Moone was so close to him; Pontifex could practically feel the man's body heat, feel the blood pump through his body. Maybe it was an illusion caused by the steady flicker of the candle, but Pontifex thought that he could see Moone's pulse thump rhythmically in Moone's neck. With the dangers of the world torn away from Moone, Pontifex struggled, desiring strongly to replace those dangers with himself.
Pontifex regarded the sleeping Moone's naked strings before him, and saw a harmony and intensity of them, and something more beyond. The particular vibration, the length and thickness of the string itself, this particular note chord. He stared at it a long time, long into the night, far longer than the night should have lasted, each minute stretching out and out and out until morning. It was a chord that he had only seen once before. In himself.
Pontifex stretched and pondered his fate. Just a few months ago, the thought has occurred to him [flashback??]
[debrief??]
There had been some who had seen the end of the Soviet Empire coming, the financial difficulties and ultimate dissolution, but they were just one of many voices a few of many voices. Others portened worse calamities, not from the supernatural world but from outside, from the World-- secular, mundane, these words both meant the same thing, the world; covert, occult both meant hidden; the world of night and shadows. Tales of nuclear winters starving the sun-worshippers of power; tales of great anti-magic bombs wiping out the source of true power and leaving the mortals godless, without leadership and the source of true power. There was another rumor that the Empire had fallen because scientists in a different field entirely had discovered another secret entirely, that they had dug and dug down deep into the dwarven realms and beyond, that they had uncovered the gates of Sheol itself. The Secular Empire simply collapsing under economic weight, dragging the Occult Empire with it, was something few saw coming, and few believed to be the truth.
That had been the intended purpose of the Marxists, hadn't it, and there were whispers of mundane scientists toiling deeper into the maze of mystic arts to finally achieve their dream, to create a substance that would kill Gods. The Antichrist Particle. Killing Gods would have unraveled space and time and undid all, for there were some Beings who held the structure of cause and effect together, their bodies comprised not of space but of time, stretching back to all that was and forward into all that will be, or perhaps even may be.
The Empire truly would have fallen, then, if they had succeeded... some said that they did succeed, but realized the folly of their intended achievements, which is why the Empire had remained standing; others said that they had succeeded, but rather than see the folly of the endeavor, had kept the discovery under wraps. And now that the Empire had fallen, the Antichrist Particle was a secret out in the wind, to be stumbled upon blindly, or to remain in the hands of those behind the scenes in the secular world, to go to the highest bidder. The Cabal couldn’t control everything, of course. There were shadows even in the World of Daylight. As far as Pontifex knew.
These were the rumors, but Pontifex believed none of them. He frequently found that the reality of things was often exactly what it seemed, as disappointing as that may be.
His organization, the Cabal of Hands and Tongues, worked now to rebuild the empire, to give themselves the power to maintain order. But Pontifex saw all this as a failed experiment. And it was time for history to move on. That’s why he defected, of course. To stop his formal Cabal. It was a well-worn trope in the intelligence community that the East had spies everywhere and gathered their intelligence through infiltration of the enemy's ranks. The West had to rely almost solely on defectors for their intelligence.
the homoerotic subtext becomes text
Pontifex knew much of mythology and the truth behind things, much from personal experience though he was reluctant to touch on things that far into himself. He would lecture endlessly, and for the most part, Moone actually found it fascinating.
Pontifex had a genuine connection to the supernatural world, breathed magic like oxygen, which Moone craved above anything. Moone could have had it all, just skirting through life, and getting by rolling with the punches of every attack and every threat that came his way, but he didn’t. What made him crave that knowledge, Pontifex wondered. Maybe a desire to dig to the root of what made him so special, why he had been chosen from the mundane world and thrust into the supernatural one. Or perhaps to find a way to remove the burden of his Bane once and for all?
Pontifex regarded Moone, bright and eager and curious like a beautiful precocious child. Hanging onto every word and snippet of information from Pontifex's mouth, though Pontifex was no expert himself. There were so many gaps in his knowledge, but Moone treated Pontifex's words like the voice of the Almighty, handing down distilled and unadulterated Truth. Pontifex could always see underneath Moone's skin, into his blood, but now he saw Moone for just a man, a beautiful curious passionate man. Pontifex turned away.
Moone's blood always called to Pontifex, but now he was feeling a much more perplexing emotion. Calling out to him now was, alongside Moone’s blood, Moone's flesh. The desire to replace the danger-shaped hole in Moone’s life expanded to all its forms. He would be the cold-iron knife. He would be the sphinx and the riddle master. And, yes, he would be the seductress, the alluring touch in the nighttime.
Pontifex analyzed these feelings, stepping back to a great distance. Long ago, in a green place and time when he had been young, Pontifex had looked at love and the act of loving, and decided it was not for him; he had seen what others had, and had been thoroughly baffled and repulsed by it. He vowed then to freeze his heart and lock it up and offer it up to no soul else. It was a decision that had gone on to shape much of who Pontifex was. The reason why he favored solitude. The reason ~~~~. The reason why he was on this trip with Moone in the first place. He wasn't about to slice through that gordian knot now, after all this time! Just because he was, what, feeling a little temptation? Ridiculous schoolboy, lusting after sweets. Moone had been tempting him all this time, and Pontifex had been just fine. This new layer was no different from any of the other layers; why pick now to fawn? Though the Pontifex would be lying if he didn’t admit, he thought it a lot more beguiling, temptations of flesh over the temptations of blood...
* * *
As Pontifex’s physical attraction to Moone grew, so did the metaphysical attraction. [show don’t tell] If he were to kiss those lips, he’d proceed to bite them clean off.
* * *
Pontifex reached out with one hand and brushed Moone's cheek tenderly, but stopped stiffly, and pulled back. Patted it firmly instead, in a cute motion, playing it off like it had been a simple bit of physical contact between friends.
But Moone knew the truth behind the gesture.
A truth that would never leave the back of his mind.
* * *
Far too late, Pontifex realized something. He’d meant to be the protector instead of the destroyer, and had for the most part done an admirable job. But he had revealed his true hand, letting his guard down for that half-second at the [place.] And Moone had had his heart broken, and it was Pontifex’s fault, and there was no repairing that now.
to dos!
[Build the Antichrist Particle (AXP) as a threat. A character whose motivation is to find the Antichrist Particle, only to discover that there is none, that the rumors had only been rumors, and that he had become an extremist tilting at windmills.]
[bring up- with assassins able to pry off Boon, have Moone wonder about doing that to Bane.]
[make dialogue more poetic, like LeCarre.]
establish Moone's interface with magic sources as being different (tides)
Unwin interface different still (bubbles)
at the bid
When Moone was young he had read a book about a man who infiltrated an anarchist group only to find that every member of the group was also a spy infiltrating their ranks. A short story about time traveller who went back to the execution of Christ, trying to blend in by going along with the crowd in calling for His crucifixion, only to discover that every member of the crowd was a time traveller as well succumbing to their own paradox. Moone looked around the room and wondered if they were going against their own interests, if they needed to bother at all, or if every bidder here was a first world power wanting peace and making sure to secure the NOC before it fell into anyone else's hands.
That had been the intended purpose of the Marxists, hadn't it, and there were whispers of mundane scientists toiling deeper into the maze of mystic arts to finally achieve their dream, to create a substance that would kill Gods. The Antichrist Particle. Killing Gods would have unraveled space and time and undid all, for there were some Beings who held the structure of cause and effect together, their bodies comprised not of space but of time, stretching back to all that was and forward into all that will be, or perhaps even may be.
The Empire truly would have fallen, then, if they had succeeded... some said that they did succeed, but realized the folly of their intended achievements, which is why the Empire had remained standing; others said that they had succeeded, but rather than see the folly of the endeavor, had kept the discovery under wraps. And now that the Empire had fallen, the Antichrist Particle was a secret out in the wind, to be stumbled upon blindly, or to remain in the hands of those behind the scenes in the secular world, to go to the highest bidder. The Cabal couldn’t control everything, of course. There were shadows even in the World of Daylight. As far as Pontifex knew.
These were the rumors, but Pontifex believed none of them. He frequently found that the reality of things was often exactly what it seemed, as disappointing as that may be.
His organization, the Cabal of Hands and Tongues, worked now to rebuild the empire, to give themselves the power to maintain order. But Pontifex saw all this as a failed experiment. And it was time for history to move on. That’s why he defected, of course. To stop his formal Cabal. It was a well-worn trope in the intelligence community that the East had spies everywhere and gathered their intelligence through infiltration of the enemy's ranks. The West had to rely almost solely on defectors for their intelligence.
the homoerotic subtext becomes text
Pontifex knew much of mythology and the truth behind things, much from personal experience though he was reluctant to touch on things that far into himself. He would lecture endlessly, and for the most part, Moone actually found it fascinating.
Pontifex had a genuine connection to the supernatural world, breathed magic like oxygen, which Moone craved above anything. Moone could have had it all, just skirting through life, and getting by rolling with the punches of every attack and every threat that came his way, but he didn’t. What made him crave that knowledge, Pontifex wondered. Maybe a desire to dig to the root of what made him so special, why he had been chosen from the mundane world and thrust into the supernatural one. Or perhaps to find a way to remove the burden of his Bane once and for all?
Pontifex regarded Moone, bright and eager and curious like a beautiful precocious child. Hanging onto every word and snippet of information from Pontifex's mouth, though Pontifex was no expert himself. There were so many gaps in his knowledge, but Moone treated Pontifex's words like the voice of the Almighty, handing down distilled and unadulterated Truth. Pontifex could always see underneath Moone's skin, into his blood, but now he saw Moone for just a man, a beautiful curious passionate man. Pontifex turned away.
Moone's blood always called to Pontifex, but now he was feeling a much more perplexing emotion. Calling out to him now was, alongside Moone’s blood, Moone's flesh. The desire to replace the danger-shaped hole in Moone’s life expanded to all its forms. He would be the cold-iron knife. He would be the sphinx and the riddle master. And, yes, he would be the seductress, the alluring touch in the nighttime.
Pontifex analyzed these feelings, stepping back to a great distance. Long ago, in a green place and time when he had been young, Pontifex had looked at love and the act of loving, and decided it was not for him; he had seen what others had, and had been thoroughly baffled and repulsed by it. He vowed then to freeze his heart and lock it up and offer it up to no soul else. It was a decision that had gone on to shape much of who Pontifex was. The reason why he favored solitude. The reason ~~~~. The reason why he was on this trip with Moone in the first place. He wasn't about to slice through that gordian knot now, after all this time! Just because he was, what, feeling a little temptation? Ridiculous schoolboy, lusting after sweets. Moone had been tempting him all this time, and Pontifex had been just fine. This new layer was no different from any of the other layers; why pick now to fawn? Though the Pontifex would be lying if he didn’t admit, he thought it a lot more beguiling, temptations of flesh over the temptations of blood...
* * *
As Pontifex’s physical attraction to Moone grew, so did the metaphysical attraction. [show don’t tell] If he were to kiss those lips, he’d proceed to bite them clean off.
* * *
Pontifex reached out with one hand and brushed Moone's cheek tenderly, but stopped stiffly, and pulled back. Patted it firmly instead, in a cute motion, playing it off like it had been a simple bit of physical contact between friends.
But Moone knew the truth behind the gesture.
A truth that would never leave the back of his mind.
* * *
Far too late, Pontifex realized something. He’d meant to be the protector instead of the destroyer, and had for the most part done an admirable job. But he had revealed his true hand, letting his guard down for that half-second at the [place.] And Moone had had his heart broken, and it was Pontifex’s fault, and there was no repairing that now.
to dos!
[Build the Antichrist Particle (AXP) as a threat. A character whose motivation is to find the Antichrist Particle, only to discover that there is none, that the rumors had only been rumors, and that he had become an extremist tilting at windmills.]
[bring up- with assassins able to pry off Boon, have Moone wonder about doing that to Bane.]
[make dialogue more poetic, like LeCarre.]
establish Moone's interface with magic sources as being different (tides)
Unwin interface different still (bubbles)
at the bid
When Moone was young he had read a book about a man who infiltrated an anarchist group only to find that every member of the group was also a spy infiltrating their ranks. A short story about time traveller who went back to the execution of Christ, trying to blend in by going along with the crowd in calling for His crucifixion, only to discover that every member of the crowd was a time traveller as well succumbing to their own paradox. Moone looked around the room and wondered if they were going against their own interests, if they needed to bother at all, or if every bidder here was a first world power wanting peace and making sure to secure the NOC before it fell into anyone else's hands.
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