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narcasse1371 words. PG for implication. Dietrich and Isaak in something less than actual conversation.
Fictional failure and literal madness. And an absence of seductions all round.
"Between the age limits of nine and fourteen there occur maidens who, to certain bewitched travellers, twice or many times older than they, reveal their true nature which is not human, but nymphic (that is, demoniac); and these chosen creatures I propose to designate as ‘nymphets’."
- Nabokov, V, (1986). Lolita, p. 16, Penguin Books: Suffolk.
Nymphetology: part 1 – Moth
Disclaimer: Trinity Blood belongs to Sunao Yoshida, Gonzo and others.
++++++++++
Dietrich wasn’t terribly fond of books he would readily admit. Not that he was incapable of sustained concentration or focused intent, only that he didn’t care so very much for fiction. His life was of more import anyway because it was after all; reality. He’d never cared for fictional Huguenots or composers given to seeing devils. Not when they simply were not real. And it was hard to escape into fantasy when so much depended on his knowing what was and wasn’t real. Yet surprisingly, he occasionally found himself idly meandering though at least one or two of Isaak’s books.
Today he’d finally finished a bizarre English novel and on Isaak’s entry into the room, deliberately let go of said book so that it fell unceremoniously to the floor beside his chair. Yet today Isaak was seemingly ignoring him and didn’t even look up from the folded scientific journal he’d been perusing as he sat himself sedately in another of the library’s wing-backed chairs. Dietrich swung his booted feet a little, as much as he could, sprawled sideways with his feet hanging over an armrest in an effort to attract some attention but Isaak simply pressed the thumbnail of his free hand against his lips and continued reading.
Swinging his feet round and slamming them deliberately on the floor, Dietrich glared.
Isaak merely turned a page and frowned at the text.
“I really don’t like this book.” Dietrich reached over the arm of the chair to retrieve the fallen novel with an unnecessarily elaborate gesture.
“And what novel would that be, dear?” Isaak still didn’t raise his eyes from the page before him.
“This one.” Shaking the book in Isaak’s direction.
Glancing up briefly over the rim of his glasses Isaak nodded absently before returning his gaze to his reading.
“I’m going to throw it out.”
“If you like.”
“I’m going to throw this book into the fireplace!”
“Of course you must do as you think best, my dear.”
But the fire wasn’t yet lit and wasn’t likely to light itself no matter how much Dietrich wished for the sudden possession of pyrokinesis.
“Ah.” At length Isaak seemed to be commenting more to himself than in acknowledgement of Dietrich’s impotent fury.
“It’s a stupid story anyway.”
“Hmm?”
“That sort of thing’s not true.”
“Hence the classification of fiction, I’d presume.”
“I’m going to throw it in the bin.”
“As you like, dear.”
The dull thud of the slim volume landing on the floor near the bin when Dietrich missed did nothing more than prompt Isaak to sit back more comfortably in his chair and cross his legs in the other direction.
Dragging himself out his chair Dietrich snarled quietly. “You didn’t fall in love with me anyway.”
“I dare say not.” And then almost as if what Dietrich had actually said finally caught up with him, Isaak looked up in a detached puzzlement.
“Why didn’t you?” Dietrich tone was ever so faintly accusing.
“Because I’m not Swiss, evidently.”
A glare.
“Or perhaps because… as lovely as I’m sure you are to many eyes, beauty is still always in the eye of the beholder.”
“I’m not ugly.”
“No, dear, of course you’re not.”
“I’m not that hard to… to…”
“Negotiate with? No, I suppose you’re not.”
“I’m not old either.”
Isaak pushed his glasses up a little, forefinger and thumb catching the frame delicately with utmost care to avoid smudging the glass.
“Why then?”
“Why what?”
“Why didn’t you… well…”
“I wasn’t aware that it was a requisite.”
“I’m not saying that! Just… you had time and access and…”
“Time and inclination are the factors you’re looking for and while I had the time; I evidently didn’t have the inclination.”
“Why?”
“Why does anyone ever do anything at all, my dear? As I’ve said, you are evidently judged to be beautiful by many but the matter simply didn’t and still doesn’t, interest me whatsoever.”
“Is it because of…”
“Mein Herr? Arguably.”
Dietrich folded his arms, making no move towards the seemingly forgotten book.
“But then, if you will insist upon it, many things are dependent upon his whim.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“What do you want me to say? That it wasn’t safe for me to engage in such fantasies? That it would have damaged you irreparably? That I loved you too much to sully your innocence?”
“Isaak…”
“That I find the idea distasteful? That I’m sure other men must admire your wonderfully feminine looks? That I’d rather have had Flammenschwert on his knees than your filthy mouth anywhere so delicate?”
Dietrich’s expression was suddenly unreadable as he bent to retrieve the ill-favoured novel. He waited until he was certain that Isaak’s eyes were on him before tossing it casually into the bin and stalking out of the room, much to Isaak’s amusement.
“Of course you could have waited for the truth, my dear. But I’m not at all certain how you would have tolerated the knowledge that I find you, and every other human being on the face of this planet; utterly abhorrent. Igne Natura Renovatur Integra, my dear moth. And you’ll never learn until at last those fires burn you.”
Chuckling to himself Isaak went back to his reading. And the sound of pages turning was the only disturbance in the library for the next half hour.
Much later, when Dietrich returned to the now vacated library it was to find the novel still sitting unceremoniously in the little wastepaper basket. For long moments he couldn’t decide if he should rescue it or feed a specific German novella to the bin as well as company. In the end he scooped it up and returned it to its place on the shelf with some annoyance.
“Liars, the both of you.” He addressed both literary works angrily.
Throwing himself down into the chair he’d occupied earlier he swung his feet over the armrest again and gnawed at one of his knuckles.
It was an unpardonable defeat of course. Inexcusable, especially when even dead and useless Flammenschwert had a seduction or two to his credit. Even earnest and trigger happy Esther had men falling at her feet and all without any protracted effort. And yet he, the great and terrible master of lies, who had had far too long to conquer but one old man; had failed, repeatedly. Defeat: the doll-maker gone to a woman’s arms. Defeat: his flame-haired puppet slipped of her own volition from his grasp. Defeat: the helpless marionette welcomed into the arms of sweet oblivion. Over and over, each occasion planned so perfectly, executed flawlessly; utter failures each and every one. He couldn’t even seduce a deranged old mage.
The taste of blood was surprising and Dietrich gasped as he realised he’d bitten himself hard enough to break the skin. He had a moment to contemplate his own idiocy before the familiar scent of smoke announced Isaak’s presence. Returning to his prior seat, at first Isaak seemed content to ignore Dietrich entirely before seemingly questioning a point some foot or so ahead of him absently.
“Would you like to hear the truth?”
A half-hearted grunt was the only reply as Dietrich sucked on his bleeding finger.
“I find all humanity despicable, all humans hideous.”
Dietrich started in surprise before frowning, certain of the statement being some trick.
“Everything that I once believed truthful has since been proven false. All beauty, all virtue has withered before my eyes. Even you, my dear, a beauty among devils; are nothing but a cantankerous void of excrement.”
“Thanks.” A glare.
Ignoring Dietrich’s response Isaak held a hand up before him, critically eyeing the line of his bones and fingernails. “Disgusting. And yet, when taken in increments really quite lovely too. Metacarpal, metacarpophalangeal, proximal phalanx, interphalangeal and so on.”
Dietrich didn’t comment on the evident insanity of that analysis.
“William has such lovely hands, so lined, so very old.” Isaak smiled placidly in Dietrich’s direction. “They’re bound to fall off him soon and simply rot away. Isn’t that delightful?”
Swinging his feet idly Dietrich’s frown deepened as he considered the matter. It didn’t take him long to come to the conclusion that perhaps it was better that Isaak had never loved him after all.
++++++++++
Dietrich makes reference to La Reine Margot by Alexandre Dumas and Doctor Faustus by Thomas Mann. He’s evidently reading Nabokov’s Lolita and the novella that he wants to throw out with it is Mann’s Death in Venice.
I’m also implying that Dietrich’s attempted to seduce Melchior in the past.
Possibly in part due to the sheer insanity of Isaak in RAM 1 and because I’m busy being ill and will need to actually write up a mini-review of Nabokov’s Lolita soonish.
Second part of the two part experiment in images of failed and vestigial seduction.
Fictional failure and literal madness. And an absence of seductions all round.
"Between the age limits of nine and fourteen there occur maidens who, to certain bewitched travellers, twice or many times older than they, reveal their true nature which is not human, but nymphic (that is, demoniac); and these chosen creatures I propose to designate as ‘nymphets’."
- Nabokov, V, (1986). Lolita, p. 16, Penguin Books: Suffolk.
Nymphetology: part 1 – Moth
Disclaimer: Trinity Blood belongs to Sunao Yoshida, Gonzo and others.
++++++++++
Dietrich wasn’t terribly fond of books he would readily admit. Not that he was incapable of sustained concentration or focused intent, only that he didn’t care so very much for fiction. His life was of more import anyway because it was after all; reality. He’d never cared for fictional Huguenots or composers given to seeing devils. Not when they simply were not real. And it was hard to escape into fantasy when so much depended on his knowing what was and wasn’t real. Yet surprisingly, he occasionally found himself idly meandering though at least one or two of Isaak’s books.
Today he’d finally finished a bizarre English novel and on Isaak’s entry into the room, deliberately let go of said book so that it fell unceremoniously to the floor beside his chair. Yet today Isaak was seemingly ignoring him and didn’t even look up from the folded scientific journal he’d been perusing as he sat himself sedately in another of the library’s wing-backed chairs. Dietrich swung his booted feet a little, as much as he could, sprawled sideways with his feet hanging over an armrest in an effort to attract some attention but Isaak simply pressed the thumbnail of his free hand against his lips and continued reading.
Swinging his feet round and slamming them deliberately on the floor, Dietrich glared.
Isaak merely turned a page and frowned at the text.
“I really don’t like this book.” Dietrich reached over the arm of the chair to retrieve the fallen novel with an unnecessarily elaborate gesture.
“And what novel would that be, dear?” Isaak still didn’t raise his eyes from the page before him.
“This one.” Shaking the book in Isaak’s direction.
Glancing up briefly over the rim of his glasses Isaak nodded absently before returning his gaze to his reading.
“I’m going to throw it out.”
“If you like.”
“I’m going to throw this book into the fireplace!”
“Of course you must do as you think best, my dear.”
But the fire wasn’t yet lit and wasn’t likely to light itself no matter how much Dietrich wished for the sudden possession of pyrokinesis.
“Ah.” At length Isaak seemed to be commenting more to himself than in acknowledgement of Dietrich’s impotent fury.
“It’s a stupid story anyway.”
“Hmm?”
“That sort of thing’s not true.”
“Hence the classification of fiction, I’d presume.”
“I’m going to throw it in the bin.”
“As you like, dear.”
The dull thud of the slim volume landing on the floor near the bin when Dietrich missed did nothing more than prompt Isaak to sit back more comfortably in his chair and cross his legs in the other direction.
Dragging himself out his chair Dietrich snarled quietly. “You didn’t fall in love with me anyway.”
“I dare say not.” And then almost as if what Dietrich had actually said finally caught up with him, Isaak looked up in a detached puzzlement.
“Why didn’t you?” Dietrich tone was ever so faintly accusing.
“Because I’m not Swiss, evidently.”
A glare.
“Or perhaps because… as lovely as I’m sure you are to many eyes, beauty is still always in the eye of the beholder.”
“I’m not ugly.”
“No, dear, of course you’re not.”
“I’m not that hard to… to…”
“Negotiate with? No, I suppose you’re not.”
“I’m not old either.”
Isaak pushed his glasses up a little, forefinger and thumb catching the frame delicately with utmost care to avoid smudging the glass.
“Why then?”
“Why what?”
“Why didn’t you… well…”
“I wasn’t aware that it was a requisite.”
“I’m not saying that! Just… you had time and access and…”
“Time and inclination are the factors you’re looking for and while I had the time; I evidently didn’t have the inclination.”
“Why?”
“Why does anyone ever do anything at all, my dear? As I’ve said, you are evidently judged to be beautiful by many but the matter simply didn’t and still doesn’t, interest me whatsoever.”
“Is it because of…”
“Mein Herr? Arguably.”
Dietrich folded his arms, making no move towards the seemingly forgotten book.
“But then, if you will insist upon it, many things are dependent upon his whim.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“What do you want me to say? That it wasn’t safe for me to engage in such fantasies? That it would have damaged you irreparably? That I loved you too much to sully your innocence?”
“Isaak…”
“That I find the idea distasteful? That I’m sure other men must admire your wonderfully feminine looks? That I’d rather have had Flammenschwert on his knees than your filthy mouth anywhere so delicate?”
Dietrich’s expression was suddenly unreadable as he bent to retrieve the ill-favoured novel. He waited until he was certain that Isaak’s eyes were on him before tossing it casually into the bin and stalking out of the room, much to Isaak’s amusement.
“Of course you could have waited for the truth, my dear. But I’m not at all certain how you would have tolerated the knowledge that I find you, and every other human being on the face of this planet; utterly abhorrent. Igne Natura Renovatur Integra, my dear moth. And you’ll never learn until at last those fires burn you.”
Chuckling to himself Isaak went back to his reading. And the sound of pages turning was the only disturbance in the library for the next half hour.
Much later, when Dietrich returned to the now vacated library it was to find the novel still sitting unceremoniously in the little wastepaper basket. For long moments he couldn’t decide if he should rescue it or feed a specific German novella to the bin as well as company. In the end he scooped it up and returned it to its place on the shelf with some annoyance.
“Liars, the both of you.” He addressed both literary works angrily.
Throwing himself down into the chair he’d occupied earlier he swung his feet over the armrest again and gnawed at one of his knuckles.
It was an unpardonable defeat of course. Inexcusable, especially when even dead and useless Flammenschwert had a seduction or two to his credit. Even earnest and trigger happy Esther had men falling at her feet and all without any protracted effort. And yet he, the great and terrible master of lies, who had had far too long to conquer but one old man; had failed, repeatedly. Defeat: the doll-maker gone to a woman’s arms. Defeat: his flame-haired puppet slipped of her own volition from his grasp. Defeat: the helpless marionette welcomed into the arms of sweet oblivion. Over and over, each occasion planned so perfectly, executed flawlessly; utter failures each and every one. He couldn’t even seduce a deranged old mage.
The taste of blood was surprising and Dietrich gasped as he realised he’d bitten himself hard enough to break the skin. He had a moment to contemplate his own idiocy before the familiar scent of smoke announced Isaak’s presence. Returning to his prior seat, at first Isaak seemed content to ignore Dietrich entirely before seemingly questioning a point some foot or so ahead of him absently.
“Would you like to hear the truth?”
A half-hearted grunt was the only reply as Dietrich sucked on his bleeding finger.
“I find all humanity despicable, all humans hideous.”
Dietrich started in surprise before frowning, certain of the statement being some trick.
“Everything that I once believed truthful has since been proven false. All beauty, all virtue has withered before my eyes. Even you, my dear, a beauty among devils; are nothing but a cantankerous void of excrement.”
“Thanks.” A glare.
Ignoring Dietrich’s response Isaak held a hand up before him, critically eyeing the line of his bones and fingernails. “Disgusting. And yet, when taken in increments really quite lovely too. Metacarpal, metacarpophalangeal, proximal phalanx, interphalangeal and so on.”
Dietrich didn’t comment on the evident insanity of that analysis.
“William has such lovely hands, so lined, so very old.” Isaak smiled placidly in Dietrich’s direction. “They’re bound to fall off him soon and simply rot away. Isn’t that delightful?”
Swinging his feet idly Dietrich’s frown deepened as he considered the matter. It didn’t take him long to come to the conclusion that perhaps it was better that Isaak had never loved him after all.
++++++++++
Dietrich makes reference to La Reine Margot by Alexandre Dumas and Doctor Faustus by Thomas Mann. He’s evidently reading Nabokov’s Lolita and the novella that he wants to throw out with it is Mann’s Death in Venice.
I’m also implying that Dietrich’s attempted to seduce Melchior in the past.
Possibly in part due to the sheer insanity of Isaak in RAM 1 and because I’m busy being ill and will need to actually write up a mini-review of Nabokov’s Lolita soonish.
Second part of the two part experiment in images of failed and vestigial seduction.