Paul Atreides (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
terriblepurpose) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deernet2023-01-24 05:29 pm
terriblepurpose) wrote in deernet2023-01-24 05:29 pm
un: mouse | video
[ The feed opens on a young man seated cross-legged on an expanse of black scales, framed between two spiralling white horns against a backdrop of more black scales interspersed with charcoal dark feathers. His Hunter's armour is nearly of a shade to match, covering all of him but his vaguely familiar face.
He smiles warmly as he runs a soft cloth over a plain knife to clean it of the black blood all over its flat metal grey. ]
Good evening, fellow Sleepers.
[ The last light of the day catches in his dark curls and his blue-green eyes, on the pale mist of his breath in the cool winter air. ]
For those of you I haven't met, let me reintroduce myself. Paul Atreides, of House Atreides, also known as Paul Muad'Dib, which sounds more impressive than it is.
[ A tiny, smoke dark mouse appears on his shoulder, and he inclines his head towards her fondly. ]
It's been some time since I was here, at least from my perspective. I've certainly changed much more than anything else has. It's a peculiar position to be in, and I've been at all kinds of ends with myself, waiting for the reversion.
But while I am here, for however long that is - I've never been very good at being idle.
[ The knife cleaned, Paul flicks it deftly upward in a flashing spin, a gesture made for the joy of making it. He catches it and flips it on its side, balancing it on two fingers at precisely the axis of its gravity. His gaze focuses on it, still and tranquil. ]
Someone once told me that with great power comes great responsibility. [ The corner of his mouth quirks up, amusement brushed through with nostalgia. ] It was a joke, of course, although I didn't know that at the time.
Still. There's something to the principle, if taken seriously, or so I'd like to think.
[ He furrows his brow slightly, all of his intent honed in on his knife. In a mild, everyday sort of voice, he says: ]
This knife is as light as a feather.
[ He flicks it upward again, but this time, the blade that acted as metal before drifts as lightly as he's told it that it would. It floats gently down towards his opened palm, where he smiles at it with a faint sheen of accomplishment. ]
Which brings me to my purpose here.
As long as this is a stop along my path, I want to exercise my responsibility to my power - and my responsibility to you, as my friends and as my people.
I want to know what you want in this world, whatever it might be. I can't promise that I'll be able to grant your request, but I give you my word I'll do all that I am capable of to see your wishes manifested, so long as you don't ask me to be an agent of harm.
Be creative. Be selfish. No wish too small or too large. Let me see what I can do for you.
[ He flashes a bright grin, a trace of rueful self-deprecation turned inward on himself. ]
You'll be keeping me out of trouble.
[ ooc: replies will come fromunchoose ]
He smiles warmly as he runs a soft cloth over a plain knife to clean it of the black blood all over its flat metal grey. ]
Good evening, fellow Sleepers.
[ The last light of the day catches in his dark curls and his blue-green eyes, on the pale mist of his breath in the cool winter air. ]
For those of you I haven't met, let me reintroduce myself. Paul Atreides, of House Atreides, also known as Paul Muad'Dib, which sounds more impressive than it is.
[ A tiny, smoke dark mouse appears on his shoulder, and he inclines his head towards her fondly. ]
It's been some time since I was here, at least from my perspective. I've certainly changed much more than anything else has. It's a peculiar position to be in, and I've been at all kinds of ends with myself, waiting for the reversion.
But while I am here, for however long that is - I've never been very good at being idle.
[ The knife cleaned, Paul flicks it deftly upward in a flashing spin, a gesture made for the joy of making it. He catches it and flips it on its side, balancing it on two fingers at precisely the axis of its gravity. His gaze focuses on it, still and tranquil. ]
Someone once told me that with great power comes great responsibility. [ The corner of his mouth quirks up, amusement brushed through with nostalgia. ] It was a joke, of course, although I didn't know that at the time.
Still. There's something to the principle, if taken seriously, or so I'd like to think.
[ He furrows his brow slightly, all of his intent honed in on his knife. In a mild, everyday sort of voice, he says: ]
This knife is as light as a feather.
[ He flicks it upward again, but this time, the blade that acted as metal before drifts as lightly as he's told it that it would. It floats gently down towards his opened palm, where he smiles at it with a faint sheen of accomplishment. ]
Which brings me to my purpose here.
As long as this is a stop along my path, I want to exercise my responsibility to my power - and my responsibility to you, as my friends and as my people.
I want to know what you want in this world, whatever it might be. I can't promise that I'll be able to grant your request, but I give you my word I'll do all that I am capable of to see your wishes manifested, so long as you don't ask me to be an agent of harm.
Be creative. Be selfish. No wish too small or too large. Let me see what I can do for you.
[ He flashes a bright grin, a trace of rueful self-deprecation turned inward on himself. ]
You'll be keeping me out of trouble.
[ ooc: replies will come from
unchoose ]
no subject
[ There's a depth to the simple two word answer that anchors all the way down into Paul's soul. He speaks it, and his attitude softens in all respects, radiating outward from a well-shielded core-self allowed, for this instant, to shine through. ]
However capricious they can be, or how they misuse their gifts. It pleases me to bestow them, to see what people make of what they're given.
There are parts of the human soul you cannot perceive any other way.
[ His sister terrifies him, spinning her cult around herself like a cocoon for some heaving transformation just beyond his certainty. He would sooner cut off his own hand than see her fettered anyway. ]
You remember me, don't you?
no subject
At the very root of everything, he has no choice in the matter. It is his Purpose. (And there's an odd vitriol that seeps in from time to time and tastes like poison.)
What drives this Muad'Dib, though? To perceive the human soul, as he says? Is that the Purpose? The reason? What would he do with that knowledge? )
Yes. I know that we have met.
( "Met" but never spoken this way. Paimon's a far cry from the wild thing of those times when they glimpsed each other. Now he's eloquent (if not awkward just around the edges of it, tongue moving in strange ways and words weighted.) The tendency to behave this way waxes and wanes, and lately, he's more present as what he's meant to be. He's grateful; it would be frustrating if he were unable to speak to this person the way he likes, reduced to something that can barely scrape words together. )
I have... felt you. Underneath. ( A power, a voice, something beneath the human-looking surface. Paimon has never been sure of what Paul is. )
You are special.