I Will Make you a Star 1-4/4

[rennwench.livejournal.com]

Title: I Will Make you a Star: 1-4 / 4
Author: RennWench
Pairing: Dominic Monaghan/Billy Boyd (Suggested)
Rating: R- up from a PG-13 for dark content. Nothing graphic or explicit.
Summary: Being too famous, too easily is not the wisest thing to be when you possessed by a malevolent muse.
Warnings: Angst. Kleenex. Character deaths. Dark.
Disclaimer: Total and utter bull s - I mean, fiction. None of this really happened and I don't want it to either.
Author's notes: This is my interpretation of the shared muse between Alstaria, Terri and myself that happened on 2-2-04




----CHAPTER ONE----

Ah yes, another foolish mortal rushing in their pursuit of the 'bright light' as they call them, well, us actually. Thankfully, we are not of your kind. Not so easily distracted and lead astray. Not so easily seduced by the siren call of fame, money or sex. For we are that call, and you are helpless to resist.

You, mere humans, are our play toys. Our amusement. Our entertainment, as it were. Ironic, no? You who entertain the masses also entertain us.

Without us, you would be ignored. Forgotten. Used and tossed aside. Even with us, the same fate awaits, but the journey is much better.

As long as you feed our greed and our hunger we will feed you. Feed you upon the bosom of the greatest whore until you can take no more. Forget us once, snub us even slightly and we will leave for ever. Our parting is never easy or painless.

We have driven many to madness in our time. Fame so easily gotten can be lost in a fleeting moment. Leaving you bewildered, lost and confused. Unsure of where you belong, if at all. Unsure of everything you have ever done.

Much like the young man standing on the edge of the pier. The stormy, salted wind whipping his streaked blond hair around his wild, desperate, sleep-deprived angelic face. He was once, well is for the moment, my shining star.

Oh, how we fed each other. I gave to him every opportunity I could manage. A plum role in a billion dollar trio of movies. Fame. Legions of screaming fan-girls. A few cast members turned into friends, leading to lovers.

So why is he standing there? Why does he wait to give me my final request?

As he waits for his soul, mind and heart to agree upon common ground, allow me a few moments to tell you of what we are.



----CHAPTER TWO----

We are the nameless. For each civilization has given us a new name. Fortune. Fate. Destiny. We are all that and yet we are not. We are eternal, immortal, we will never die. For there will always be the greed of souls to feed upon. We are bound to the never-ceasing, never-ending strive towards what you can not have. The desire to embrace what you desperately want and are willing to do whatever it takes to make it so.

We have no form, for that too changes with each soul we infect. Yes, I said infect. We are, to some, a virus. An all-consuming, relentless virus that destroys all it touches. For which, there is no cure. Once you are infected, you are never free. At least until the very end.

We can be found within the shimmering glint of a city, the flash of a photographer's camera, and even the sparkling of innocent wonder in a young girl's eyes as she opens them from experiencing her first kiss.

We are the little voices inside your head. We keep your thoughts company during the day. Providing inspiration and insight when we feel like it. However, our preferred time is night. That is when we truly come alive. We keep you awake by driving you to distraction with so many 'must remembers' and 'what ifs' that make you leave the warm confines of you bed to walk in the cold, stilled darkness of night. In the dark, you feel our true power.

In the dark, you realize what you have sacrificed for your greed. What you have lost. What you will never have again.
In the dark, you realize there is no turning back.

As for myself, I flourished in the time of the civilization you call 'the Celts'. What a glorious time it was. An age of artistic blooming from peace, bought from the bloodshed of war. Then I credit myself with the birthing of the Renaissance. Italy has always been my best feeding grounds. But for now, I find myself in a city far from the glories of Rome and Venice. A city names after angels, which have long forsaken this land. For corruption, greed and vanity run rampant within. Spreading their lies and deceit to trap the souls of those who dare to venture into our borders.

Each of us have a certain soul-type we are attracted to. For generations upon generations I have stalked and cultivated the artistically inclined. A muse, perhaps often enough. I have been labeled an angel and a devil in the same breath. For that matters not to me. My existence is my sole concern. My existence at the price of your sanity, your talent - yes, even your soul. For I take what I want and you will gladly give.

I have driven unknown painters into the imperial courts of the world. I have molded café singers into the darlings of opera. I have inspired writers who were once stuck in a rut of commonality, into icons and voices of their age. Of all those, actors are my preference. Granted, I can make the occasional painter see colors never before imagined, sculptors see what is inside a roughly hewed block of marble, but actors; *they* are my siren call.

They who can evoke any emotion at any time, make the crowds weep, laugh and applaud, I envy them. For I myself can not do such.
My life, as it is, is not without a sense of irony. I give inspiration but keep none for myself.

This star, shivering in the howling wind before me, has the ability to do all that. Even to fall a mob surging with hormones into a dead faint with a single glance. A useful trick I happily taught him, and his friends. Within his fellowship I found an endless supply of talent, creativity and insanity to sustain me. But his soul was the one that called to me. The one I chose to infect. Mayhap I have chosen him before, which could explain why I felt so drawn to him. Mayhap not, after a while they all blend together. An unending blur of emotions.

I know exactly what my star is pondering right now as he looks into the foamy, storm-clouded blue of the Pacific Ocean. What thoughts are raviging his mind, for I put them there. For now I will let him believe he is alone with his own thoughts.

I will wait, for I am patient. I will wait for his decision. Besides, I already know what the answer is going to be.



----CHAPTER THREE----

His answer will be the same answer given to me from all the others I have inspired. Some prefer it to happen slowly through drugs, alcohol or sex. Other, quick through weapons, usually guns I have noticed, either their own use or others. It always ends. Always will.

After such, the loud mourning will follow. Tears and wails for 'one who was so young' and plenty of 'whys' never to be answered.

Following their demise, their star flames once again in tributes and memorials. Tears will be shed, wiped away by shaking hands or fabric. But over time, those wounds will heal. Other stars will be born. Other bright flames will erupt, taking your place, only to fall again. It is a vicious cycle, but this has always been the way and always will be the way of those who are mortal.

I wonder what his friends will say as they once again gather together, soberly attired in black with their facades straining not to break under the weight of guilt and grief. To keep some part of him alive. To remember his smile and his laugh. They will drown their sorrows in a pint of his favorite drink - for him.

How will he be remembered, I wonder still. As the playful boy, cunning trickster, stunning screen idol or the best mate anyone could have. He knows he could call upon any one of his friends and they will be with him to help ease the pain, albeit only for a while. For the pain of death lingers. Especially the death of one carried in one's heart.

I saw the part of his soul tear itself away and be burned into ashes with the shell of his mate, his friend, his counterpart, his lover. They played best friends and cousins in their movie. Stunning casting I have to admit. Even this ancient spirit was surprised at the immediate attraction. Between these two laid another emotion I have long forgotten, coming back to fight me with a great vengeance.

But then something happened. The innocent touches lingered. The smiles carried deeper meanings. Even seemingly nonsensical ramblings were coded messages deciphered only by the other's mind.

Then it happened after a night at the pub. Walking, more like stumbling if I remember correctly, you paid no mind to the torrential rains. Stopping at a doorway, he fumbled for the keys, which were dropped with a small 'oops.' You smiled at each other at the convergence of life and fiction. Then as the brightest lightning streaked from the heavens, your lips touched.

He tasted of Jamensons. You of Boddingtons.

Then again.

Flesh to flesh you devoured each other. Mingling of whisky and beer into a unique taste that was to be known to you as 'us'. Seemingly blessed as the rain poured over you.

You woke up, wrapped in each other's arms. The warmth of the night before still colored your faces and the bedding.
From fear and uncertainty, love can seed, bloom and even flourish in the strangest of places. Even though you tried to hide it, your cast mates instinctually knew. It was no surprise to anyone when you two declared yourselves a couple. 'A couple of what's?' I do recall you being teasingly asked. A coming-out celebrated in the only manner you knew how - the pub.

But that is all over now. Never again will you feel the brush of his hand upon yours. The rough of his tongue upon your more sensitive places. Nor yours upon his. Can you remember the salty tang of his taste, my star? Can you hear his sounds as you bring him to his peak? What memories remain find themselves scattered upon the wind. Creating red streaks from your hair whipping your face.

I can see in your tears the recollection of that first night, and every night you spent with him since. Every kiss, caress, stroke and orgasm, screaming or not. Each time you held his hand. Each morning you awoke early to watch his face. Each memory you keep locked away in your heart. I know them all. Even the dark ones you never talk about that ravage your nightmares.

I speak of your guilt, my star.

Your anger over a trivial incident caused him to leave. Your reactions killed him. Yes, you killed him. Do not fight me on this one. You killed him. You were the one who sent him away. You were the one who could not stand so much scrutiny and hate bearing down upon you from the outside.

You. Killed. Him.

Penitent, you stand before the elements, confessing your sins and begging for a forgiveness which will not come.

Where did it all go wrong, my star? Where did your life verge from the path you wanted to take? Why has the road that seemingly goes forever on has now lead you to this weather torn end of a pier?

Where do you go from here, my star, now that your fellowship is broken?



----CHAPTER FOUR----


I watch him finger the silver band upon his left hand. The perfect match to the one his mate wore. Tears freely fall off his face onto the loosened dark tie. Why do you ask when you know no forgiveness will come?

He was not part of my plan for you. I have tried to explain this countless times. Each time you shut me out.
Have you still the will to shut me out again or will you finally listen to me and do what I tell you?

Your walls are crumbling down, my star. I will find your weakness and exploit to my advantage.

What was it you said to the shell after you placed the all too familiar bottle in his arms, before the lid sealed him away from your eyes forever. "We will see the shire again." How utterly sentimental of you. I have no use for sentimentality, now or ever. I will not stay in a weak host.

'End it' I whisper, breaking my silence. Finally voicing myself to you in this desperate time.


Do not fight me. You know I speak the truth. You know I speak what your mind, heart and soul are telling you. End it.

Take that last plunge. That least leap of faith. Take your last breath in a world without him and fall into the watery abyss.

I promise you, my star, he will be on the other side waiting for you. Do not ask me how I know, I just do. Call it faith, if you will. Call it destiny. Karma. Call it anything you want, just end it.

Yes, it will be painful at first. For a little while at least. But pain has brought you pleasure before, has it not? Consider this one act a breeching of life.

Leave the jacket on. The contents will help identify you.

Go now. It is time. Can you hear him calling for you?


For a moment you fly in the storm's wind. Wings of your jacket spread like an eagle. A split second later, as I watch your body fall into the icy, wavy depths, I feel the confusion of frightening pain as your lungs fill with the frigid salt water.

Do not fight my star. Surrender to the encroaching darkness. Your love awaits upon the other side.

Then a bliss previously unknown fills you. For in that brief moment you can see me staring down upon you. Finally, you are still. Limpidly floating, being cradled by the sea.

I waited for a moment longer in the raging storm. Why? I know not. I never waited for any of the others. You are not the last. Oh no, my dear star, not the last. One in the long line of - excuse me, I am being summoned.

I make my way down the almost deserted streets, searching for my new host. She has called to me. I must go, for without her I will cease.

What is this I see before me sitting in a coffee shop? Ah, yes the unmistakable scent of desire, freshly arrived. Not yet tainted with the harsh realities of this city of angels. Such a pretty one too even with her hair and make-up ruined by this winter weather. Ah, I see this one is a writer. Oh, the wicked tales we will tell, my dearest.

‘Come with me’, I whisper in her ear as she moves her dainty fingers from a steaming cup of hot chocolate to rest upon a well-loved blackened keyboard, ‘I will make you a star.’


-fin