Ivarius Faldine
24 May 2008 @ 04:47 pm
August Dalamar and Bara created a corn field today. I went along at August's request with one stipulation; I had to wear a pair of large sunglasses to protect my eyes. I have the unfortunate luck of getting sunburns on my eyes because I cannot see the sun; I can only feel the warmth of it against my cheeks.

In but a single day, I've heard two magi and one sorcerer create a field, a system of irrigation, and finish a full planting. Dalamar doesn't give himself enough credit for his ability to paint pictures with words. He stood by my side on two occasions and carefully described what was happening, what was (hopefully) going to happen, and the anticipated results. A few brief hangups occurred, but the overall venture was a success. August told me he'd leave the field in the hands of myself and Dalamar, with the implication that the younger sorts would be expected to lend us a hand if and when we should need it.

Spending a day outside and away from the tower felt very nice. I hadn't realised how long I'd been cooped up inside the place! The last time I left was to go out and help Evan. For those of you who are new or may not remember, that was the day people wanted to touch Dalamar's ears because of how realistic they appeared. :) Ah, non-magical society. Quirky quirky. I do miss you so, at times. Curiosity lives and breathes in the world yet!
Ivarius Faldine
30 October 2007 @ 04:00 pm
Sunlight was softer in England. I always felt that way after making the crossing from its shores to those of America. When I lived in England I never burned beneath the sun, not once. My first sunburn was acquired while I made one of many attempts to maintain a jobs I wasn't physically capable of doing. I have no great arm for lifting crates from river barges, or moving much of anything if it's more than a quarter of my body weight. Never mind that, though.

I came out on the train ride out of London and into Sussex. For the trip I sat across from Emily eating Jelly Beans and watching the urban sprawl melt away to forests and later fields where ramblers kept their sheep and cows. Further still and we entered the hills of Sussex, the chalk quarries and downs you look at from a distance and think running up one would be no difficult task when, indeed, it would be. The sunlight came through the train as though filtered through a faint fog, and believe me it had nothing to do with my eyesight. I was (and am) home. I hope that one day we might visit Wales.

For now, London is enough. I walked with Emily through the central portion of the city and looked up at the buildings that sprang to life years after I was alive, long after my family disowned me and I made a home in Louisiana. It's a new city, but still the old one I knew so well.
Tags: ,
Mood: calm
Ivarius Faldine
27 July 2007 @ 04:42 pm
Memories do so love to tumble about in my mind. I found a photograph in Lexi's files today, one she saved for me when she was browsing her image sites. Hardly a second passed before I could feel restless wind against my face, the cool April air before spring sweeps over England. We were on holiday and I was young, newly minted with my rosary and license to preach and to grant marriage rites. I had forgotten it was the weekend my family always went to the beach, forgotten until my father arrived by carriage to collect me and scold me until we arrived. My clothes were rumpled and my mother fussed over my tired eyes, telling me I mustn't remain awake through the night so frequently. I calmed her worries, kissed her cheek and told her I was well, simply inundated in my studies. She released me in favour of some small cousins to exclaim over.

I wandered off down the beach with the laughter of my family behind me. There was something about the sound of the surf that day, a note in the cries of the gulls overhead. It felt as though I lived in déjà vu. I didn't know it would be the last time I was together with my whole family. Nothing save peace touched that day; I was the learned second son and my brother had earned himself a title in a competition. I remember falling asleep on a blanket spread on the sand, too weary to remain awake.

Memory fails me for the return trip, my father must have lifted me (he was always strong enough to do so, I was a thin creature) and held me for the carriage ride home. I woke in my bed, wondering if I had truly ever gone to the beach. The sand in my boots was the only evidence left of the day. It was one of the last times he called me son, that day. I do miss him, and my mother. I daresay I even miss my brother despite his exuberance and constantly aggressive nature.

Less than four months later I was sailing across the Atlantic, cast from my family and my country, stripped of my licenses given to me as a member of the church. I fancy to think my life didn't truly begin until I landed in New York with nothing more than my violin and a single change of clothing.
Ivarius Faldine
09 April 2007 @ 04:24 pm
Voodoo was alive and flourishing during the years I resided in New Orleans. The sister of my dearest friend was the Voodoo Queen; it only made sense that I should be exposed to the method and form of the religion, plural in versions though it was. Of what I could derive from Olympe (January's sister), the religion evolved in the tribes of West Africa, a mesh of ancestor worship and reverence for the deities of nature. The over-arching figure of the religion was the loa or lwa, believed to be a single spirit that worked through all things. It was the loa these people called upon when slavery found their tribes and trapped them, chained them, tearing them away from field and home to America.

Among these people were herbalists, priests, midwives, all carrying the gods of their homeland. They also retained the knowledge of how to petition the loa thousands of miles from their native homes. Such knowledge was a treasure to them, closely held to breast as the very last strength and connection they had to the society they once knew. The strength of this religion showed through music and dance, in healing and other forms of charms and invocation. Not all slave owners enforced Christianity upon their workers; the belief did not get stamped out as many other things did. Spelling was, regretfully, one of the aspects that the creole French and the English of the time swept beneath the rug. Most researchers fall to researching the Haiti practices. I couldn't begin to give what terms I knew to Lexi, French or any language ends up getting filtered out of my vocabulary when I front and she's never been exposed to/immersed in them.

What encounters I had with voodoo were almost fully accidental, save for one. I took to flirting with this fellow's lady friend and he discovered, eventually, and bought a curse from his sister or cousin. Olympe later informed me I was damned to a life of loneliness and despair, my fertility lost to me. I didn't pay mind to it at the time, though now I wonder if there was any truth to the curse. If so, it rises only in those dark hours of the night when nary another soul lies awake but myself and my thoughts. Remus thinks his insomnia a curse all on its own, and I sadly must admit to selfishness. I was happy to have someone to talk to in those small hours before the dawn, for those are indeed the loneliest hours of the day.
Mood: thoughtful
Ivarius Faldine
04 March 2007 @ 12:51 pm
A whim took me over to DeviantArt. Originally I thought to try and find more artwork by a specific artist, instead I found a work that looks as though I stood there and let myself be a painter's subject. I always had an odd curiosity about that; what it might be like to be painted. The Girl With A Pearl Earring captured my fascination for weeks. It's a little too late for that now, unless Lexi's grandparents want to go out of their way to have her painted. I could try to hang around in her eyes, perhaps. No one would be able to tell, but I don't mind. I'm happy enough, living with August and Crysania with my gardening and my music. I've lived twice, which I see as plenty.

Speaking of music and past lives, I uploaded Yağmurlar, by Şebnem Ferah. I never learned Turkish during either of my lives, and now I want to. My heart aches to know what she's saying, to understand how someone can sound so beautifully sad. She reminds me of the melancholy that settles on grey rainy days. Have you ever had one of those days? I've watched the water trickle down the pane and sent my mind thousands of miles from home. Gray skies, gray streets, the clipping of hooves on cobbled streets. Hello again, Louisiana, I miss your radiant springs but not your miasma of yellow fever.

Wales, I miss you too.

I'm not truly homesick. One day Lexi will be in England and we might be able to go look around Wales. I'd enjoy that. Louisiana will not look like it did a century ago; I don't want to go there. I'd miss the lanterns and the plantation homes for their familiarity. January wouldn't be there waiting for me. He wouldn't recognize me now, even if he were there. I don't miss the tuberculosis, oh no, and only on rare occasions do I miss the laudanum. Yesterday morning could have used a respite, at least. (I'm wistful, forgive me. I would not again take laudanum, I know how addictive it is. Pain has no hold on me here.) In sum, I miss familiarity. I knew my way around New Orleans, I played the violin and made enough to support my rent and keep laudanum in fairly decent supply. Living a second time with lycanthropy ruined what feelings I ever had of truly belonging anywhere for any great length of time. Remus changed that, for which I'm ever grateful.

It is enough to have a home now. I know my "who'swhat" and how to live peacefully with one of the most argumentative people yet alive. :)

p.s. yes I refer to August there.
Mood: pensive
Ivarius Faldine
06 December 2006 @ 12:01 pm
I believe I had a starving artist complex. I grew plants for a select few, knowing they'd understand the love I put into it. I've gone to great lengths (such as sitting out in the pouring rain to keep the torrent from damaging some of the more delicate species) to nurture and protect those plants.

All of that feels like a very long time ago, now that I think of it.

A work of love. I never did well in school, would you believe? My mind didn't want to focus. I could easily grasp course material and that must have been my academic downfall. It took me a long time to be able to pass the examinations that allowed me to obtain a medical degree, studying was something I had never fully applied myself to. A trial of love, I believe you'd term that.

It's no real truth to say that having the syringe in one's hand is far less frightening than trusting someone else with it. The reversal of roles frightened me.

My mind is wandering all over tonight. I think I'll leave this be until I have a better grasp on what I wish to say, exactly.

I have a favourite song, seemingly. Whenever it plays the others will say "Ivy's song." If you like and want the album, it's here. The Fray - How to Save a Life
Music: How to Save a Life by The Fray