For [ profile] the_iscariot's Truth or Dare game
Active Death Eater warnings: torture and murder

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john_h_holliday: (Severus)
( Mar. 20th, 2008 01:34 pm)
the_iscariot writing for john_h_holliday

John waits.

He is a patient man, the consummate gentleman and perhaps the rarest of hosts, because he is sincere. John feels wholly and simply and without demanding you do the same. To do so, would be vicious and he will not so, not now at least. Perhaps once, long ago, when he was a different sort: he could have been vicious, or cruel, or taunting. Once, he may have hurt you because he wanted to. Someday soon, he may do it again. John’s dreams, whims and desires are as vast and endless as Arizona deserts, his nightmares, and wrongs as black and arid.


But, his voice is smooth, welcoming, and it warms like a good Whiskey. He knows that most precious of all gifts, how to listen and how to make people listen. He hides secrets- yours and his own- behind the languid pools of his eyes. He dreams easy and laughs easier.

One day soon, he will die.

But until that day, John sits, smiles and speaks to you when he chooses to, but mostly, he’ll just chase the horizon, any horizon he finds, like he did when he was a younger man and death not so real.
Because John was never any good at waiting.
John wraps his throat warm in his new long woolen scarf. It is novel to him and he is very pleased with it, almost proud. He tucks an extra flask in the inside pocket of his great fur-trimmed coat, for it will be cold in the snow. The whole idea of caroling with his friend makes him pleased and proud, as he thinks of it. He tugs on his gloves and picks up the music books and his cane.

The snow makes the streets and country and world look like a Christmas card. Large enough flakes are falling that he believes he could count their points. Their friends. It is a tradition he has always watched almost enviously, and now he will bring it to some of those he loves. With Hickey. He smiles, his heart open, glad and warm. He has been looking forward to this.

It's the evening, the one he's been looking forward to; Hickey realizes this much with a start.

He's been drifting. He's been singing, too, though he only realizes it now, and it hasn't been any sort of Christmas carol. The same damned tune over and over--He can't get over it. Seems it's been going through head since... Well, since a couple of days ago, whatever that was.

'Always jolly, heart that is true I know...'

Christ. That's enough of that, more than enough of that. As he rises (having less trouble about that than he might have expected... but then, he'd gotten sued to drinking early enough in life that it couldn't do too much damage now), he reminds himself of what he needs to do before going anywhere. Make sure he looks presentable--fix the vest, comb the hair--make sure he'll be warm enough--find a warm jacket; he has one around here somewhere, has to. Maybe have another drink, too.

But whatever he does, he'll shake this goddamned funk. This isn't any state to be meeting the Doc in, and Hickey doesn't want it to go like that, anyway. By all rights, this is going to be a good time. Caroling. Hell, he's never done it before--Evelyn (ahhh, Christ) had talked about it, but they'd never really gotten around to doing anything of the sort--and it sounds like fun. Something to get out and do. And it's with the Doc; helluva guy, so far as Hickey can figure (and usually, he figures pretty damned well).

All right, there. He's gotten himself into a presentable state. And his head's spinning a little, sure, but that's nothing; that'll go as soon as he sees the Doc, he knows. You learn to handle it. Not that he should've been drinking--he feels a twinge of guilt at that; hardly remembers when he started, but knows he shouldn't have even touched the stuff--but he can't deny it, and he can at least be glad that he can deal with it. Could be worse.

He's as ready as he'll ever be. Even feeling the excitement of it, and he's glad for that. Wouldn't miss this for the world--Though another drink might be in order.

No. Nuh-uh. He's said no, vowed off the stuff... But with the way he's been going, what's one more drink? He takes a quick one, then, before setting the bottle aside (almost violently, a rejection) and moving toward the door. Best be getting out before he decides to take another. Before anything--

'But a maiden so sweet, lives in that little street...'

Before any of that starts again. Hell. At the very least, those Christmas carols should get rid of that tune; there's some relief in that, too.

He heads out into the snow, finding that the sudden cold shakes into more of an awareness. Good. Now he's just got to find the Doc.

John sees Hickey coming towards him through the softly falling snow and fairly beams, holding out his friend's copy of the book. Carols. John remembers them, but has not memorised them, and in any case it is better to have something solid to hold and read. His friend looks less than absolutely steady, but perhaps the bracing cold, cheer and exercise will help him come to himself. Something almost sad there, or wistful maybe. John does not yet know, exactly and considers offering his flask, which steadies him, but it is perhaps too early yet to need its warmth. He pats his shoulder and offers his hand to shake after the manner of gentlemen. His eyes are focussed, keen and smiling in anticipation. Perhaps they can stop at a cafe for chocolate later, if they get cold.

Now, that's good.

Hickey smiles at the Doc, and it feels natural, like it should. It's good to see him, to take the book of carols--he's seen these before, but hasn't touched one in a while--and to shake the Doc's hand. That's real enough, and so's the way the Doc appears; looks like he should be there, and by God, that's a welcoming face he's got. Keen enough, sure, and honest. You can trust a guy like that, and already Hickey's feeling a little more himself.

"Good to see you, Doc."

Time for those carols.

If you would like a visitation, please comment below!
john_h_holliday: (eyes)
( Mar. 19th, 2008 10:35 pm)
A vision, from John Dreams

A man enters his mind - one of those for whom he watches and in whose existence he takes quiet pleasure. He sees the man's face and eyes open to him as they do not in life. John watches, remote but moved, and feels this as it resolves. When he has seen fully the man begins to become more distinct - more himself. It is not that he is less whole, or less clothed, but John can see inside him.

His skeleton is shaped - carved with figures, scenes and objects. It is something between filigree and bas relief, in black stone, intricate and infinitely complex. It is unmoving, but it has changed if his gaze returns to a humerus after sliding to and from a metacarpal bone. There are faces reflecting agony to reverie, through mourning, guardedness, and pleasure.

The man's heart is carved of alabaster as well as the dark stone and turns as on a spindle. The carvings there are on a larger scale. Sometimes these are crumbled, sometimes obscured by mist, sometimes clear, the edges honed to razor-sharpness.

John touches, in his vision, in tentative wonder and respect, but contact with the heart slices his finger open. It is protected, and the figures turn lithely to watch, in turn, the richly coloured tendrils of his blood drip from rib to rib.

He touches the skeleton and feels life beating through it. Fear, and strength, and longing. It is beautiful, perfect and heart-breaking. John's control is non-existent, drowned in fever, and he weeps. He weeps for the other man, for recognition of this in himself, because it is just a vision, though he will remember.

Cleansed by tears, forced to turn and relax, he comes to sleep, and dream.
More coming after vacation.

1. You used a quote for mine then, so I'll return one: Hemingway once said that we are all a Lost Generation, broken and lost by something that was suppose to change the world? What broke yours?

We lost the war. Everything I knew was lost and with it went the more personal things - my family, home, health and hope. With that loss and the privations and vengeance visited upon us came the knowledge that all the courage, knowledge, skill, confidence, fortitude and ingenuity in the world had only resulted in the deaths of most of our men and surely the best of them.

2. Do you lend yourself to regret or might have beens,and if you do, what if anything could you regret?

I do not believe in regret. One cannot undo what has been done. It is not that one does not err, but that after the fact all one can do is one's utmost to ensure the same error never occurs again. But one may mourn and one may dream of what could have been.

3. Would you rather be enlightened and miserable or ignorant and happy?

There is a certain pride in sacrifice, suffering and banishment for truth and principle. It is freeing to stand guiltless in a muddier world. With blood on one's head and pain running from one's eyes from cause, one has paid and so deserves any good and does not deserve any wrong. To be happy and ignorant is to be only half alive - one's happiness does not count any more than brief sun on a tabletop.

4. A cliche but simple one. What is your idea of a perfect day?

The easy answer is the one I gave Darius.

5. So, do you trust me?

I trust you implicitly, and I am under no delusions. You are a spy and may need to betray me to avoid betraying higher cause. I accept this - it is duty and virtue and carries a high personal price for you. I have nothing but respect.
The whole answer.

I have done this before, but one can never really answer enough questions to be entirely known, nor ask enough to entirely know others. For the most part.

01. Please leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
02. I shall respond by asking you five questions.
03. Please update your journal with the answers to the questions.
04. Please include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the post.
05. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you may ask them five questions.
john_h_holliday: (Default)
( Mar. 18th, 2008 09:24 pm)
Whiskey (for the_iscariot)
9:34:00, August 11th, 2007

John sits at the table with his cards, practicing by playing Patience, as is his want. It is a corner table, so they both might sit with their backs to the wall. There are two glasses this time, and three whiskey bottles in a precise row. He still says whiskey, but really it is the fine scotch now available in this new century: Aberlour, Laphroaig and Scapa - all very different. His hands shake slightly, but his shuffles and deals are deft, and his memory is perfect.
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john_h_holliday: (Default)


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