Kestrel Comessinging (comessinging) wrote in thefield, @ 2009-08-21 16:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | alex, kestrel, z - 1st tribe - day 33 |
And now, ladies and gentlemen...
Who: Kestrel and Alex
Where: Far Side of the Island
When: Early Afternoon
Rating: G
Kestrel thought she was in the middle of a dream at first. Who wouldn't? In the real world, there wasn't any such thing as amethyst and jade waves of grain - it was gold. Anyone knew that. It was bad enough that she heard malicious laughter far in the distance, what could possibly be construed as human but was somehow fundamentally not. Honestly. But she'd always had extremely vivid dreams, so the colors didn't shock her overly much, but those sounds did. Not the strange plants - dreams were odd places. It seemed to be one of those dreams that was a sign of something, because she had the strangest feeling that no human foot had ever been where hers were. But, of course, it was a dream. She would have to ask her grandmother about it - that woman knew dreams like the back of her hand.
Well, it was a really long bloody dream. Eventually she had to give in and build herself a fire from some fluff from plants and a flint pebble and a piece of pyrite she found just under the water, and she fed slivers of dry wood to it. What did a person do in dreams when there was nothing else around? She would've felt dumb telling a story to no one. Musingly, she thought she could sing. If there was anything like sweetgrass around she would've burnt that too, but she didn't spot the like. There might've been some across the water, but she was content to stay where she was for the moment.
Well, there was no use sitting around doing nothing. She got up and looked around, and spotted a long piece of driftwood on the beach where she'd woken up in the first wispy beams of dawn light, and dragged it over to her little fire. It had an arching back, and when she hit it with a stick it made a satisfying cracking sound, reminiscent of thunder. That would be a good drum. Nodding, she tested it, and found a good place for placing a beat. A little longer, and she settled into a steady rhythm, and began to chant in her native tongue.
This second day of pollen, Alex made sure he was far from camp. If he must sin, if he must break his vows, it was gong to be far from anyone as he could reasonably be and away from any other temptations. As it was, the night had been difficult, being able to hear several people enjoying each other in sins of the flesh. In the end he had retreated from the camp, though he hadn't gone far. Just far enough to not be able to hear the people.
As soon as it had been daylight, Alex had risen and prayed, then took off at a run without eating. He had to get away from there, he would worry about food later. Now though, he had long since stopped running and was munching on an avalon fruit. It was tasteless and less than delicious raw, but it would do. It was food.
As he walked along the shoreline of the opposite shore from where camp was, he heard drumming and perhaps some sort of singing and paused. There should not be drumming or singing. As he got closer, the drumming became much more distinct, though the singing did not. It was some sort of chant, but he did not recognize the language or even the language family off hand. Wary of what it might be, he crouched down behind a bush to watch for a moment.
Maybe the spirits or at least someone human would respond if she chanted something less somber? Kestrel sighed when she finished the chant, and crouched to feed a little more wood into her little fire. She supposed she , could stand to spend a few nights here, if that was how long her dream was going to be drawn out for. She'd heard of people who dreamed years in a single night, and rather hoped this wasn't going to happen. If it was going to be like this, it was going to be an incredibly lonely dream. She stood up again, smoothed out her pajama shirt, and picked up her drumming stick again.
Testing the driftwood again, she found the spot she'd been playing on again, and tapped it a few times. Then frowned and shook her head, looking for another stick. It would be easier with two - more complicated rhythms could be played.
There was no denying it as the drumming and chanting both stopped as if finished before some more experimental drumming began. Standing again, he went to see what it was. Briefly, Alex wished that he had some sort of cover, something to shield him from being seen until he could see what was doing the drumming, but that was not an option on the open beachy area, nor was he any sort of skilled tracker, or silent in a forest.
"Who's there?" he called, once he was close enough to make out a figure. Was she in pajamas? He wasn't sure, but he relaxed, realizing that he most likely had just found another new arrival and not some strange new animal. Hopefully, she would not be affected by the pollen.
"Oki!" Kestrel sang out, without really thinking about it. Of course, it turned out to be a man, and not a dream-spirit-thing, so that was alright. But then again, he was white. White men invading her dreams, for God's sake! Bah. "Sorry. Hello." She thumped the driftwood lazily a couple more times. "Why are you in my dream?"
"What makes you think this is a dream?" he counted, not really challenging her theory. As arrival theories went, it was a popular one after all. "And hello. I liked your song," he stayed slightly more than a polite distance away. He was worried about what the pollen still lingering on him might have done to his inhibitions and more than that - her own. He done enough damage to himself yesterday, he did not need more.
"Ah, thank you." She nodded, then looked thoughtful. "I'm sorry. I suppose to someone who lives in a dream, the dream isn't a dream at all, is it? That's something I'll have to ask my grandmother when I wake up."
"Interesting theory," looking around for a moment, Alex sat down on the beach cross legged and facing the water. "Never heard of anyone living in a dream per se, not like I think you mean anyways. Heard of people living a nightmare, but that's not quite the same either. You'll definitely need to ask your grandmother when you see her next," he didn't bother to tell her that this wasn't a dream and that right now, it was his own personal hell. She'd learn it soon enough.
"She's very good at dream interpetation." Kes said agreeably. "She'll understand what's going on." She picked up her sticks and drummed a little more with them, very softly. "I don't suppose you have any sweetgrass?"
"Sweetgrass?" Alex repeated with a shake of his head. His hair was getting longer than he liked it, "Don't know what it is so I don't think I do. Where're you from?" he asked, curious. She spoke English, but looked perhaps Native American....but that could mean anything really. He had long since learned not to try to guess things like that, it only ended badly for him.
What a weird dream person, not knowing what sweetgrass was! "It's incense. I'm from the White Deer Lake Blackfoot Reservation." Kes smiled at him. "You live in a beautiful land." Because it really was - in spite of the colors, which were just strange to her, it looked virtually unspoiled, and that was a rare thing to be treasured in her opinion.
"Ah," Alex nodded, that answered a lot of questions. "Well. I am from Boston and this is not my land. It's...well, no one owns it really. We're just borrowing it for a time. I'm not familiar with sweetgrass incense. Just the mixture used in Catholic churches, it's mostly frankincense. Don't have that either," which would be nice right about now. Anything familiar would be nice. Like a confessional. He needed to confess and there was no one to confess to.
Kestrel looked curiously at Alex with her large, dark eyes. "Are you Catholic?" She paused, and frowned. "I apologize. I'm asking too many questions. That's rude of me."
He nodded, turning to look at her briefly. "I am. I'm a priest," he smiled, though there was pain in his eyes and his smile didn't quite reach his eyes, "You're not asking too many questions. I'm just...not really in a good place right now. That's why I'm out here, away from the others. Guess I should introduce myself," he sort of half turned and offered his hand, "Father Alex Callahan. And you are?"
"Kestrel Comessinging." She took his hand and shook it, though she blinked in surprise that the touch was so... nice. Weird. Kes resisted the urge to hang on to his hand, and offered one of her drumming sticks. "I know a couple of hymns, but I only do because I listen to really old music, and they're in Latin and ... " Kestrel thought for a moment. "I'm not sure what, but it sounds pretty."
"Good to meet you, Miss Comessinging," what a name. Not a bad one, just very different from the ones he was used to. Growing up in a very Irish Catholic neighborhood had ensured that he was not exposed to a huge variety of people, though there was certainly a lot more people other than simply Irish in Southie now. "If you sing some, I can translate it, if you want. I know Latin," it was one of his specialties. "Don't have to," he took his hand back as quickly as he could, then too the drum stick awkwardly. What was he supposed to do with it now?
"Do you know Salva Nos?" Kestrel raised an eyebrow with her inquiry. It had a simple enough beat; anyone could drum that one. She started tapping on the deadwood, demonstrating: dat-dat-dat-dat-dat-dat-datdatdat, steadily. "Like that?"
"Salva nos?" he asked, shaking his head, "I don't. Is it a hymn?" The beat she tapped out was not one he had heard or one for a hymn that he knew at all. "Salva nos is Latin though, means 'we all be well.'"
"I don't know? I've always throught it was." She started putting down the rhythm on her driftwood drum, over and over again. "It's nicer with flute, but as I don't have someone who could play one, I'll just make do. Okay." She coughed politely, clearing her throat, and started singing with a strong, clear voice. The kind that didn't need a microphone to travel over audiences. It wasn't a fantastic voice - it wouldn't win on American Idol - but it was pretty damn good none-the-less. "Salva nos, stella maris, et regina celorum. Salva nos, stella maris, et regina celorum. Que pura deum paris, salva nos, stella maris. Et per rubum signaris, nesciens viri thorum. Salva nos, stella maris, et regina celorum." She paused, wondering if Father Alex Callahan would translate for her. Not that she expected a dream to be able to translate at all.
Nope, he had never heard this, it was Latin and it was a song no doubt, a pretty one and Kestrel sang it well, but it was not a hymn at all, "Save us, star of the sea and queen of heaven. Save us, star of the sea And queen of heaven who while the pure didst bear God," a funny expression came over his face as he thought about the translation, working out the best way to phrase it, "Save us, star of the sea and art signaled in the burning bush not knowing man as a consort. Save us, star of the sea and queen of heaven," he spoke back to her. It lost some of the cadence when translated to English. "Not a hymn, but you have a great voice."
"Why, thank you. That's very kind of you." She beamed at him, and then tapped out a different rhythm. "What about this one? Gaudete, gaudete! Christus est natus ex Maria Virgine, gaudete! Gaudete, gaudete! Christus est natus ex Maria Virgine, gaudete. Tempus adest gratiae, hoc quod optabamus; carmina laeticiae devote redamus..."
With this song he joined in, his voice steady and even, though it would not win any awards. When it ended he nodded, "That one I know. Definitely a hymm. Gaudete Sunday is the third Sunday in Advent," he watched to see if she understood what that meant. No sense in explaining if it did not need to be, "But the translation is fairly easy - it starts with Rejoice, rejoice, Christ is born of the virgin Mary, rejoice. The time of grace is here, that which we desire
Let us recite with devotion a song of joy!"
"Those are the only two I know, I think, that could be hymns. Well, apparently one is definitely a hymn. Only reason I even know them is because of the Mediaeval Baebes, so... well, those are the Latin ones. I might know more. Like I said, I don't really have translations." Kestrel smiled at Alex. "You have a good voice. Very clear. Of course," Kes continued with a shrug, "music has always been important in my dreams, so it really couldn't be another way."
"Ah, right. I'm a part of your dream," he had forgotten that. "What if I told you that you weren't dreaming? That I am as real as you are? What if I told you, you were some place entirely new and different and we have no idea how we got here or how to get home?" It was something to ponder. He suspected that she would come at this from a slightly different perspective than he might or the others at the camp. "We call the planet Wonderland."
Kes raised an eyebrow. "Of course you're as real as me. You're just a dream, and I am the dreamer." Well, that was one way of looking at it. "Though I am still surprised that I'm dreaming of a white man - a white priest, for that matter. One who can sing, too! Ha! My grandmother sometimes says 'a dream is just a dream', so maybe that's why you're white." She paused and eyed Alex speculatively. "Unless you're here in this dream to impart some wisdom I might otherwise be overlooking?"
"Mmm, maybe," he agreed noncommittally, "But I was thinking more in the literal sense. This is another planet. And you're not dreaming. And I'm not white. I'm Hispanic, Alex is short for Alessandro," he was not offended though, he knew he had pale skin and it could be argued that 'Hispanic' was not a race as Hispanic people could be black or white or brown or anything in between. That just led to the argument that there was no such thing as race though and really, he did not want to get into all that right now. "You went to sleep wherever you were and now you are here. Awake and on another planet."
Kestrel raised an eyebrow at him. "You're fully aware of what you just said and how little sense it makes, right? In fact, my belief that this is my dream happens to make at least seventy-five percent more sense. But, bonus points for creativity. I'll give you that."
"I am," he agreed, not at all offended by her lack of trust or faith in him, "And I could be wrong, however; Occam's Razor - it make sense. It's day now, but when it is night the stars are all wrong. The vegetation is well...purple. You've not seen the animals, but they are as strange as the plants. This is not Earth, where ever it is. Or it is one giant mass hallucination that can kill people. Take your pick," he paused his defense and turned a little more towards her, "And I'm still not white."
"And who brought us to this magical Wonderland, then?" She gave him an amused look. "Aliens? Maybe a government experiment in colonizing other planets?"
"Don't know," he knew how crazy it sounded, but it was the best they could figure, "Wish we did. I figure aliens are as good as a crazy government experiment or anything else. I'm a priest, there's a botanist, a truck driver, a preschool teacher...if this were a government experiment, all in pajamas. Don't you think we're a part of a government experiment we'd be better equipped to deal with this. Right now it's more roughing it and day to day survival," as if on cue, his stomach rumbled.
"Maybe you're part of a control group. Y'know, giving toys to the labrats in one group, not giving any to the other, and giving different ones to a third." Of course, Kestrel had nothing to do with any of it. She was just there because she was dreaming, of course.
"Maybe," he shrugged and laid out on the sand, "I should warn you. There's this pink pollen everywhere at the camp, everywhere except here along the water edge. Whatever plant makes it, it's not here. Anyways, it makes people...not act like themselves. Less inhibitions, less control. Increases the ah," he blushed crimson, "libido. Normally, I'd offer to take you back to the camp, but now might not be the best time. I've been staying away, but it's not safe to go too far."
"Uh... huh. Well. You're not helping your 'this is real' cause." Kes looked around, and scratched her head. "But you're welcome to stay here the night if you like. Good spot. It's sheltered, good view of everything."
Reaching a hand out, Alex pinched Kes's ankle. Hard. "You feel that?" he asked, when she yelped. "That was real. And while this is a good spot...." he sat up, "We do need to get to camp. Safety in numbers."
She frowned at him, with a small, suspicious look. Then figured she might've gotten a little cramp, or banged her ankle on something, or the cat bit her. There were a lot of explanations for pain in a dream like that. Still. "...fine. But I'm not leaving a fire unattended, real or not." And she started kicking dirt and sand over it, and stirring it with one of her drumming sticks.
That was a good policy and Alex helped cover it too until it was completely smothered. Shaking some sand out of his clothes a little and his hair, Alex waited until Kes was ready before he turned to head towards the camp. It wasn't too far, but it wasn't close either. They island was big, but it was not ginormous. It was all sort of relative really. Big enough for the grazer herd and their camp and still have plenty of unexplored left over space without them feeling like there might be other people on the island or that it couldn't sustain them. "Good policy," he agreed, once she had joined him. "Ready?"
"Why not?" Kestrel grinned. "There's no point in staying in one place when there's better places near by, is there? Shall we, good father?" And she held her drumming sticks loosely on one shoulder. She liked the feel of them; good solid pieces of wood that they were.