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kittydesadeTitle: One Shift, Two Shift, Red Shift, Blue Shift
Fandom: Angel: The Series
Characters: Illyria, Glaucon (OC), Gunn, Wesley, Angel, Connor
Word Count: ~13,000 words
Rating: PG-13 (It's a surprisingly tame apocalypse)
Summary: At the end of all things (again), Glaucon reflects on how this end of the world reflects the end of his world when he was a soldier of the Goddess Illyria of Primordium.
Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4
Dawn brought the sunlight into his eyes and woke him with irritation. He squinted against the sunlight coming through slits in the walls of his rooms, reflected into his eyes off the mirrors. It was still early enough for the light to be pale and thin, not that that mitigated the brightness. And he still had just enough self-indulgence left in him to want to ignore the light and go back to sleep.
Glaucon rolled over and pulled the pillow over his head. It would only last for another minute, but today he felt like indulging in a fit of sullenness before he rose and dressed.
Outside the day had begun for many others. Those whose functions were to clean and feed the rest, those who served the food and carried the waste and cared for the animals and tools and made things. The sound of their activities made him feel guilty and incited him to get out of bed and scrub himself down, throw on his uniform and pull himself together. The whole process took very little time at all.
The walls were daubed in red clay and lined with intricate drawings in a darker red, near-black paint, most of them scattered with meanings he learned only from stories told around the dining tables. He drew his hands along the wall, feeling the rough texture under his fingertips.
Morning. An early meal that consisted of two pieces of bread grabbed from the table as he went past and a piece of fruit, and a period of weapons practice in the training courtyard, till the red sun reached the sixth marker. Every morning began this way, and he wasn't about to let his skills go because he was not in an active battalion and there was no war to fight. Practice kept him healthy and fit, in any case.
There was no war to fight for the moment. She could decide to change that at her whim, and he would rather be ready than face either her wrath or her disappointment if he wasn't. He would rather do many things than face her disappointment, or that of his friends and comrades.
"It's a good day, eh?"
Glaucon laughed. It was a small laugh and the merriment just brushed his eyes, but it was enough. His friend's expansive gesture of open arms and bright black eyes eyes answered the laughter and welcomed him to a vigorous morning of sparring.
"Come, Glaucon! Come join us."
"Now," he pointed the tip of his sword at the furry beast who was his closest friend. "I know you are playing with me." The too-expansive attitude was what he meant. Too much showmanship and confidence, too much glamour and good cheer in his behavior. Most likely hiding some intent to dump him on his bony rear end, as Llan called it, in sparring practice. Possibly there was someone he wanted to impress among the recruits who shared the field with them. It wouldn't be the first time he had used his prowess as a warrior in an arena that was at least safe enough to show off as a way to impress some female he found attractive. Or he could just be in a good mood.
Well, Glaucon could play along. He had done the same thing on occasion, if less often for the sake of a potential mate and more often because of a good mood or for no reason at all. They both liked to show off now and then.
"Would I do such a thing?" Llan was still smiling. Not with teeth, but smiling broadly, the tip of his tongue darting out over lips and nose. Too slow to be nervousness, but it was a gesture, which was more sign of his intentions than he would have given otherwise. The furry beast was letting his emotions show more than usual, at least to those who knew his species well enough to read him. There was definitely someone in the audience pacing through the courtyard who he wanted to see this.
"You would." Glaucon snorted, stepped into the ring and gave him a look that expected his friend to join him as the challenger, feet light on the hard-packed dirt and sword pointed down and ready. He would indeed.
The taller half-demon attacked the moment his friend stepped into the ring. Llan blocked in what seemed like a hurried motion and likely wasn't, parried, returned the attack. For the first few minutes they concentrated only on the impact of their weapons, their attacks and defense. Their feet skidded on the sand, drawing the patterns of their duel and highlighting their differences. It was, Glaucon thought between clashes, a good lesson in using your best aspects and not someone else's.
Glaucon spent most of the time on his toes, knees lightly bent and loose, skittering and moving rapidly on his legs rather than blocking or striking only with his sword. Llanwyn planted himself in one place and used that as his fortress, making use of every part of the terrain around him.
"So," he whispered to his friend as they were locked in close quarters combat for just a moment, eyes ruby-bright in the half-reflection of the scarlet sun. "Who is it?"
His friend sneezed, disengaged their blades and resumed a defensive stance as Glaucon circled, looking for his next opening. "What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean." He didn't quite laugh at his friend, but it was close. Hard to tell if the disinterest or refusal to engage in conversation was battle tactic or courtship tactic. Not that his friend ever had trouble courting a lover that suited his preferences, but he was more discriminating than Glaucon. He preferred the personal connection, and that required more care.
Glaucon had learned better than to seek out personal connections for himself a long time ago. Now he only sought those who knew his pleasures and knew well enough to leave well enough alone.
"I'm sure I have no idea."
"Liar."
They danced.
It was more like dancing than fighting, between the two of them, a courtship in and of itself. Not the hesitant romance of two who were unknown to each other but more like renewing an old embrace. They clashed together at brief intervals and backed off to regain their footing, reassess the state of their opponent again, pick out a new tactic. A friendly argument between equals that manifested itself as easily in physical form as it did in verbal or even the form of an exchanged glance.
Neither argument found a resolution, either the one about the mysterious target of his courtship or the one between them as to who was the better fighter. The first one would be resolved, if he decided he truly wanted an answer, within a few days. The latter conflict had been going on since he had arrived in the city, and would likely continue on as long as they lived. And Glaucon was content with that. It wasn't the sort of argument that required a resolution anyway.
Weapons practice made him ravenous.
The trick was not eating so much that he would fall into a stupor. Eat slow, eat properly, and eat among friends. The second meal of the day was eaten in the mess hall, usually in the company of men from his own battalion. Clatter and noise, long rows of tables were punctuated by aisles and the compost bins into which unwanted food was thrown. The meals were prepared daily in the great kitchens and brought in pots and trays that took (usually) two or three to carry. They ate from tin plates with what utensils they carried with them, for there was often too great a range of limbs and bodily forms to predict who might need what. Some of her soldiers didn't eat at all, not in the sense of consuming living matter for energy; they came anyway to share the company of their brethren. It was all varied and inevitably a little bit strange and surprisingly calm and peaceful for a band of warriors.
Glaucon collected his meal, a modest heaping on his plate compared to Llan's, and went to their customary corner of the room. Several of the company more well known to him were already there.
"We hear you were landed on your bony ass in the dust."
"So we hear."
The twins, such as they were, grinned their chitinous mouth-parts at him. They were a part of a larger collective that tithed a portion of its workers to the Goddess, and the twins seemed to be clutch-mates, as far as that went. Glaucon had never seen them apart from each other. Their shapes were more different than even he was used to, and it had taken him some time to realize that laughing was what they were doing when they looked like that, but once he'd noticed it seemed as though they were always laughing at something or another. There were times when it was irritating.
Today he had held his own well enough in the arena that it put him in a good mood, and he only rolled his eyes and blew out in the rapid rhythm that served the same purpose among their people. Just so his meaning was understood.
"You only hear that because he was embarrassed to admit that I had him beaten three rounds out of five." Yes, he said it, even though he heard Llanwyn coming up behind him. Perhaps especially because he heard him coming up.
"Three out of five? Did you last five rounds?" Which was when Glaucon's spoon "slipped" and a mouthful of some sort of stew landed in his face. The larger chunks fell; the smaller caught in his fur and disappeared into the mottled colors there. He blinked twice and then his tongue slid out to lap up what was closest to his mouth. "That was elegant."
Glaucon opened his eyes wide, made an expression as close to innocent as he could come with his red eyes and beak-like nose. His hair feathers stood, not puffy, but alert and pleased. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come up."
The twins laughed. A hissing sound that ended in rattling as they went back to their meal.
All in good fun. He expected to have food dumped on his head later, but as Llanwyn left. Right now they were both far too hungry to waste food. He wrapped the hunks of stewed meat up in the giant fronds and tore into it, making three or four bites of what had been a food item the size of his two fists. Bad form. He took his next wrap more sedately after Llan's fur ruffled in amusement.
Even the twins were silent while they ate, one of many small pockets of silence in the crowd, but they couldn't stay silent for long. Llan had all but cleaned off his face and was finishing his fruit as the twins began interrogating both of them, while they had their mouths full, as to her troop movements.
"Is it true that she will deploy to the south and take the territory while the kingdoms are arguing over the death of their old High King?"
"Is it true that the triumvirate is moving against her?"
"Is it true that she is moving to hold her position against them?"
That one he hadn't heard, and he glanced up at Llan as he swallowed his food. The furry bastard shrugged. Evidently his friend had heard those rumors and not thought it was worth bringing up. "No one knows until she decides they will, you know that," he told them both while Glaucon finished chewing. "It is useless to speculate. No one can predict her mind, that is why she is the Goddess and we are her servants."
"It is pointless," was his contribution to the conversation. "Ask her, if you want to know."
More chatter between the twins in their own language, if they had their own spoken language. "There is unrest in the barracks. You would not have known, you sleep in the palace and it is all in the quiet hours, but there is unrest. We have seen. We have heard the questions, endless questions, we have heard the whispers that stop when they look with upraised eyes."
Glaucon and Llan exchanged another look. No, they hadn't noticed, and perhaps they should have. It was for this reason that they ate in the mess hall, practiced in the courtyard instead of in more private quarters in the palace, as they could have done and as others did. Sleeping in the palace was one of the smaller luxuries they took advantage of, allowing them to sleep uninterrupted, and there were a few other solaces. He took advantage of his permission to have some time in the gardens, for example, and Llan enjoyed the palace groomers.
But they spent most of their time among the men. They were more comfortable with others in the same business and they tried to be good leaders and soldiers and know the temper of those under their command. They should have heard of this, and that they hadn't bothered him. Why had no one told them?
"What is perpetuating unrest?" Either Llan was less bothered or he was better at concealing it. Then again, between the two of them Llan was often better at concealing any upset he might have felt. Long practice, Glaucon suspected. "What have you heard?"
"Little things. A conversation between two soldiers about a rumor they have heard."
"A caravan arrived in the city accompanied by no guards and a few less wagons than it left with."
"Dark smoke comes out of the artificer's towers."
"Nothing that means anything in and of itself."
And they were right. None of these signs meant anything, but someone was putting them together and telling the barracks that it meant something. Or the barracks were putting it together themselves, not that they had ever done before. Glaucon pushed the food around on his plate a little longer before excusing himself with a terse comment and a nod to the twins.
Llanwyn caught up with him a few moments later. "It's just rumors, Glaucon. It doesn't mean anything."
"I don't know," Glaucon shook his head, working his way between the soldiers and out to the front of the barracks, looking around at the red dust over bland rock. "But I wonder whether or not even all the rumors, true or false, add up to something. Why didn't we know before this?"
Llan's fur rippled, but he had no answers either.
Fandom: Angel: The Series
Characters: Illyria, Glaucon (OC), Gunn, Wesley, Angel, Connor
Word Count: ~13,000 words
Rating: PG-13 (It's a surprisingly tame apocalypse)
Summary: At the end of all things (again), Glaucon reflects on how this end of the world reflects the end of his world when he was a soldier of the Goddess Illyria of Primordium.
Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4
Dawn brought the sunlight into his eyes and woke him with irritation. He squinted against the sunlight coming through slits in the walls of his rooms, reflected into his eyes off the mirrors. It was still early enough for the light to be pale and thin, not that that mitigated the brightness. And he still had just enough self-indulgence left in him to want to ignore the light and go back to sleep.
Glaucon rolled over and pulled the pillow over his head. It would only last for another minute, but today he felt like indulging in a fit of sullenness before he rose and dressed.
Outside the day had begun for many others. Those whose functions were to clean and feed the rest, those who served the food and carried the waste and cared for the animals and tools and made things. The sound of their activities made him feel guilty and incited him to get out of bed and scrub himself down, throw on his uniform and pull himself together. The whole process took very little time at all.
The walls were daubed in red clay and lined with intricate drawings in a darker red, near-black paint, most of them scattered with meanings he learned only from stories told around the dining tables. He drew his hands along the wall, feeling the rough texture under his fingertips.
Morning. An early meal that consisted of two pieces of bread grabbed from the table as he went past and a piece of fruit, and a period of weapons practice in the training courtyard, till the red sun reached the sixth marker. Every morning began this way, and he wasn't about to let his skills go because he was not in an active battalion and there was no war to fight. Practice kept him healthy and fit, in any case.
There was no war to fight for the moment. She could decide to change that at her whim, and he would rather be ready than face either her wrath or her disappointment if he wasn't. He would rather do many things than face her disappointment, or that of his friends and comrades.
"It's a good day, eh?"
Glaucon laughed. It was a small laugh and the merriment just brushed his eyes, but it was enough. His friend's expansive gesture of open arms and bright black eyes eyes answered the laughter and welcomed him to a vigorous morning of sparring.
"Come, Glaucon! Come join us."
"Now," he pointed the tip of his sword at the furry beast who was his closest friend. "I know you are playing with me." The too-expansive attitude was what he meant. Too much showmanship and confidence, too much glamour and good cheer in his behavior. Most likely hiding some intent to dump him on his bony rear end, as Llan called it, in sparring practice. Possibly there was someone he wanted to impress among the recruits who shared the field with them. It wouldn't be the first time he had used his prowess as a warrior in an arena that was at least safe enough to show off as a way to impress some female he found attractive. Or he could just be in a good mood.
Well, Glaucon could play along. He had done the same thing on occasion, if less often for the sake of a potential mate and more often because of a good mood or for no reason at all. They both liked to show off now and then.
"Would I do such a thing?" Llan was still smiling. Not with teeth, but smiling broadly, the tip of his tongue darting out over lips and nose. Too slow to be nervousness, but it was a gesture, which was more sign of his intentions than he would have given otherwise. The furry beast was letting his emotions show more than usual, at least to those who knew his species well enough to read him. There was definitely someone in the audience pacing through the courtyard who he wanted to see this.
"You would." Glaucon snorted, stepped into the ring and gave him a look that expected his friend to join him as the challenger, feet light on the hard-packed dirt and sword pointed down and ready. He would indeed.
The taller half-demon attacked the moment his friend stepped into the ring. Llan blocked in what seemed like a hurried motion and likely wasn't, parried, returned the attack. For the first few minutes they concentrated only on the impact of their weapons, their attacks and defense. Their feet skidded on the sand, drawing the patterns of their duel and highlighting their differences. It was, Glaucon thought between clashes, a good lesson in using your best aspects and not someone else's.
Glaucon spent most of the time on his toes, knees lightly bent and loose, skittering and moving rapidly on his legs rather than blocking or striking only with his sword. Llanwyn planted himself in one place and used that as his fortress, making use of every part of the terrain around him.
"So," he whispered to his friend as they were locked in close quarters combat for just a moment, eyes ruby-bright in the half-reflection of the scarlet sun. "Who is it?"
His friend sneezed, disengaged their blades and resumed a defensive stance as Glaucon circled, looking for his next opening. "What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean." He didn't quite laugh at his friend, but it was close. Hard to tell if the disinterest or refusal to engage in conversation was battle tactic or courtship tactic. Not that his friend ever had trouble courting a lover that suited his preferences, but he was more discriminating than Glaucon. He preferred the personal connection, and that required more care.
Glaucon had learned better than to seek out personal connections for himself a long time ago. Now he only sought those who knew his pleasures and knew well enough to leave well enough alone.
"I'm sure I have no idea."
"Liar."
They danced.
It was more like dancing than fighting, between the two of them, a courtship in and of itself. Not the hesitant romance of two who were unknown to each other but more like renewing an old embrace. They clashed together at brief intervals and backed off to regain their footing, reassess the state of their opponent again, pick out a new tactic. A friendly argument between equals that manifested itself as easily in physical form as it did in verbal or even the form of an exchanged glance.
Neither argument found a resolution, either the one about the mysterious target of his courtship or the one between them as to who was the better fighter. The first one would be resolved, if he decided he truly wanted an answer, within a few days. The latter conflict had been going on since he had arrived in the city, and would likely continue on as long as they lived. And Glaucon was content with that. It wasn't the sort of argument that required a resolution anyway.
Weapons practice made him ravenous.
The trick was not eating so much that he would fall into a stupor. Eat slow, eat properly, and eat among friends. The second meal of the day was eaten in the mess hall, usually in the company of men from his own battalion. Clatter and noise, long rows of tables were punctuated by aisles and the compost bins into which unwanted food was thrown. The meals were prepared daily in the great kitchens and brought in pots and trays that took (usually) two or three to carry. They ate from tin plates with what utensils they carried with them, for there was often too great a range of limbs and bodily forms to predict who might need what. Some of her soldiers didn't eat at all, not in the sense of consuming living matter for energy; they came anyway to share the company of their brethren. It was all varied and inevitably a little bit strange and surprisingly calm and peaceful for a band of warriors.
Glaucon collected his meal, a modest heaping on his plate compared to Llan's, and went to their customary corner of the room. Several of the company more well known to him were already there.
"We hear you were landed on your bony ass in the dust."
"So we hear."
The twins, such as they were, grinned their chitinous mouth-parts at him. They were a part of a larger collective that tithed a portion of its workers to the Goddess, and the twins seemed to be clutch-mates, as far as that went. Glaucon had never seen them apart from each other. Their shapes were more different than even he was used to, and it had taken him some time to realize that laughing was what they were doing when they looked like that, but once he'd noticed it seemed as though they were always laughing at something or another. There were times when it was irritating.
Today he had held his own well enough in the arena that it put him in a good mood, and he only rolled his eyes and blew out in the rapid rhythm that served the same purpose among their people. Just so his meaning was understood.
"You only hear that because he was embarrassed to admit that I had him beaten three rounds out of five." Yes, he said it, even though he heard Llanwyn coming up behind him. Perhaps especially because he heard him coming up.
"Three out of five? Did you last five rounds?" Which was when Glaucon's spoon "slipped" and a mouthful of some sort of stew landed in his face. The larger chunks fell; the smaller caught in his fur and disappeared into the mottled colors there. He blinked twice and then his tongue slid out to lap up what was closest to his mouth. "That was elegant."
Glaucon opened his eyes wide, made an expression as close to innocent as he could come with his red eyes and beak-like nose. His hair feathers stood, not puffy, but alert and pleased. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come up."
The twins laughed. A hissing sound that ended in rattling as they went back to their meal.
All in good fun. He expected to have food dumped on his head later, but as Llanwyn left. Right now they were both far too hungry to waste food. He wrapped the hunks of stewed meat up in the giant fronds and tore into it, making three or four bites of what had been a food item the size of his two fists. Bad form. He took his next wrap more sedately after Llan's fur ruffled in amusement.
Even the twins were silent while they ate, one of many small pockets of silence in the crowd, but they couldn't stay silent for long. Llan had all but cleaned off his face and was finishing his fruit as the twins began interrogating both of them, while they had their mouths full, as to her troop movements.
"Is it true that she will deploy to the south and take the territory while the kingdoms are arguing over the death of their old High King?"
"Is it true that the triumvirate is moving against her?"
"Is it true that she is moving to hold her position against them?"
That one he hadn't heard, and he glanced up at Llan as he swallowed his food. The furry bastard shrugged. Evidently his friend had heard those rumors and not thought it was worth bringing up. "No one knows until she decides they will, you know that," he told them both while Glaucon finished chewing. "It is useless to speculate. No one can predict her mind, that is why she is the Goddess and we are her servants."
"It is pointless," was his contribution to the conversation. "Ask her, if you want to know."
More chatter between the twins in their own language, if they had their own spoken language. "There is unrest in the barracks. You would not have known, you sleep in the palace and it is all in the quiet hours, but there is unrest. We have seen. We have heard the questions, endless questions, we have heard the whispers that stop when they look with upraised eyes."
Glaucon and Llan exchanged another look. No, they hadn't noticed, and perhaps they should have. It was for this reason that they ate in the mess hall, practiced in the courtyard instead of in more private quarters in the palace, as they could have done and as others did. Sleeping in the palace was one of the smaller luxuries they took advantage of, allowing them to sleep uninterrupted, and there were a few other solaces. He took advantage of his permission to have some time in the gardens, for example, and Llan enjoyed the palace groomers.
But they spent most of their time among the men. They were more comfortable with others in the same business and they tried to be good leaders and soldiers and know the temper of those under their command. They should have heard of this, and that they hadn't bothered him. Why had no one told them?
"What is perpetuating unrest?" Either Llan was less bothered or he was better at concealing it. Then again, between the two of them Llan was often better at concealing any upset he might have felt. Long practice, Glaucon suspected. "What have you heard?"
"Little things. A conversation between two soldiers about a rumor they have heard."
"A caravan arrived in the city accompanied by no guards and a few less wagons than it left with."
"Dark smoke comes out of the artificer's towers."
"Nothing that means anything in and of itself."
And they were right. None of these signs meant anything, but someone was putting them together and telling the barracks that it meant something. Or the barracks were putting it together themselves, not that they had ever done before. Glaucon pushed the food around on his plate a little longer before excusing himself with a terse comment and a nod to the twins.
Llanwyn caught up with him a few moments later. "It's just rumors, Glaucon. It doesn't mean anything."
"I don't know," Glaucon shook his head, working his way between the soldiers and out to the front of the barracks, looking around at the red dust over bland rock. "But I wonder whether or not even all the rumors, true or false, add up to something. Why didn't we know before this?"
Llan's fur rippled, but he had no answers either.