll find tonight pass without any trouble."
Too confused to argue otherwise, Outsider did as asked, following the voice from one part of the floor to another.
As they moved about, the voice (or rather, the man, Outsider realized) spoke to various people as familiars, and they laughed and joked without any trouble. But as they conversed, Outsider noticed that these people had rough-faced, rough-handed people with them - people from outside, just as he was. They stood there, in clean clothes, looking just as out of place as Outsider did, and they seemed as uncomfortable to be there as he was.
The night wore on, and Outsider began to wonder what he was doing there. And then the man spoke to someone, and with him was the woman from outside, the one he had met on his first night in the city.
"Have they stopped you yet?" she asked Outsider.
"I don't think so," he replied.
"I think they have. Look around you. Have you noticed anything?"
Outsider looked, and then it hit him - all of the people that the man had spoken to had people from outside with them.
"It is fashion for them," the woman said. "They make themselves look good by bringing those from outside the city with them. You are a prop."
And Outsider realized it was the truth. He had not found a place in the city. He was not part of it. He was still outside of it all - and that was why they tolerated him. They kept him an outsider because they thought it made them look better.
Even as the thought churned his stomach, the man moved on, and Outsider moved with him.
But deep in his heart, he was already trying to figure out how to change this fact.
There are many more tales to tell, but the moon's light is waning. I shall meet you again when the moon shines anew.
Saga of the Man Called True: First Moon
Jul. 19th, 2011 08:49 am(Note: The following is probably not going to make a great deal of sense. Roll with it. It's also all my original work, (c) JEO 2011.)
