[Fic] Meditation

[dreamlandarrest.livejournal.com]

Hahah taken up as a challenge. There's a poem/song by Cirque du Soleil called Meditation, and the general gist is that I took each line of the song and made a drabble (100 words, yesyes). 24 lines, 8 drabbles for each char in my main family. HARD AS HELL but it was worth it, I guess?

The ones in parenthesis beside the lines are what they love.
And now, on to the fic~


Beaunvoliant [Cirque Du Soleil – Meditation]
24 different perspectives of love

Love is beautiful, (mother)
She had always considered her mother a model on how sensible a person who gave herself any dignity should be. Her mother was the voice of reason, a sort of standard of overall goodness that she had wanted to follow to every single minute detail as a small child. It was a mystery to her, then, that her mother’s beauty (fair-haired, pretty-faced, sky-eyed, and delicate frame) and gentleness would inevitably be forever tied with that rough-edged, dark refinement of her unforgiving father. It was no surprise, then, that she would wonder.

“Mother, is that really love?”
“Yes.”

She didn’t understand.

Fierce, and strong, (power)
Valerius had always been fascinated with firearms. He supposed that it dated back to his pre-teen years, when his father had taught him to use a rifle in order to hunt with him. The sheer power and confidence a gun gave him was surprising, even to himself- the action of pulling the trigger seemed like such an impulsive, thoughtless thing to do, but really, it wasn’t.

Guns were really the only other things he indulged in aside from literature.

Their elegant, sleek design and beautiful artistry belied immense power.
A single bullet could end a life if aimed just so.

An insatiable, all-consuming fire, (family)
He could never escape his family. Whenever matters of consequence occurred, his siblings were always there, by his side, in front of him, or behind. He supposed it was not so odd, as these were the people he had known since he had begun his existence, but sometimes he wondered what it would be like had he stepped into the New World alone. It was like he was bound by something out of his reach.

These were the people that he was loyal to without question.
And yet, reconsidering, he somewhat agreed he wouldn’t be a slave to anyone else.

A lion pacing on the red-hot embers of desire. (ambition)
There were marked differences between the Peregrine of yesteryears and the Peregrine of the present day, but her actions’ template was still the same. At the age of thirteen she had been drawn in by the allure of a thin, sharp blade, and at fifteen she had first expressed her will to tend toward that seduction.

At nineteen she had almost finished all the technical training provided by an institution and at twenty years old she went to war.

All times she had been motivated by a thirst to gain self-appreciation, but at twenty-four, she felt something was still missing.



Love is a thirst that’s never quenched, (touch)
Aedelia had always been an affectionate child. In her younger years she would run into her mother’s warm embrace and occasionally awkwardly clutch at the back of her father’s long overcoat. Being the youngest of the three, she was the least tainted in spirit and least troubled in mind. It was with a kind of innocence that could only be seen in youth that she sleepily rested her head against Peregrine’s heart, in the shade of an oak tree, and that she gently brushed her elder brother’s long hair.

It was the love that kept her going, kept her healing.


A sacred flame that can’t be drenched (life)
Some would call her stubborn while others would simply say she was resolute in her decisions. Aedelia did not mind either way, as in certain situations she was one or the other, or both. She was never discouraged by the prospect of pain or danger or even death. The choice always depended on others and never depended on her.

She had certain energy to her existence that her siblings lacked, as the long-time observer would say. While the blue of Peregrine’s eyes was tempestuous and Valerius’ aura was solemn and calm, Aedelia’s eyes shone and she seemed the most alive.


By icy showers of sobriety, (balance)
Valerius believed in moderation. He believed that too much emotion was detrimental to one’s sanity and yet too little was outright obnoxious.

He believed one should not experience too much joy, yet one should not experience too much sadness.
He also thought there should be a balance between action and non-action, between caring and uncaring.

And yet his actions dictated otherwise, as he tended towards the negative, and yet at times tended all too much toward the positive. In essence, he was just as much a hypocrite as any other, because there was a fine line between love and hate.

Or a society strangled by notions of propriety. (self)
A woman her age was usually in the midst of an extravagant, mysterious, romantic courtship. This woman was unblemished and pure, beautiful in her ornaments and long corseted formal gowns. She incited envy from others and admiration from the rest, with her charming demeanour and pretty, girlishly flirtatious speech, and hid smiles and laughed with an elegantly manicured hand covered in a silk glove.

Peregrine would never be this woman, and she felt the repercussions of her own personality, as her will caused contention with her father, and her lack of pristine femininity was the source of her mother’s disappointment.




So what kind of love is this, (contradiction)
It was a strange feeling, he thought. It had never occurred to him that he could feel something more than mere camaraderie for someone other than his family. The fact that the object of this foreign emotion was of the same gender as he was did not bother him so much as the general disposition of the person himself. By nature, he was quiet and impassive, caring for little social interaction with others unless it was completely necessary.

Dimidium was his very antithesis- social, talkative, exceedingly charismatic, and theatrical.
It was a strange feeling, yes, but not altogether unpleasant either.

This love that dares not speak its name? (discretion)
She thought she was a mostly subtle person. Her foremost characteristic, she opined, was her shyness. It was this shyness that made her a person to hint and communicate by means other than direct confrontation.

When she was a small child, at the peak of her shyness, she would send notes to her siblings and her parents, written in a messy hand, with inconsistent spelling and grammar.
When she was in her pre-teen years, she’d leave small gifts as thanks for something small.

She still sent notes and she still sent the presents, and there was never any “from Aedelia”.

This love that hangs its head in shame? (father)
She had come back from the lost battle with slightly faded bruises and a multitude of cured shallow cuts and a few bandaged wounds. She had laid her armor, her sword, and her shield outside by the door and stood there in her fatigue. Valerius was next to her, silent.

Aedelia and their mother greeted them with weak embraces and joyful, worried tears.

‘Don’t do that again,’ their youngest had whispered.
Their mother could barely speak.

And her father was last, late, and had given Valerius a curt nod while he walked straight up and slapped her across the face.

Is this so-called love even worthy of its name? (companionship)
Her family always came as the foremost priority, but there were others as well. There was still an indescribable air of detachment, but they were the closest that they would ever be.

There was Labrusca, the impulsive woman whose vitality and whimsy she often wished she had for herself.
There was Logan, who, while being a soldier of the opposite side during the war had a similar mindset pertaining to duty.
And then there was Raphael, her equal in all aspects down to their inebriated violence and strict disposition, who could not converse well, who reminded her of her father.




True love doesn’t lie, (love)
Nine years was a large age difference for most people. She sensed it hidden behind the lips of those around her, and found it buried in the depths of others’ thoughts. Peregrine often glanced at her with a slightly confounded look, as if contemplating all the possible reasons why. Aedelia was unbothered.

Maybe she was too young, too idealistic. Peregrine had seen all the ills of the world, and Aedelia had not yet begun to see the full scope of cruelty it provided.

But Aedelia was mature enough to know that this was love, and that she was in love.


It doesn’t hide, (motion)
If there was one thing about her that she had no reservations sharing with others, it was her passion for dance. There were certain emotions that could be experienced through the performance and viewing of human motion. Aedelia especially loved ballet- its precise movements, its lightness, and grace. Ballerinas always seemed to move effortlessly, while in truth it was possibly the strictest form of dance.

She had no problem, then, feeling gazes on her when she danced ballet, as dance was meant to be viewed and interpreted by all, and if she could learn something, maybe they could as well.


And it will never be denied (truth)
People often thought that she was a sheltered child, being the youngest daughter of a family that was once so affluent and mysterious. She was the one they smiled at the most in gatherings and during coincidental meetings, and she was the one they considered was the least eccentric out of the three. ‘Aedelia,’ they would say, ‘is such a pleasant young lady.’ She did not bask in this attention nor did she condemn it- she simply acknowledged its existence.

She knew that the vipers camouflaged themselves well, and thorns among the multitudes of roses were not so easily spotted.



The right to sing its furious song (freedom)
She was always the one to speak when no one else had the courage to. During her school days in Brestia, teachers knew her as ‘that Beaunvoliant’ who had next to no fear of authority and harsh criticism of her peers. When they were tested on skill, sparring with their classmates, she would often halt in the middle of matches, bluntly correcting all the errors in her opponent’s technique.

She could have done so much more than just devote her life to the art of war, they secretly discussed, and she would have been prettier if not for the anger.







In the sad, empty streets (solitude)
It was early evening, and the chilly breeze was a welcome comfort. Holding his coat more securely around himself and exhaling softly, he walked along the lesser taken streets in Auch at a respectable pace.

Gray clouds passed overhead. They all had their own eccentricities and mannerisms, and he so cared for his family, but there were times, like now, where he just got tired of the aura of belonging in the company of others. True to himself till the very end, he always took the chance of being by himself when it came up.

The warmth was stifling sometimes.

From dusk ‘til dawn. (change)
All his life, he had been rather introverted and quiet. He was a silent child, only answering when addressed and preferring the company of books that seemed to be too advanced for what his age was capable of. The years had passed and the polite young boy with the too-long golden hair still had the same impassive expression and the piercing ice-blue eyes.

He had a passion for literature and an addiction to firearms.
Slowly, however, by means of an unlikely (yet, in all honestly, not unwelcome) catalyst, he discovered that under the layers, he indeed had his own personality.


Love laughs at fear (service)
It was with an iron will that she accompanied them on their dangerous journeys and adventures. She was the youngest and yet she was, at times, the most essential. She was not as resilient as her sister nor was she as quick to act like her brother; however she was the most devoted.

It was her who stumbled, and it was her who was the most vulnerable. She needed constant vigilance, lest her youth and inexperience work against her.

And yet she was the one to gently wipe the blood from Peregrine’s forehead and bandage the gashes on Valerius’ arms.

And cries out its name for all to hear. (perception)
He was not an expert per se in finding out exactly what was on others’ minds, and usually he could not spare a part of his heart to care about the little details in theories of his peers’ thoughts. However, there was an innate satisfaction that came only with the general knowledge of what another was feeling and thinking.

He learned by observation the signs that signalled restrained effervescence, and the subtle hints that were unconsciously given to imply a stormy disposition.

They were interesting bits of information and with them he learned the best time to aim and fire.






Love is beautiful, (nature)
She loved those rare moments where she was able to just sit in a place where time stopped and the Earth seemed to be at a standstill. There was a special kind of solace that she could only acquire from the mild rays of the sun against her skin and the feeling of wandering through surroundings untouched by human intervention. There were the wildflowers, the fields, the sound of wind and birds, and the feeling of dew beneath her fingertips.

The world was beautiful, she maintained. She could close her eyes to all the conflict- momentarily, the world was good.


Fierce, and loud. (danger)
She was sure that the one thing that saddened her mother the most was her tending towards the frightening and destructive. Here was her eldest daughter, twenty-four years old and brimming with youth that could easily slip away with a single, unintentional misstep. She was wrongly drawn to the beauty of deconstruction and the incessant adrenaline that only the gleam of polished metal could provide.

One day, she would get herself killed.
She had the fire of all the repressed in her eyes, and no matter how hard she tried her mother could not erase its memory from her heart.

But most of all (exaggeration)
Valerius oftentimes found himself wondering how he tolerated such superlatives in his description by other individuals. He found, when asked, others would not give a simple word to convey the extent of what they thought of his character.

‘Valerius is one of the most unapproachable people I know.’
‘He is just the oddest young man in the Beaunvoliant household.’
‘My brother is the hardest person to figure out unless you try painfully enough.’

It was never just, ‘He is strange’, never only ‘He is strict and uptight.’

“You’re the one that I love the most.”
But maybe that was alright.

Love is proud. (sin)
The most overwhelming characteristic that she had no problem flaunting was her pride. It was her need to nurse her wounded pride that led her to let herself become an insignificant statistic during the war and so fuelled the everlasting rivalry with her own origins. During moments of internal strife, all rational thought came secondary to the burning emotion that urged her to protect her well-preserved, yet fragile, self-esteem.

The Peregrine of unhindered emotion was not the same as the one that used to smile and laugh.
Her siblings knew it all too well, and she secretly knew it too.
 

FULL OF SAP AND AGNSTZORS