TAKE THE LIGHT FROM YOUR EYES And what a shame it was. So calm, so empty. And yet, he is at home here. For what risk does a cavern of he blind and mad pose to one whom IS blind and mad? None. The caverns were deep, the darkness swelling in heavy curtains that grew only deeper as she, too, ventured forth. The silence could be deafening, broken only by the soft dripping of water in the distance, the constant, soft murmur of a flowing brook that seemed to have been the remnants of whatever flow had helped to carve out the caverns to begin with, and ever rarer, to the soft squeak and scuffle of rats and mice that found themselves here at home. And yet, there was but another, and while this was outside of the territory of what he was familiar with, it was near enough that his comfort was nearly guaranteed, for while so many others deemed the darkness as lesser, below them, or even fearful, to him? It was home. He was a cave dwelling beast and he, one of the rare few who wore the darkness like a cloak, and yet even the deep swaths of ink could not muffle the sounds that echoed through the lower depths. He sang. It was a thing he no longer found himself doing often, it had once been a valuable part of his time in meditation, though he had found himself often busy, too busy to even find the time to properly swim in his own sightless psyche. But now, he had a moment, he had a chance, and however small and brief it may have been, he would clutch it, fierce. And perhaps it was this, the smooth sound of velvet and honey, a promise of beauty somewhere in the dark-- that would be be a sirens' lure. ____________ "speak"

Someone was singing. A haunting, sonorous lure from the depths of the earth. Venturing into the bowels of the earth had become second nature, so far from the warmth of familiar territory. Feathery pelt buffeted by winter winds, the herald padded cautiously below. It was a long trek. After all, he had begun in the strange labyrinth of tunnels called the northern mines. Sightless gaze stared straight ahead, unaware of the cloying darkness that pressed in on all sides. The only hint that he was retreating ever deeper was that the air grew stale and warm. Curiosity killed the cat, hadn't it? It was a grim thought, but whoever was singing that siren song from below must be an old soul. Pale toes stepped inadvertently into a rivulet stream that passed into the locus obscuro. The splash of his paw seemed to echo for miles through the cavern. Well, so much for a respectful entrance. A soft sigh passed inky lips, as the golden behemoth continued his tentative path. The booming voice, lilting in reverent hymns, only grew louder with each step. Though vastly different from his own songs, there was a familiarity of sorts to hear them. Tall auds tipped back, caution bodes him move slowly. Dare he intrude? He's made his way down here, but should the scarred giant really be interrupting? Perhaps this stranger did not wish to spread his gospel, as the herald did so wantonly. "Gabriel" Thoughts "Others" IF YOU HAVE NIGHTMARES WE'LL DANCE ON THE BED

TAKE THE LIGHT FROM YOUR EYES What a sweet thought, though in truth, his very presence has already intruded but he is not one to be so easily swayed, nor interrupted. And so his hymnal continues until the trailing phrases fall into obscurity and silence briefly reigns. He SEES this giant of a newcomer, but not with eyes. It is every minuscule twitch of his body, the thrum of his heartbeat, the whispers of his breath, the dripping of the caverns' water bouncing raucously off of the walls and if the sound were light, the world would be a glorious midsummer's day because that is how he 'sees'. "Well well well! Please, to whom do I owe the pleasure? Had I known I'd be performing to an audience, I would have worn a nicer outfit. Alas, I'm left woefully drab and I find that I'm usually not the only one who shoes up to the party wearing black." His grin goes unseen--of course it does. Perhaps it is the careful manner in which he steps, the testing of the proverbial waters with stretched toes and widened paw pads to feel the minute vibrations through the stone and earth that resonate up his legs. "But oh, I seem to have forgotten my manners again. Still, it's impolite to intrude during a rehearsal. Well, c'est la vie, I suppose I can make an exception this time." He winks, though of course it is unrecognized. There is a lilt to his velveteen voice, an exotic accent that seems to curl the words and phrases in the air like smoke, as if he paints the words rather than speaks them, for he is ever the showman he'd be loathe to give a poor performance for even the unsightliest of audiences. "I have many names, though perhaps you'll see fit to find a new one for me? Elsewise, you may call me Mercury." and so, the Gentleman Jester bows, folding a forelimb across his chest in a sweeping arc as his shoulders and upper body drop, though this has the added benefit of bringing his muzzle to the ground to inhale deep whatever remnants of scent the lone passerby has carried with him. Hm. Nothing of interest. And so he rises. "What brings you to such a place? I'd scarcely think one with any self-preservation skills would wander so far..." He waves a paw somewhat nonchalantly over his shoulder, as if dismissing the notion. Mannerisms that are strange, and an accent that is stranger, perhaps the enigmatic man is just insane and going off on another tangent. ____________ "speak"

It took mere moments for the sonorous crooning to trail off. A shame, really. To hear another's devotion was to peer into their soul, something rare for the sightless. He can hear the soft, unharried breaths of the other wolf. Scents the musk of testosterone leaking from his pores. A big male, who is far from worried by the presence of another in the bowels of the earth. A rare breed, but a pleasure nonetheless. "Well well well!" the booming baritones invade sensitive ears, forcing them to attention. So similar to the rumbling depth of his brother's voice. "To whom do I owe the pleasure? had I known I'd be performing to an audience, I would have worn a nicer outfit. Alas, I'm left woefully drab and I find that I'm usually not the only one who shows up to the party wearing black." A quizzical lift of one pale brow point, and the herald took a step closer. Small, testing the ground beforehand. Protruding rock is the bane of his existence. Golden cranium dipped politely in greeting. "Gabriel Morningstar is my name," he murmured, his soft vocals carrying well in the enclosed space. The male had no response to the rest of the... interesting- tirade that had followed the boon of his name. "But oh, I seem to have forgotten my manners again. Still, it's impolite to intrude during a rehearsal. Well, c'est la vie, I suppose I can make an exception this time." The male continue, tone banal and aloof. He seemed to be feigning his offenses, though through the years the herald had learned not to make assumptions. Chin tipping towards the ground, the male felt guilty nonetheless. "It was not my intent to intrude," he said gently, daring to lift his marred countenance once again. Pointing a blind, sea foam gaze in the vague direction of the other male. "it's only that I so rarely hear another singing their devotion, and I had to learn the source." It was true, he had been drawn like a moth to a flame. By way of introduction, the strange male began to speak again. "I have many names, though perhaps you'll see fit to find a new one for me? Elsewise, you may call me Mercury." The air shifted dramatically, and the sound of limbs moving by way of gesture was the best that the male could make out. Clicking of nails on stone, as the paws shift their stance. He could hear the swift inhale of the other male. Taking in his scent quite intently. "Mercury is a good name," He murmured tentatively, bobbing his head in affirmation. "I heard once that it was the name of an old god, but also that it was the name of a deadly metal." Herein lay his own query to the stranger. "Which are you, Mercury? A deity, or death to an unfortunate soul?" Though words weren't always his specialty, the male was not shy of riddles and games. "What brings you to such a place? I'd scarcely think one with any self-preservation skills would wander so far..." Of course, the herald had already given that away. Perhaps he should have waited and listened, respectfully. As Father had taught him. All at once, the recollection of the Lord's teachings struck him like a blow. Reminded him of what had happened. He dared not put more thought into it, for fear that it would ruin his meeting with this odd stranger. "Gabriel" Thoughts "Others" IF YOU HAVE NIGHTMARES WE'LL DANCE ON THE BED

TAKE THE LIGHT FROM YOUR EYES Perhaps Gabe is not as well-versed in the art of discerning things as he is. But perhaps it is simply a boon of his family, to flit about like night-birds and to intimately know the shadows. Perhaps he has been exceedingly lucky, in his family being the kind that is close knit and close, the kind to teach not weakness, but strength. Strength in even your faults. And as a result, he is an expert now-- he has spent the entirety of his life filled with an unwavering confidence that can only be strengthened, though it should not be confused for egotism. "What a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Morningstar. You know, there are many connotations that follow such a name, coming from other worlds than this...perhaps this, and others..." He knows things he should not, SEES things he should not, for while his eyes remain blind in this world, in others. they see all. He knows the unearthly beauty of a galaxy-rise, not a sunrise-- a morning filled with stars and and evening filled with distant moons and glittering auroras. He has seen a planet filled with life that lives in cold fire, and a planet made of glass that is dead, life and joy and hope extinguished to leave nothing but a beautiful shell. But this life? This life, he must see through the soul. When poses with such a question, he laughs and the sound is rich, unfiltered."I am a man wise enough to dare not equate myself with a god, though I cannot say if there are those who deem me as such, nor will I dance around the subject of those that have come to an unfortunate end at my hands." He knows what hands are, oft forgetting that there are those who do not,"And so whichever I am is left up to interpretation." It is not unheard of, nor uncommon, for him to feast on the flesh of the fallen. There are those children that are too weak to succeeded in even the smallest of ways and it is best to devour them before they have even the chance to taste the cruelty of this world, and those that waltz through life with assumptions of deific delusions and grandeur, and those are souls he feels must be knocked down several pegs to remember their place and their flesh must be assimilated. Perhaps the one he sang to required a darker devotion, for loyalty to be written in blood and fear. Though, it would be no different than any other lord who deems that they are a jealous god, no? "Come then, share with me your hymns, Sir Morningstar, that I may better come to know you." And though the darkness is near tangible, he gestures to the seat beside him, motioning through the darkness as if it would clear to his demand. ____________ "speak"