taxonomites | 008 || [Accidental Visual] || Eighth Trial

Entry tags:

008 || [Accidental Visual] || Eighth Trial

Corwin should probably find a way to rope his unruly tablet into line. When half the time he seems not to care that it exists, though, that makes things a little difficult, and he’s still subjected to being captured at whatever hour of the day, doing whatever it is he’s decided he’s doing.

At least it looks like he’s found something productive to do. Something that doesn’t involve ruining his blade against a tree and putting it back in order. Now that he has learned a painful lesson in “be careful what you wish for,” he isn’t likely to forget it. And he has a long memory. Whatever the damn hamsters were doing, at least he had something to do to keep himself occupied. Damned if they were going to hear another complaint of boredom out of him.

He has replaced Grayswandir with a simple fencing saber— though the Night Blade isn’t far off, resting on the ground next to a much simpler foil—running through offensive drills of a more formal nature than he had for a long time against no one.

At least he remembered most of them. But then, it was always easier to make things look good when he wasn’t trying to defend himself.

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Alexis watched the display with interest. The moves were more elaborate (and probably older) than those her fencing instructor back home had taught. And she was pretty sure she couldn't replicate them even if she tried. Not without a whole lot of practice, at least.

"I thought you hadn't done this in a long time," she eventually said, curious.

The sound of a voice made him stop, dropping the dulled weapon's point, but not allowing it to touch the ground. He should probably take a break anyway, even if it had to come at the "hands" of an unruly little piece of technology, hell-bent on broadcasting every nuance of his private life to the rest of the citizens of the godforsaken city.

"I said I haven't done it formally in a long time."

She tried to hide a smile behind her hand, but Alexis was, by and large, too guileless to make it work. "Looks pretty formal to me." She paused, melancholy flickering over her face for a brief second. "Dad looked like he was trying to chop down a tree the first time he tried."

"Then he was doing it wrong." Simple and obvious, and Corwin only prayed silently that whoever her father was, that his teacher hadn't tried starting him on saber first. He conveniently chose to ignore the first half of what she'd said, though, and settled for shaking his head. "Please tell me he wasn't using a foil to slash at anything."

The simple answer made Alexis giggle. There were quite a few people who'd agree that 'doing it wrong' was something Richard Castle excelled at. Along with writing bestselling mystery novels.

Alexis couldn't remember if fencing had come about from one of her whims or one of her dad's. Never the less, it still ended the same way. "No, I took the foil away before he hurt himself."

Corwin was more interested in the safety of the blade, but wisely kept that piece of information to himself, instead shaking his head vaguely at whatever statement she chose to take it at. Vague always worked well.

"I hope you know how to use it better than that."

If she had known what Corwin's real concern had been, he would have been treated to something Richard Castle was intimiately familiar with: Alexis' 'no seriously, which one of us is the adult here?' look. As it was, Alexis assumed the nod was one of agreement.

"Yes," she admitted. She paused though, tilting her head thoughtfully as she made a vague gesture, awkwardly imitating one of the forms she'd seen him practice a few seconds ago. "But I've never seen anyone riposte like that."

It wasn't as if he had never gotten that look from anyone before, but at least he'd managed to avoid it for now. Always better to just never see it in the first place.

"It's probably older than anything you know." Or else too much of actually having to use it to stay alive had changed it a little (or more than that), aiming for a kill rather than a score. Either way, it didn't really matter. It was effective, and that was really what counted.

Her brow furrowed at his words. Being Alexis, she'd done some studying on the history of fencing when she'd first started, but even so that didn't explain his comment. "You don't look that old."

Somehow, that irked him just a little, when it really shouldn't have. "You don't look old" should have been a compliment, really.

"Does that matter? Appearances can be deceiving and all that. And how do you know that my teacher wasn't older? This isn't something you just pick up on your own, kid."

She hesitated, then shrugged. "Of course it does," she answered brightly, unconsciously echoing her dad's words. "It means there's a story." Unperturbed, she continued. "So which one is it?"

"One of them," he shot right back. "Life ain't that easy, princess. I've got my secrets and you don't see me asking for yours." He was smarter than to ask outright. He knew well enough to coax it out of people, and make them think they weren't giving up anything important.

The problem was, of course, that for Alexis life was that easy. Or had been, until she came to Taxon. It also probably didn't help that she had first hand experience seeing that persistent asking did get people to spill their life stories to her dad. The fact that Richard Castle was both a best selling novelist and extremely irritating didn't get processed yet.

"It's not like there's anything to tell," she pointed out. "I'm only seventeen."

Seventeen was old enough to do a lot of things--most of which didn't really bear repeating. It had been a while since Corwin had been seventeen, but there was a kind of pleasant nostalgia that surrounded the thought that made him think that it hadn't been too bad--it had probably been before family life went to hell and everyone ended up out to save their own hide.

"You'd be surprised."

Of course, not all seventeen year olds who found themselves in alien cities set off to do their homework and study for exams. She gave him a look of mild disbelief.

"Don't tell me you're a big fan of the collecting inappropriate stories to tell your children while young thing too."

"No, actually. Just a collector of stories." He hadn't really had much of a hand in Merlin's childhood, and he didn't particularly care to. Stories for children were beyond him, really.

"I can't really help whether or not he enjoyed it."

A wave of homesickness washed over Alexis at the words, but she'd been in Taxon for a few months now and it was easier to push aside than it had been before. It helped, too, to focus on the rest of what he said rather than just the collector of stories part. Her brow furrowed, and a hint of skepticism entered her voice, unbidden. "You have kids?"

"And? Is there a problem with that?" Never mind that he hadn't had much interaction with him until recently. And by "not much" he really meant "none." She could be as skeptical as she wanted, but it didn't change the truth. Secrets were the way of his family and Merlin had been one of the biggest.

"No, just surprised." She looked at Corwin again, curious, trying to imagine him interacting with anyone her age and doing better than she was doing now. "You don't seem to like kids very much."

Not that that stopped Alexis from talking to someone. Not if they were interesting and could teach her something new.

Corwin only shrugged, pretending that he wasn't getting a look. It was what it was. Not only was it not his fault that he even had a son in the first place, it wasn't his fault that he hadn't even seen him until he was almost grown. And while it wasn't exactly much of a relationship, it was still better than the one he had with his own father. Something Freudian in that.

"Maybe."

Alexis tilted her head. That wasn't much of an answer, but it was an answer, at least. And he was still talking to her. He could have just turned off his tablet or... something.

"Did you teach them to fence?"

That whole thing about manners. They were annoying half of the time, an intrusion three quarters of what was left, and actually advantageous for the rest. But it kept him there, despite sounding a little gruff. And besides, he was more than a little starved for conversation here.

"No. He already knew most of it by the time I met him."

Her expression fell at that, looking sympathetic and a little sad. It wasn't that she didn't understand unconventional families, far from it, but that despite the uncoventional part, Alexis was close to her father, and couldn't help feeling sad at the idea that anyone wasn't.

"That's too bad."

Corwin only shrugged. He could have mentioned that it could have been worse. He could have gone off about how his own childhood hadn't exactly been sunshine and rainbows or how he hadn't even known about Merlin until he had mostly finished growing. It wasn't exactly a secret, but here? He'd take them where he could get them.

"I guess if you want to see it that way, sure. It's too bad."

She tilted her head, as if trying to read something in his body language to supplement the meager words. It didn't work too well, and Alexis looked perplexed. "You don't think so?"

"I ain't exactly the fathering type, kid." Not that he'd really had the greatest example in the world, and to be honest, he would have preferred his own father to piss off and leave him alone. Him taking an interest never ended well. And all that. Why should he be involved in someone else's life like that when all that could happen was a disastrous end?

Alexis rested her chin in her palm as she mulled over what she knew as well as what he said. "But that could change, right?" she asked. "Like... you could be if you wanted to. It's not like a switch gets switched on." Except sometimes she did wonder if it was a switch. One that her dad had switched on and her mom didn't.

"It's only too late if someone dies." She winced a little, when she realized what she'd said. "Sorry, that didn't come out right."

"I'm guessing you haven't tried it lately. It's not as easy as all that." Never mind that he hadn't even known about the kid until recently. Never mind that he'd been the culmination of some dark, twisted breeding program. "In our family, death is pretty much the only certainty. That, and plotting."

"I think if I tried being a dad at all, everyone would be really confused. Me included."

She continued looking thoughtful, however at his mention of family. It was quite possibly the first thing he'd volunteered. "Death and plotting?" she echoed, disbelieving, "That sounds really grim."

Corwin gave a kind of ironic half-a-laugh, shaking his head at the girl on the other side of the screen. "Welcome to my life. 'Grim' is one of the more kind things I've heard it all called."

Thoughtful grew to wide-eyed, and maybe a little more disbelief. Telling a twenty-first century girl with one loving (if somewhat insane) parent about death and plotting being family life would do that.

"How about byzantine?" she suggested. "That at least sounds less depressing."

Corwin's expression slid into just slightly impressed--but only slightly.

"That's not a word I'd have expected to come out of a kid's mouth."

She smiled, briefly. Faint praise, but she liked being able to exceed people's expectations. "My name is Alexis," she reminded him. It didn't hurt to remind him. Maybe. "And I picked it up, in one of Dad's books."

"I know what your name is." Successfully reminded. Not changing his mind, though. "And that is a little less than surprising." Not that he had ever met her father, but it made a lot more sense than any other explanation that he could come up with on his own.

Alexis considered the fact that he hadn't immediately called her kid again a minor victory. "He likes using it. Says it sets the atmosphere better than 'it was a dark and stormy night.' But not as good as 'it was the winter of our discontent.'"

"Shakespeare knew what he was doing." Not exactly the best way to describe anything nowadays, but he did have a way with words. "If he can get that into normal conversation, I will officially be impressed."

Alexis grinned at that, her entire expression brightening as she spoke about her dad. "He does that all the time. Says it's the sign of a good writer to reference the masters."

"Could be," Corwin shrugged, glancing away from the tablet for a moment. "A good writer, maybe. It's the sign of a great one to become his own master and not rely on the words of those who came before him."

She tilted her head at that. "Shakespeare referenced other people," she pointed out. "And everyone says he's a great writer."

"How much of what's cliche now did he write four hundred years ago? References are fine, but in the end it's what you created yourself that's remembered."

"Is it what you write or how much you write?" The conversation had been slowly relaxing Alexis, and she felt less intimidated enough to argue, at least a little bit. "The more you write the more might survive, right? And the more likely someone's going to think you're representative of the ages or something."

"Quality over quantity, kid." Or something like that. Quantity helped, sure, but who read anything that wasn't worth taking the time to read it? Besides, it made him feel better to think that what survived was the best, rather than the most. Something to be remembered because it was worth it, rather than because there was a positive flood of it.

"Can't it be both?"

The question had been spurred by genuine curiosity as much pride. Of course, Alexis would think it was possible, being raised by a man who had written at least two dozen best sellers.

"Without burning yourself out? Takes a lot of inspiration and willpower." How long had it been since he'd actually sat down and written anything? He couldn't even remember everything he'd composed, if common songs were his or someone else's, what life he'd written them in.

He knew what he was talking about.

"I'm not sure where you'd find that much motivation."

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008 || [Accidental Visual] || Eighth Trial

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