07-22-2014, 04:37 PM
<small>[[continued from The Best of you]]
</small>
It had been a few days since he'd met Alex and he still wasn't sure what he could do. More and more he wanted to meet with this Inspector Drayson. He'd even called the number she'd given only be informed that the man was out on a call. They weren't even able to forward his call to his cell because the connection was evidently spotty. Connor wondered where Drayson could be in Moscow that would allow for a spotty connection.
But in truth, he still was unsure, even if he had spoke to the man. If Drayson really was the Mulder of the city, that might not be a good thing. He'd watched that show regularly with his dad and only too well remembered how many walls that man ran into. Even his own partner, Scully, who'd seen enough paranormal activity to choke a camel, constantly doubted his explanation despite its always turning out to be right.
Turning his information over to a government official who'd not be able to use it wasn't really what he wanted. He wanted this information to matter, to accomplish something. He wanted it to be blow against the Atharim. He'd only get one shot at this. And Alex was right. One man or woman was not much against a secret society that had been around for as long as he suspected they had.
So now the contents of the drive had been uploaded to a few cloud repositories- some the standard ones and others for more illegal stuff and therefore more safe from casual search. All under bogus accounts of course. He knew his job. He also had a copy in a portable drive in his pocket. He wasn't sure why he kept so many copies when each one might give him away. Truth is, he just didn't want to suddenly find that they had been destroyed. The drive itself, though, that was in a million pieces and had been thrown away in three different dumpsters.
He had the day off and so was walking around, thinking. Ayden was working at Chesterfields but they were going to do something special later that night. He was going to surprise her with some flowers and a night on the town. Maybe dancing. He'd been preoccupied the last few days, though come to think of it, so had she. It would be nice to do something special with her. He was feeling the pressure to get rid of this thing quickly. The sooner that was done, the sooner he could stop worrying.
He turned onto Nikolskaya street and saw an old run down store, Volaskov's Repository prominently displayed on the glass door. It was an older bookstore. He stopped. He loved old bookstores and the smell of the paper and leather and age. The few in the window were old indeed. Once of them according to the label underneath the open book, appeared to be an old 15th centurty edition of the Poetic Eddas by Snorri Sturluson. One of the pictures that appeared next to the alien text was of a man frantically looking up- his tongue sticking out in concentration- at a giant bird. He had a stick in his hand. He couldn't tell if the man was hitting the bird or whether the bird's neck was attached to the stick. There appeared to be cauldron right next to him. He had no idea what the picture was. The caption below the book, though, read "Thjazi and Loki. Beginning of the myth of the abduction of Idun." He wasn't too familiar with Norse mythology, though he knew the name Loki. Every guy his age did, after all. Those movies had been huge when he was a kid.
It was interesting though. In the movies, the gods like Thor and Loki and Odin had actually been beings from another dimension, he guessed. To humans, though, they were gods and were worshiped accordingly. It was all too familiar, really. If they had been real, and could use magic- like Ayden or Jensen- then it all made sense. He'd liked mythology as a kid, though mostly Greek stuff. Perseus and Theseus, Icarus, Achilles and Hector. He remembered reading The Illiad in college, struck by the fact that The Illiad was all about the touching humanization of Achilles. Achilles, like all the gods, was a spoiled child. None of them were affected by the repercussions of their actions. They did not get sick or lose loved ones or suffer as the normal people. Achilles could sulk in his tents while the Greeks and Trojans around him died and it meant nothing to him. Those that he had slain were merely fodder for his glory and reputation.
Connor wanted to relive that part of the story. He went inside and after a brief greeting with the owner, found the mythology sections. There was young man standing there but it was not where Connor need to be so he ignored him. There it was. He pulled the book off the shelf and began flipping toward the end, trying to find it. There. He started reading
Patroclus had been killed and Achilles finally suffered, had been enraged. He killed the valiant hero Hector in vengeance. But then he dishonored the body and refused burial, something that they so desperately needed to ensure that Hector could go to the Elysian fields. But Priam, Hector's father, snuck into the camp-hidden by the gods until the last moment. "Priam walked in, unseen, and went to Achilles. He clasped his knees, then he kissed his terrible hands, the deadly hands that had slaughtered so many of his sons."
This was it, the emotional climax of the story.
“Remember your father, Achilles.
He is an old man like me, approaching the end of his life.
Perhaps he too is being worn down by enemy troops,
with no one there to protect him from chaos and ruin.
Yet he at least, since he knows that you are alive,
feels joy in his heart and, every day, can look forward
to seeing his child, whom he loves so dearly, come home.
My fate is less happy. I fathered the bravest men
in the land of Troy, yet not one remains alive.
I had fifty sons before the Achaeans came here,
nineteen from a single woman, and all the rest
were borne to me by other wives in my palace.
Most of my sons have been killed in this wretched war.
The only one I could truly count on, the one
who guarded our city and all its people—you killed him
a few days ago as he fought to defend his country:
Hector. It is for his sake that I have come,
to beg you for his release. I have brought a large ransom.
Respect the gods now. Have pity on me; remember
your father. For I am more to be pitied than he is,
since I have endured what no mortal ever endured:
I have kissed the hands of the man who slaughtered my children."
Those words had touched his heart. And now, having been a father, he felt them all the more keenly. And Achilles...Achilles heard the words.
With these words he stirred in Achilles a wild longing
to weep for his father. Taking the old man’s hand,
he gently pushed him away. And each of them sat there
remembering. Priam, crouched at Achilles’ feet,
sobbed for Hector; Achilles wept now for his father,
now for Patroclus. And every room in the house
rang with the sound of their mourning and lamentation.
But when Achilles had had enough, and the aching
sorrow had eased from his mind and body, he stood
and took Priam’s hand and lifted him from the ground;
and with pity for his white hair and white beard, he said,
“Unfortunate man, what grief you have had to endure!
Sit down on this chair, and let us both rest from our tears. 510
Heart-chilling anguish can do us no good. The immortals
have spun out the thread of life for us human beings
so that, however we can, we must learn to bear
misfortune like this, but they live free of all sorrow.”
Priam's word to Achilles hit home. The god learned to be a human. Connor smiled. It was a good story. It made him miss his son, though. Not in a paralyzing way. He just missed being a dad, missed having a son by his side.
Edited by Connor Kent, Aug 27 2014, 04:02 PM.
</small>
It had been a few days since he'd met Alex and he still wasn't sure what he could do. More and more he wanted to meet with this Inspector Drayson. He'd even called the number she'd given only be informed that the man was out on a call. They weren't even able to forward his call to his cell because the connection was evidently spotty. Connor wondered where Drayson could be in Moscow that would allow for a spotty connection.
But in truth, he still was unsure, even if he had spoke to the man. If Drayson really was the Mulder of the city, that might not be a good thing. He'd watched that show regularly with his dad and only too well remembered how many walls that man ran into. Even his own partner, Scully, who'd seen enough paranormal activity to choke a camel, constantly doubted his explanation despite its always turning out to be right.
Turning his information over to a government official who'd not be able to use it wasn't really what he wanted. He wanted this information to matter, to accomplish something. He wanted it to be blow against the Atharim. He'd only get one shot at this. And Alex was right. One man or woman was not much against a secret society that had been around for as long as he suspected they had.
So now the contents of the drive had been uploaded to a few cloud repositories- some the standard ones and others for more illegal stuff and therefore more safe from casual search. All under bogus accounts of course. He knew his job. He also had a copy in a portable drive in his pocket. He wasn't sure why he kept so many copies when each one might give him away. Truth is, he just didn't want to suddenly find that they had been destroyed. The drive itself, though, that was in a million pieces and had been thrown away in three different dumpsters.
He had the day off and so was walking around, thinking. Ayden was working at Chesterfields but they were going to do something special later that night. He was going to surprise her with some flowers and a night on the town. Maybe dancing. He'd been preoccupied the last few days, though come to think of it, so had she. It would be nice to do something special with her. He was feeling the pressure to get rid of this thing quickly. The sooner that was done, the sooner he could stop worrying.
He turned onto Nikolskaya street and saw an old run down store, Volaskov's Repository prominently displayed on the glass door. It was an older bookstore. He stopped. He loved old bookstores and the smell of the paper and leather and age. The few in the window were old indeed. Once of them according to the label underneath the open book, appeared to be an old 15th centurty edition of the Poetic Eddas by Snorri Sturluson. One of the pictures that appeared next to the alien text was of a man frantically looking up- his tongue sticking out in concentration- at a giant bird. He had a stick in his hand. He couldn't tell if the man was hitting the bird or whether the bird's neck was attached to the stick. There appeared to be cauldron right next to him. He had no idea what the picture was. The caption below the book, though, read "Thjazi and Loki. Beginning of the myth of the abduction of Idun." He wasn't too familiar with Norse mythology, though he knew the name Loki. Every guy his age did, after all. Those movies had been huge when he was a kid.
It was interesting though. In the movies, the gods like Thor and Loki and Odin had actually been beings from another dimension, he guessed. To humans, though, they were gods and were worshiped accordingly. It was all too familiar, really. If they had been real, and could use magic- like Ayden or Jensen- then it all made sense. He'd liked mythology as a kid, though mostly Greek stuff. Perseus and Theseus, Icarus, Achilles and Hector. He remembered reading The Illiad in college, struck by the fact that The Illiad was all about the touching humanization of Achilles. Achilles, like all the gods, was a spoiled child. None of them were affected by the repercussions of their actions. They did not get sick or lose loved ones or suffer as the normal people. Achilles could sulk in his tents while the Greeks and Trojans around him died and it meant nothing to him. Those that he had slain were merely fodder for his glory and reputation.
Connor wanted to relive that part of the story. He went inside and after a brief greeting with the owner, found the mythology sections. There was young man standing there but it was not where Connor need to be so he ignored him. There it was. He pulled the book off the shelf and began flipping toward the end, trying to find it. There. He started reading
Patroclus had been killed and Achilles finally suffered, had been enraged. He killed the valiant hero Hector in vengeance. But then he dishonored the body and refused burial, something that they so desperately needed to ensure that Hector could go to the Elysian fields. But Priam, Hector's father, snuck into the camp-hidden by the gods until the last moment. "Priam walked in, unseen, and went to Achilles. He clasped his knees, then he kissed his terrible hands, the deadly hands that had slaughtered so many of his sons."
This was it, the emotional climax of the story.
“Remember your father, Achilles.
He is an old man like me, approaching the end of his life.
Perhaps he too is being worn down by enemy troops,
with no one there to protect him from chaos and ruin.
Yet he at least, since he knows that you are alive,
feels joy in his heart and, every day, can look forward
to seeing his child, whom he loves so dearly, come home.
My fate is less happy. I fathered the bravest men
in the land of Troy, yet not one remains alive.
I had fifty sons before the Achaeans came here,
nineteen from a single woman, and all the rest
were borne to me by other wives in my palace.
Most of my sons have been killed in this wretched war.
The only one I could truly count on, the one
who guarded our city and all its people—you killed him
a few days ago as he fought to defend his country:
Hector. It is for his sake that I have come,
to beg you for his release. I have brought a large ransom.
Respect the gods now. Have pity on me; remember
your father. For I am more to be pitied than he is,
since I have endured what no mortal ever endured:
I have kissed the hands of the man who slaughtered my children."
Those words had touched his heart. And now, having been a father, he felt them all the more keenly. And Achilles...Achilles heard the words.
With these words he stirred in Achilles a wild longing
to weep for his father. Taking the old man’s hand,
he gently pushed him away. And each of them sat there
remembering. Priam, crouched at Achilles’ feet,
sobbed for Hector; Achilles wept now for his father,
now for Patroclus. And every room in the house
rang with the sound of their mourning and lamentation.
But when Achilles had had enough, and the aching
sorrow had eased from his mind and body, he stood
and took Priam’s hand and lifted him from the ground;
and with pity for his white hair and white beard, he said,
“Unfortunate man, what grief you have had to endure!
Sit down on this chair, and let us both rest from our tears. 510
Heart-chilling anguish can do us no good. The immortals
have spun out the thread of life for us human beings
so that, however we can, we must learn to bear
misfortune like this, but they live free of all sorrow.”
Priam's word to Achilles hit home. The god learned to be a human. Connor smiled. It was a good story. It made him miss his son, though. Not in a paralyzing way. He just missed being a dad, missed having a son by his side.
Edited by Connor Kent, Aug 27 2014, 04:02 PM.