Date: July 20, 1999
Place: Gem Inn - Haven
Cast: Jenean, Thomas
Scene: Jenean visits the man called Thomas Murako, the leader of Avalon who offers mongrels and outcasts a dream of liberty, a chance to build new lives, and freedom from oppression and hatred. But Jenean wants to find out whether or not he believes in that dream, and, if not, where his heart truly lies.

Jenean smiles. "Thomas, aye?"

Winter has come upon Haven and many have sought the shelter of indoors to shield them from the elements. Thomas Murako is among them, and as Jenean enter the room, he sits in a comfortable silken chair in the far corner of the chamber. Though it is afternoon, the shutters to the outside are closed tightly and only the warm flickering of a single oil lamp provides any decent sense of illumination. In Thomas' hand is a knife, which he is apparently using to carve a small piece of wood into something else. What that something else is, remains a mystery, as it looks like nothing more than a rough-hewn chunk. The entrance of another into his room causes the Mongrel to look up, his eyes taking in the woman for a moment, sizing her figure up. He smiles back, lowly speaking, "Aye, I am Thomas Murako. And you are?"

Jenean moves into the room. "I'd be Jenean, at yer service." A husky laugh. "So t'speak." She returns the study, asks, quietly, "Was wonderin' if I might speak with ye."

"Ah, Jenean, famed owner of the Siren's Song." Thomas' voice seems tinged with a sense of familiarity, "I've heard of you before." Pausing for a moment, he rises from the chair, setting the knife and wood aside. Then, almost as an afterthought, he enforces his previous statement with a sense of jest, "Only good things, I assure you." After standing, the Mongrel straightens his posture and now she can see he is a big man. Broad and strong, he stands over six feet and looks as if he's a regular in the fields and on the carts. Yet, his voice is polite and well-spoken despite the bulk, showing more than a hint of intelligence. Chuckling softly, he crosses the room about halfway and then turns to face her direction, "You might certainly speak with me. What can I do for you?"

Jenean shakes greying hair off her face. "Y'could tell me about Avalon." A warm smile. "I'm hearin' lots of stuff from folk that I know, both good an'..." Apologetically, "Not so good. An' I was thinkin' maybe since ye were in town, I should come an' hear it fer myself," Blue eyes catch his. "Least that way if folk ask me I can stop sayin' 'well, I hear...' an' say what's true."

Thomas places his hands upon his hips and grins a touch, apparently at the mention of the 'rumors.' He speaks somewhat amusedly, "Haven is a hotbed of rumor and misinformation. Always has been. At least as far back as I can remember." Then, instead of answering the questions directly, he turns away and makes for a table across from him which supports a pitcher and some wooden cups, "Do you drink, Jenean?" The Mongrel man glances over his shoulder casually, apparently inviting her to partake of some. Grasping the pitcher, he also appears to be the one who's going to serve.

Jenean smiles. "Depends what ye got on offer, hon."

Thomas answers, his eyes flickering towards the pitcher, "Only wine I'm afraid. Mediocre at best, but then again, it is so hard to find a good grape anymore." The last part of his statement is punctuated with a brief exhale of disappointment.

Jenean chuckles. "Red or white?"

Thomas now chuckles as well, the amusement of the situation becoming apparent. "Red. Best served at room temperature." Grinning a touch, he adds just to be sure he's covered all the bases, focusing his attention back on the pitcher, "And though I can't be certain, I believe its a coarser vintage from the vineyards in southwestern Thessalonica." Already he begins to pour one of the cups, as if to indicate that even if she doesn't drink, he will.

Jenean laughs. "Long as it's red, I don' mind." She tosses her hair again, stray locks slipping into her face. "I'll even take it unwatered, t'day."

As the Mongrel man pours the cups full, the second one at her bequest, he continues to speak in a tone which reflects off the wall and back in Jenean's direction, "I don't listen much to the rumors which go on in Haven I'm afraid, so if you've heard things about Avalon, I do not know what they are. Frankly, I hardly know where to begin to explain."

Thomas finishes his task and sets the pitcher back down upon the table. Reaching down, he grasps one wine cup in each hand and turns to walk back in her direction. The one in his right is offered to her, his darkened gaze meeting hers without fear or hesitation. The corners of his lip curl just a touch as he continues, "I can tell you what we have accomplished thus far and what some of our plans for the future are? However, I should tell you that Avalon is not something that should be spoken about, but felt and seen. It is not a story or a rumor, but it is becoming the reality that our people have long hoped for."

Jenean takes the cup, fingers brushing against his as she does. "Aye, I'd like t'hear that." A smile, making eye contact. "An' maybe I'd like t'come see for myself." She takes a sip of the wine, and prompts, softly, "Why not start from th' beginnin' fer me? Tell me why."

"Why is the easy part, Jenean." Thomas chuckles softly, his eyes drifting down towards his fingers as hers touch them. It appears as if the Mongrel isn't unaware of the nuances of life's movements. "Some would have established Avalon as a place to harbor criminals, others as a staging area for revolt," Murako turns away once again and moves as if he paces, yet does not go far, "yet I believe that those who founded Avalon did so on the simple principal of a desire for freedom. The desire for a place to call home. For countless generations, the halfbreeds and mixed race have never had someplace they could call their own. We trace our origins back to the pure races, yet for all their wisdom and ancient ways, they have yet to even recognize their 'bastards.' They would rather enslave and sweep them beneath the carpet because they are a sign of shame." Pausing, he too takes a brief pull of his wine. "Haven has been a place that we could hide and make a niche for ourselves. Yet, even here we suffer beneath the yoke of oppression. We are murdered and abused. Captured and put into chains. Are we not people too? Even though our blood is mixed, do we not have the right to make a place our home? We do not have to pay for the 'sins' of our forefathers and mothers."

Jenean holds a hand up, laughing softly. Gently, "Sweetheart..." She gestures with the wine cup. "I heard ye speak. There's only one of me: I ain't a crowd in the Rialto." She steps closer, touches his lips with a fingertip. "Not from here." To his heart. "From here. Tell me what it means t'you, not what y'have t'say t'stir a crowd."

Thomas smiles a touch at those words, "What Avalon means to me?" She can feel the way his mouth spreads beneath the skin of her finger at its caress. Then the firmness of his body near his heart, though she can't feel its beating, "I am but one man. In the face of many's needs, it matters little, but..." There is a pause as if he's giving this some thought, "...yes, Avalon does have a special place in my heart." Focusing his gaze intently on hers, he seems dedicated to all of what he says next, "My past has been filled with many mistakes. Things that looking back, I often feel ashamed for doing or taking part in. Once, I thought I was a man who was better than his peers. Smarter. Stronger. Raised with an arrogance, it was what I learned, and even though I was the lowest creature in Aether, there was a measure of pride in bliss." Fading off for a moment, he continues after a breath, "Avalon has taught me the power of humility. It has taught me the power of making your dreams real, and about the strength of the spirit. These people, so poor and... ill-equipped, have something which none of the other races of this land possess. Hope. When you live above it, you never quite get a sense of how that feels... till you see it with your own eyes. Feel it with your own hands."

Jenean mms, nodding, sea-blue eyes on his. Fingertips remain where they are, on his chest. "'These' people?" she asks, softly. "D'ye not consider yerself one of 'em, then?"

Thomas chuckles softly, "Were I not, would I be where I am today? There was a time that perhaps I would have considered myself above a helot, or above the people which have made the journey to Avalon." A pause as he glances down towards the fingertips which rest against his chest, "Yet, now things are different. I've worked alongside those people. I've bled with them. We've made friendships and alliances of the sort that you just can't break." His gaze meets hers once again, "My detractors would attempt to find some flaw and motive behind the things I do, Jenean. That somehow all is far too pure to be 'right.' Something is wrong with Thomas, isn't it?" Pausing, there is a certain seriousness to his tone, "I am no angel. But I love my people and I would do anything for them."

Jenean smiles back. Disarmingly frankly. "I'm hearin' more that th' thing wrong with ye is that there's nothin' wrong." A little shake of her head to move a length of once-chestnut hair off her cheek, then tilts her head on one side, lets her tongue trail over her lips and asks, "Tell me, Thomas. How did ye come t'where you are now?"

Thomas turns away sharply, taking her hands from the front of his chest and giving her half of his back. For a long moment, he is silent. The cup of wine in his fingers is forgotten for this time as he seems quite absorbed in his thoughts. When he speaks, the Mongrel looks over his shoulder, face half obscured by the darkness, "Are you so eager to find the demons in my closet?" A pause, "Or is it that you cannot stand the hint of perfection and have to find the flaws in the surface?" There is a hint of challenge in his voice, yet it dies away as he appears resigned to this answer, "I am not perfect and there are things wrong with me, just as there are things wrong with you. I am a man. No different than any other. If others make me out to be something else, then it is because they wish to believe in the dream of a hero. To believe that their leader is strong. Their leader is brave. And that their leader is perfect. They wish to feel secure, and I will not destroy that to satisfy anyone else's need to prove them wrong."

An arm settles around his waist from behind. Quietly, "I can keep secrets with th' best of 'em, hon." Those sea-blue eyes still hold his, and Jenean finds a spot to put the wine. "But there are folk who won't trust you, but will trust me. An' fer somethin' as important as their lives an' livelihoods, I'd not tell them they could trust ye, unless I knew it fer myself." Softer. "Believe me, I'd like t'. But ye make it hard."

Jenean adds, softly, "Sides, yer wrong." A smile.

"I have been wrong about a great many things in my life." Thomas intones softly, his eyes taking in hers for a moment before he turns away once again, eyes closing even as that gentle touch comes around his waist. "Your soft caress and soothing words. You make it sound so easy to just part with the secrets of one's past. Yet such things are part of us in a way that we cannot part with. Some secrets and just too big or too horrible to face, Jenean." He is a hard man and she can tell that from the way he reacts to her touch. While he doesn't flinch from it, there has never been a great amount of genuine affection in his existence. She's been with enough men to know the kind of creature he is. Probably had no parents, or distant parents. Raised in a near-clinical or repressed environment. A man of forced passions and deep-rooted insecurities which tend to come with such behaviors. He's been with women like her before, but not out of love. "I was a slave. But not a slave in the purest sense of what you understand. The Empyre is a harsh master and it demands a great deal from those who serve it. I was lucky to be given the gifts I was, but, with them came the terrible price of realization, and the terrible burden of responsibility."

Jenean shakes her head. "Never said it was easy, hon." A slight squeeze, "But yer wrong, like I said. The folk ye have in Avalon are those who need a hero." She smiles at him, softly, "Th' folks who are still here, an' wonderin', don' go much on heroes any more. They need t'know that yer a man jus' like them. With faults, Or at th' least, they need t'hear it from someone they do trust."

As she continues to speak, Thomas listens patiently to what she has to say, head tilted slightly to the side. When she's concluded, he shakes his head as well, "So, I stand at an impasse. Those who remain will not follow for they do not wish to believe in heroes. Yet, those who stand with us already are in desperate need to believe." Pausing, he opens his eyes and exhales softly, "The cynics and the dreamers." Looking back at her, his form relaxes slightly and she can feel it in the way his muscles uncoil beneath her touch, "You are a cynic. You strike me as the sort of person who will only believe what she can see..." he looks down to her hand for a second, "...and touch. You've been hurt, and maybe in some ways we all have. It's hard to believe." The Mongrel man's voice is amazingly soft and gentle, for someone so large, "Telling you my past or what my plans are won't make you trust me, Jenean. We are strangers and I am no different than any 'john' who walks into the Song and asks for a room. You are a good judge of men. If you wish to hear my story, I have nothing to hide, but I think you already know if you trust me or not."

Jenean shakes her head. "An' yer not such a good judge of women, then, hon." Softly teasing, but then she sobers. "I trust. Often th' first time I meet someone. Fer no reason." Her free hand rests on his shoulder. "Ye, I didn'. An' from some of what folks tell me, I find I might have done y' an' injustice, an' th' same from what I heard from ye so far. An' no, yer no different from my customers. But they ain't there 'cause I'm a whore." She brushes hair off her face with the hand that was round his waist. "An' aye, maybe th' folks ye left behind are cynics. But convince a cynic an' he becomes better'n a dreamer." Almost challenging. "Show me."

Thomas chuckles, and when he says this, she knows it's something he's aware of, "I'm not a good judge of women. You are right. Some men were born to be great lovers. I was not one of them." And even as her hand comes to a rest upon his shoulder, she can feel Murako turning to face her, yet not letting any of the proximity which has developed, change. He is just that close to her and unafraid. Then, he raises his large hand and lets its fingers caress the expanse of her cheek. It is a rough touch, as his skin is well callused from working -- the hands of someone who has worked to build that which he believes in. It is almost paternal in a strange way. There is silence for a time as his gaze meets hers, and in that moment one might glean an almost disturbing intensity, "I am little more than you. I am a whore, but it is different things we offer our customers. Jenean sells her body and the pleasures of the flesh, but Thomas Murako sells dreams and hope. Men and women need both things to live happy lives, but our true selves are our own to keep." His voice almost sounds hollow now, yet Thomas does not take his fingers from her skin. "Show you. Show you that I am just a man? Do I not speak like a man? Do I not feel like a man? Or do you wish to see deeper still?"

Jenean smiles at him. Gently, "I'm not a whore, sweetheart. Maybe that's something ye need t'learn first." Arms settle round his neck, eyes holding his. "There's some lasses that say 'never fall in love.' There's are th' ones just sell their body, an' ye'll see 'em down by th' docks, skirt slit up t'here, an' they'll do most anythin' t' make a few coins. Usually because they have a kid they didn' want that they can barely afford t'keep. An' most of 'em hate every man they go with, an' most of 'em hate themselves. That's a whore." A shake of hair again. "I believe in fallin' in love with a little bit of 'em all. I don' sell my body. I sell me, fer that time ye spend. An' that's who I am."

"You do it well." Thomas seems like he's content right where he is. In her arms as he is. "I have not known the pleasures of a woman for a long time. Not because they have not been offered, but because there was no love. No love in them and no love in me. I have forgotten what feeling is in this forsaken world, for when one sees too much of the bad, they often lose sight of the good." His fingers fall away from her cheek and as he does, so do his eyes, "But, while you may not sell your body, you sell the dream of love. You give them a bit of yourself, a bit of your heart in exchange for the price they pay." Finding her eyes once again, he speaks softly, "I give the people who follow me a bit of myself. I sell them the dream of hope and freedom. The only price I ask in exchange is that they live the lives they never thought possible. Does that mean I am without fault? That I am perfect?" A pause, "Are you? No, I am living, breathing flesh. Flesh that your hands lie upon even as we speak. I am Thomas Murako, a man who wishes to give something back for the times he's taken it away. That is who I am."

Jenean shakes her head. "I'd still be arguin' with ye, handsome." She smiles. "I've listened t' ye speak. Sure, y'offered a dream. But you didn' offer them your dream, in your words. Y'offered them their dream. An' I don' offer them their dream. I just offer them this forty-year-old body that's seen thousands of men, an' loved 'em all. Y'take me as ye find me." Something catches alight in those sea-blue eyes. "An' there are folk who need t'hear that, t'know what they're hearin' comes from th' heart. Not th' head. An' sure, I get both kinds. An' I'm honest with both." Softly, "An' let me let ye into a little secret. Yer afraid of who ye are, afraid it'd destroy the dream. Wrong. More wrong than ye know. Dreams last when they're built on courage. An' honesty, even when it hurts."

Thomas pauses for a long time, his eyes sort of transfixed on her in an intense, pensive sort of way. Its clear that the words she's spoken have made an impact on this man -- perhaps more than she will ever know. It is a long time before he says anything, and his voice is tinged with the realization, "When I began this, I never wanted to be a leader. I had known that level of responsibility, and I had felt what it was like to watch your whole world come crashing down around your head. What it was like to fail so utterly as to wish you had never lived." His eyes close tightly as she can feel his hands fall to his sides. The pain of this memory is apparent and still fresh when it comes to the forefront. "I ran from it, like a coward. I know this now, but there was little choice. Yet, when I saw the refugees for the first time, when I saw what the war of men's arrogance had done to them, I knew that something needed to be done. I felt called to stand up and ... for the gods' sake, say something. And ... I did, and I sold them the dream of freedom. The dream they needed to hear. But, in reality, the only dream I had was an absolution from the pain of living. A legacy of pain that I can and never will repeat." Pausing, she senses an incredible amount of revelation, as if in a sense he never even confessed this sort of thing to himself, "Over time, that dream I sold them, became mine. As I worked, I found a place of acceptance, and in a sense a measure of peace. I am these people's servant, Jenean. I am because it is where I belong. Some men suffer in the Underworld for their sins, yet do any of us know what the Underworld really looks like?"

Jenean nods, arms still round his neck. "An' there is a story." Soft, understanding, "An' fer all it hurts t' tell, that tale will turn more hearts than an empty dream that ye couldn't believe fer yerself. Even now."

The Mongrel man before her is certainly strong. Anyone would tell that who has met him. Thomas Murako isn't the sort to lay his emotions bare, but it is clear that even this is too much for him to hold inside. Those revelations of the past, and the images which accompany them cause his eyes to cloud, that torrent of pain welling up from inside his breast even as the water starts to form at the corner of his eyes. In this moment, the leader of Avalon appears to be little more than a child, consumed by the powers of his own confessions. Sometimes merely saying the words aloud is enough to make the realization that those feelings are there. It was something that needed to be said, and yet who could he have ever really told it to? A woman he's never even met before? A whore? Sometimes those are the easiest people to lay one's heart out to. Silence has overtaken him, head now bowing as twin streaks of water run down the tanned, rough skin of his face. He is crying, and while no man or woman on Aether could force him to this point, it is clear that no man is invulnerable to the demon of himself.

Jenean simply pulls him into her arms, close and tight. Softly, "Hush. It'll work out, hon." This, too, isn't so unusual for her, not in a career like hers. And even so, every one is different, and every one, somehow, is loved.

He's not the first 'great' man to break down in front of a woman, and Thomas won't be the last. As her arms close around him, the Mongrel man's strong arms embrace her tightly as well. As if this was what he needed more than anything in the world. Someone to hold him and tell him that things were going to be all right. Leaning in, his head tucks against the side of hers and the sobbing becomes more ardent for a period of time. More intense as he lets out the pent-up emotion within. After a moment or two, the wetness from the trails of his crying can be felt against her skin and hair. He doesn't say anything, and maybe in this moment there really isn't much to say.

Jenean hugs closer, one hand freeing in that familiar gesture of tidying her hair for a moment. Not much more is said, safe for a soft repeat of, "It'll be fine..." Greying hair brushes his cheek as he holds her.

For him, a seeming eternity passes. And then, as all things the sobbing subsides and the reality of the moment begins to dawn. That empty feeling like you've just let go of something, and the first time you realize it's gone. You miss it, you feel embarrassed, but you feel better. Thomas' arms slowly come away from her, releasing her smaller frame from the embrace. Then, he takes a step back, tear-reddened gaze finding hers, "Thank you." He smiles just a touch, "I--I think I needed that."

Jenean tips you a quirky little smile, runs the back of a hand across her face. "Aye. I was thinkin' that."

Thomas' smile brightens a bit as well, and he looks away for a moment, "I don't know if you found what you came here looking for, but thank you for coming, again." Turning back towards the table upon which his cup of wine sets -- long ago discarded in favor of the conversation, he digs inside a pouch and she can hear the familiar sound of coins banging against one another, "At least allow me to pay you for the time you were here. I know you must make a living." Looking back towards her, he holds some in his hand and it appears to be a fitting amount for a Cyprian's services -- as much as a very good Cyprian might make on several customers. "Here, you've earned it."

Jenean weighs the coins in her hand. Softly, "Did ye find what ye're lookin' for?"

Thomas shakes his head, his face seeming confused, pensive, but firm, "I'm not sure what I'm looking for can ever be found. But I can learn to accept that I cannot change what has happened. And that I cannot hide from it." Pausing, he stands back from her, face looking blank, "Sometimes that is enough."

Jenean sets the coins back in his hand. "Sometimes, ye find that what ye're lookin' for is somethin' so close t'ye that ye've bin overlookin' it." She smiles. "Keep th' coins. I didn' come here t'make money." Gently, "I came because of somethin' I believe in. Somethin' that matters more'n money, or power. Or even..." A wicked little laugh, "...beddin' a handsome mongrel."

Thomas smiles a bit as she sets the coins back into his hand, answering her statement about them only with an, "I know." And as she laughs and talks about bedding, he merely chuckles, "You flatter me, Jenean. I may be a fool for not having you stay, but I'm not sure that would be the proper thing to do." So, he remains there near the room's center, money clasped in his hand, sort of just looking at her. "We'll see each other again sometime. It would please me greatly if you would visit Avalon. We would be glad to have you." There is nothing but sincerity in his words, and that is clear.

Jenean mms. "Aye. I just might." She picks up the cup of wine she set aside, sips, and watches him over it with sparkling eyes. "Can I give ye one small piece of advice?"

Thomas arches an eyebrow, and asks, "What's that?"

Jenean smiles. "Remember that the dream isn't everyone's. An' sometimes it isn't even the dream fer folk ye really think it oughta be." She sips again. Softly, "Ye don't sell dreams. Ye share them."

Thomas smiles in return, nodding softly, "I think I knew that all along, but refused to accept its truth. Now I know better." A pause as his eyes watch her sip the remainder of the drink.

Jenean touches her cup to his, and drains it. "Then I've done what I came for." She chuckles, impish. "An' we can start again some other time an' discuss th' beddin' without all that in the way, aye?"

Even as Thomas turns away, he grins a bit, "Bedding is always done without such fetters of guilt and the pain of the past." Reaching the table upon which his own cup sits, he picks it up and quickly drains the contents into his mouth -- as if he badly needed the substance within. Closing his eyes, he swallows the last of the wine and sets the object in his hand down on the table with a slow motion, "Good-bye, Jenean." Spoken softly. Murako faces away from her, and... there is a sense that now he just wants some alone time. "Thank you. For everything."

Jenean pauses at the door. Gently, "Ye're welcome, hon. Look after yerself."

FIN  

[ Home | News | Staff | Players | Links | Gallery | Logs | Library | Updates | Mail ]
[ Connect to the Game ]