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Oct. 23rd, 2011 08:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nexmosnonlucror[Tom is outside, in his long black coat, staring down intently at a gravestone. He has been there for close to three hours, his green scarf fluttering in the wind as he tilts his head, to read the name once more. No matter how many times he reads it, it does not change --
Merope Gaunt.
He has been told that if he stays long enough, he will see something, and, well -- Tom, though he couldn't care less about the pain of the people in the city, wanted to see what he would see. After all, he was a murderer -- so he thought perhaps he would see his father, his grandparents, that Myrtle girl, or Hanna Cross -- but instead, he comes face to face with his mother's gravestone, written in perfect cursive.
And, after three hours of waiting, Tom is accompanied by a woman, who touches his arm gently. He does not look over at the cool feeling, but he speaks quietly.]
You certainly took your time in approaching me.
[Merope is quiet, for a moment, before she moves in front of her grave. She is shorter than her taller son, with pale hollowed cheeks, wide eyes, and thin hands. She reaches out to touch Tom's face, but Tom moves away from her, narrowing his cold dark eyes in a silent warning. Do not touch. And while this bothers the woman, she smiles peacefully.]
You look just like your father.
[Her voice is high and soft.]
Just like --
You aren't real.
[Tom's eyes are boring holes into the hallucination, his lips pressed together into a thin line, hands still in his pockets.]
The Animus have shown me what happened. To you. That night, the orphanage, it was snowing.
[And Tom's voice quietly slips into Parseltongue as he steps past his mother, to reach out with a pale hand, to touch the cold gravestone. And, suddenly, around them, it is snowing, and they are on a street in London. All a hallucination. All not real. Tom knows enough to know this. But he doesn't seem bothered by the sudden change in scenery.]
You sold the locket of Slytherin in order to feed yourself to avoid dying, pathetic fool, how much good did that do you? You left this world as you entered it, desolate, filthy, and poor. Naming me after my filthy Mudblood father and then leave me behind in some orphanage, and is it really any wonder, before you open that atrocious mouth of yours, that I turned out -- well. Professor Dumbledore refers to it as off to those who will listen to him. As if I can't hear.
[Merope watches him silently before reaching out to touch her son's arm, again, and this time, her fingers touch the sleeve of his coat, her voice whispery and paper thin as she begs him to try and listen to her.]
You don't have to be this way, Tom, my beloved son, you have the world before you and --
[But the vision abruptly breaks, the snow stops falling, as a flash of red light shatters the grave stone in front of him. Tom lowers his wand, the end smoking, and his eyes cold as ice. It only takes a moment or two more before the gravestone has returned, but the vision has not. It is now silent.
-- for now.]
ooc: Come find Tom, if you want! But any interaction will be after this scene.
Merope Gaunt.
He has been told that if he stays long enough, he will see something, and, well -- Tom, though he couldn't care less about the pain of the people in the city, wanted to see what he would see. After all, he was a murderer -- so he thought perhaps he would see his father, his grandparents, that Myrtle girl, or Hanna Cross -- but instead, he comes face to face with his mother's gravestone, written in perfect cursive.
And, after three hours of waiting, Tom is accompanied by a woman, who touches his arm gently. He does not look over at the cool feeling, but he speaks quietly.]
You certainly took your time in approaching me.
[Merope is quiet, for a moment, before she moves in front of her grave. She is shorter than her taller son, with pale hollowed cheeks, wide eyes, and thin hands. She reaches out to touch Tom's face, but Tom moves away from her, narrowing his cold dark eyes in a silent warning. Do not touch. And while this bothers the woman, she smiles peacefully.]
You look just like your father.
[Her voice is high and soft.]
Just like --
You aren't real.
[Tom's eyes are boring holes into the hallucination, his lips pressed together into a thin line, hands still in his pockets.]
The Animus have shown me what happened. To you. That night, the orphanage, it was snowing.
[And Tom's voice quietly slips into Parseltongue as he steps past his mother, to reach out with a pale hand, to touch the cold gravestone. And, suddenly, around them, it is snowing, and they are on a street in London. All a hallucination. All not real. Tom knows enough to know this. But he doesn't seem bothered by the sudden change in scenery.]
You sold the locket of Slytherin in order to feed yourself to avoid dying, pathetic fool, how much good did that do you? You left this world as you entered it, desolate, filthy, and poor. Naming me after my filthy Mudblood father and then leave me behind in some orphanage, and is it really any wonder, before you open that atrocious mouth of yours, that I turned out -- well. Professor Dumbledore refers to it as off to those who will listen to him. As if I can't hear.
[Merope watches him silently before reaching out to touch her son's arm, again, and this time, her fingers touch the sleeve of his coat, her voice whispery and paper thin as she begs him to try and listen to her.]
You don't have to be this way, Tom, my beloved son, you have the world before you and --
[But the vision abruptly breaks, the snow stops falling, as a flash of red light shatters the grave stone in front of him. Tom lowers his wand, the end smoking, and his eyes cold as ice. It only takes a moment or two more before the gravestone has returned, but the vision has not. It is now silent.
-- for now.]
ooc: Come find Tom, if you want! But any interaction will be after this scene.
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Date: 2011-10-24 02:08 am (UTC)--- This and that. I cannot be sure if any of it is real so I do not know if to -
[ rejoice?? ]
Respond at all.
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Date: 2011-10-24 10:10 pm (UTC)[His voice is quiet, and Tom stoops slightly, to touch a hand to the cold marble of the gravestone in front of him.]
Visions of the past or future, I would say, though I have only been haunted by one spirit since stepping out to investigate. Perhaps more will appear.
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Date: 2011-10-24 10:29 pm (UTC)If this is their plan to scare us, I should say it's nearly insulting in its simplicity.
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Date: 2011-10-24 11:30 pm (UTC)[Tom pauses, for a brief moment, before he straightens, inclining his head towards the grave.]
That is my mother's name.
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Date: 2011-10-25 12:01 am (UTC)I'm sorry. Did you see her?
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Date: 2011-10-25 04:48 pm (UTC)[Tom pauses.]
For the first time, actually.
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Date: 2011-10-25 04:57 pm (UTC)[ she nods a bit ]
I should hope not to.
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Date: 2011-10-26 05:46 am (UTC)Offline;
Date: 2011-10-26 07:46 pm (UTC)There are graves of those -- who had been alive when I left Camelot. I do not know whether to believe they are dead or not.
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Date: 2011-10-27 05:50 am (UTC)Offline;
Date: 2011-10-27 07:56 pm (UTC)Offline;
Date: 2011-10-27 09:57 pm (UTC)[He's slightly disappointed. Of course, if Tom looks further, he will find his own tombstone. But he won't be taking his time to search.]
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Date: 2011-10-27 10:07 pm (UTC)Offline;
Date: 2011-10-27 10:56 pm (UTC)Aggravating.
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Date: 2011-10-27 11:07 pm (UTC)I still know nothing of Camelot the way Arthur and Merlin experienced it. I know not of what happened. All I know is that at some point -
[ has she killed Uther? perhaps that was it all along ]
I left. And they cannot understand why.
[ but she can, and it's ironic to her since of course they can't. ]
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Date: 2011-11-01 10:44 pm (UTC)[Tom glances at her again.]
Though it surprises me Merlin cannot see it.
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Date: 2011-11-01 10:47 pm (UTC)Offline;
Date: 2011-11-01 10:50 pm (UTC)[Quiet, mild, unforgiving.]
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Date: 2011-11-01 10:57 pm (UTC)[ why didn't he tell her. ]
Arthur accepts Merlin. Me he will never accept. We are the same, yet I - I'm the bad side of the coin.
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Date: 2011-11-03 12:23 am (UTC)[Somewhat quietly, but the words carry a large amount of weight.]
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Date: 2011-11-03 12:29 am (UTC)[ A quiet agreement. ]
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Date: 2011-11-04 12:43 am (UTC)[Tom flicks his wand to dispel some of the fog.]
-- I think no less of you for what you are.
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Date: 2011-11-04 12:47 am (UTC)[ Not a question. ]
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Date: 2011-11-04 12:48 am (UTC)[Not Lady Morgana. Not now. The tiniest inkling of connection.]
To change it. To have people see truth.
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Date: 2011-11-04 01:11 am (UTC)I think I may have killed the king.
[ no. Correction. ]
I think I used my magic to kill the king.
[ and she knows what that means. High treason, betrayal, schemes and murder. She killed her patron. His ghost looked heartbroken. Asked her why. Told her there was still a way.
But Uther's ghost knew not of her magic or of the fact she spared his life once. ]
There was no other way.
[ she hurts but it's hard to be sorry. ]
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