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Mar. 28th, 2006 03:14 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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neutral_omensDate: March 8, 1999
Status: Private
Setting: The grounds of Tadfield, then Uriel’s room
Summary: Pestilence goes looking for a friend for Uriel, but recent events put a damper on the occasion.
Warnings: Caution! Internal character angst and reflection- if this offends you, skip until the string of asteriks
The Winter's snow and ice were slowly giving way to the gentle sunlight and blooms of Spring. Pestilence had to admit that he liked Spring, and not only for the allergies and reawakened illnesses that came in the season; he also liked Spring because of the reawakened life that filled even the air.
The recent events had caused a lot of thought in Pestilence. Some startling truths that he hadn't been entirely willing to face were coming into view. He was no longer the apocalyptic horror that he had started out as. He no longer had the clarity of purpose that the other horsepeople had, the driven and focused energy that a personification of a human concept should have. Somehow, things were changing, had changed, for longer than he could probably even remember.
He supposed some of it came from his method. His way wasn't the polluting SUV, the absence of food, the ticking bomb; he infiltrated, literally became part of the host, infecting and changing individual cells which grew to change individual humans. He did not operate en masse, for even if diseases affected entire populations, in the end, every human being had to face him alone, to fight or succumb.
(The only other horseperson that Pestilence felt could relate to this was DEATH, but DEATH usually kept his secrets close, his words were echoes on the wind that were forgotten almost as soon as they were uttered.)
The truth of it was, Pestilence no longer felt like a mere personification. After so many millennia, after retiring, had he not earned the honor to be a being in his own right? Not simply the repository of human consciousness about disease, but an entity with free-will, able to choose what his existance would consist of?
The further truth was that he had dimly had these thoughts all along, but now that Uriel was in the picture, these concepts that had so long been pushed to the back of his mind were now moving into a more prominent place, demanding to be examined instead of just shoved under the rug as they had been for so long. He hadn't been in such internal turmoil since that lousy housekeeping scientist let his sandwich get moldy.
All these thoughts were stewing in Pestilence's mind as he wandered the country side around Tadfield Manor. Existential angst temporarily deterring his thoughts from his initial goal. which had been….?
The singing of wrens reminded him of his purpose to be out. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out some bird seed and held it out with his palm upturned. He stood very still, barely breathing, until finally one wren, braver than the rest, finally got the courage to eat out of his hand.
As soon as the bird took its first bite of seed, it fainted, glassy-eyed. Wrapping the bird in an embroidered hanky, Pestilence walked back towards the manor.
***
He had bought the nicest looking cage he could find. Fruit-branches, Millet-seed, a cuttlebone, and lots of little mirrors and bells that he hoped the bird would enjoy. Taking the little wren from the handkerchief, he slowly placed little pink drops in the birds mouth, rubbing its little belly until the bird's eyes cleared and he started to chirp. Placing the little bird in the cage he made his stealthy way to Uriel’s room, anticipating the joy that would be on the angel’s face as soon as he saw the new little friend.
When Uriel opened the door, though, his eyes were bloodshot from crying and he hid his arms behind his back. The bird momentarily forgotten, Pestilence searched Uriel’s face for an explanation, but when none were forthcoming, he pushed his way into the angel’s room, putting the bird on the desk and turning to face the angel.
“What ‘s happened?”
The recent events had caused a lot of thought in Pestilence. Some startling truths that he hadn't been entirely willing to face were coming into view. He was no longer the apocalyptic horror that he had started out as. He no longer had the clarity of purpose that the other horsepeople had, the driven and focused energy that a personification of a human concept should have. Somehow, things were changing, had changed, for longer than he could probably even remember.
He supposed some of it came from his method. His way wasn't the polluting SUV, the absence of food, the ticking bomb; he infiltrated, literally became part of the host, infecting and changing individual cells which grew to change individual humans. He did not operate en masse, for even if diseases affected entire populations, in the end, every human being had to face him alone, to fight or succumb.
(The only other horseperson that Pestilence felt could relate to this was DEATH, but DEATH usually kept his secrets close, his words were echoes on the wind that were forgotten almost as soon as they were uttered.)
The truth of it was, Pestilence no longer felt like a mere personification. After so many millennia, after retiring, had he not earned the honor to be a being in his own right? Not simply the repository of human consciousness about disease, but an entity with free-will, able to choose what his existance would consist of?
The further truth was that he had dimly had these thoughts all along, but now that Uriel was in the picture, these concepts that had so long been pushed to the back of his mind were now moving into a more prominent place, demanding to be examined instead of just shoved under the rug as they had been for so long. He hadn't been in such internal turmoil since that lousy housekeeping scientist let his sandwich get moldy.
All these thoughts were stewing in Pestilence's mind as he wandered the country side around Tadfield Manor. Existential angst temporarily deterring his thoughts from his initial goal. which had been….?
The singing of wrens reminded him of his purpose to be out. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out some bird seed and held it out with his palm upturned. He stood very still, barely breathing, until finally one wren, braver than the rest, finally got the courage to eat out of his hand.
As soon as the bird took its first bite of seed, it fainted, glassy-eyed. Wrapping the bird in an embroidered hanky, Pestilence walked back towards the manor.
***
He had bought the nicest looking cage he could find. Fruit-branches, Millet-seed, a cuttlebone, and lots of little mirrors and bells that he hoped the bird would enjoy. Taking the little wren from the handkerchief, he slowly placed little pink drops in the birds mouth, rubbing its little belly until the bird's eyes cleared and he started to chirp. Placing the little bird in the cage he made his stealthy way to Uriel’s room, anticipating the joy that would be on the angel’s face as soon as he saw the new little friend.
When Uriel opened the door, though, his eyes were bloodshot from crying and he hid his arms behind his back. The bird momentarily forgotten, Pestilence searched Uriel’s face for an explanation, but when none were forthcoming, he pushed his way into the angel’s room, putting the bird on the desk and turning to face the angel.
“What ‘s happened?”
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