FOOL ⌿ SAINT.

you do not beg the sun for mercy.

[orestei]

an independent study & roleplay blog for paul atreides of dune. distilled from book, film, and personal canon. interpreted by allie. carrd. a work in progress.

[orestei]

@essenceofhispenance

For a warren of so many people, Sietch Tabr held the respectful quietude of a church in the early morning hours before life really roused. He'd awoken before the moons set, alert and restless and eager to breathe the clean dry air of the desert— the sietch stifled, when his nerves were already set alight by things seen in sleep. Although he was becoming accustomed to the burgeoning intensity of his dreams, he would never be able to call them pleasant.

Finding Chani had become the ritual beginning to his day. Her usual haunts were known to him, her patterns and schedule the rhythm to which he found himself setting his own clock to when his way felt lost. When he at last discovered her, memories of the night's visions had already faded to the pinpricks of impossibly faraway stars. "Sihaya," he murmured, even that utterance feeling too loud in the dim stillness of the sietch. "Will you walk with me? Before the day grows too bright."

[flurgburgler]

cinema was showing dune again.. naturally i still feel very normal about it

for @ferrame

[zodiac-haiku]

zodiac haiku: spring cleaning

/aries/ the relics of ‘no’ the breath that caught as you fell the tears: hot, heavy

/taurus/ every last letter the stained bones of foundation home, bloated and blue

/gemini/ the glances sideways cruelty, curiosity all the scar tissue

/cancer/ her varicose veins the bruising nature of love the old bathwater

/leo/ the whole horde of gold and the hunger, the yearning what the want lost you

/virgo/ the hands that claimed you a closet full of white flags the bite, the bitter

/libra/ grudges unspoken manifestos unpublished the look on her face

/scorpio/ the hexes that worked the old lock on the cellar poison, thick and sweet

/sagittarius/ all that you ran from how the laughter has flayed you the maps turned to ash

/capricorn/ your pride, as always the steps to the chopping block teeth broken on love

/aquarius/ the marble pillars the apathetic future a table for one

/pisces/ your pincushion feet the longest sleep of your life the breath that didn’t

[feydrauth-a]

@orestei It is. It would be. For a moment there's only panting breaths, the ebbing stillness of a duel quickly won, the hush of sand disturbed where Feyd-Rautha kneels defeated. Only the moons bear witness. The crysknife draws a prick at the hollow of his bared throat, the only blood drawn this night. Twin blades, no doubt poisoned, lay dashed well enough away for Paul to feel comfortable in forgetting them. He would not die tonight. Yet, neither of them should be here. This isn't what he'd seen. What had shifted? What had broken the glass? "A Harkonnen assassin speaks of humanity. Does he also see the irony?"

It was reflex that sent his hand to his neck, to deflect that primitive blade, but the Fremen was quick. Feyd's gloved hand grabbed at the air, only to find the crysknife had aleady withdrawn, and his skin stung for it.

He didn't need to see it to know the wound was small. Why? Was this his own tactic, turned against him? The thought flit across his mind, only to be cast aside; for if that were the case, he'd be dead in minutes.

"An assassin?" The incredulity came with ease. His hands dropped to his side, fingers sifting through the sand at his knees. an idle motion, flexing the stiff shoulders of his still suit - a still suit that two cycles ago had never been worn. It would have been nice to break it in a little more before running into, well. This.

"Would it be any less ironic for a Fremen to speak of it?"

[orestei]

The blue of his eyes made near black by the scarce moonlight, Muad'dib watched the intruder with a predator's focus, his only movement a flare of nostrils hidden beneath the strip of rough-spun cloth over his face; those searching hands might seek to blind him with sand, if the man were truly stupid. If not stupid, he was evidently unused to the desert. He wore his stillsuit uncomfortably, the thing being of inferior offworld make and still carrying the sheen and scent of new material. This Harkonnen was as much out of his element as he was a puzzle to Paul. It served to stir his curiosity and suspicion both, which was why, perhaps, he hadn't merely killed the intruder out of hand. The crysknife retreated from flesh, satiated, but Paul held it before him nevertheless, knowing the vicious white-red glint of the tip to be as effective a statement as any bared fang. "What is your purpose here?" he asked, inflectionless. "Have you come here to die?"

[fluxofthemouth]

"Ten minutes in and you've hit the problem on the nose, what a smart little boy! And innovation remains such a beloved cultural myth that this darling little museum could face charges of treason if her exhibits spoke as plainly as you. Do not misunderstand; we have been given the place to ourselves for the day, and I have said worse to Vladimir's face than anything you are going to say, so please speak as freely as you like.

"I will also add that the problem is further hidden by the fact that a stagnation of innovation sourcing from Giedi Prime need not correlate with a stagnation of innovation coming to the world. New developments off-world continue to fill that gap and mask the rust of the gears. We are truly at a turning point.

"But even as you understand all of this, you must also weigh these concerns against the sheer magnitude of profit that the spice trade brings, especially when that lovely wedding gave us more certainty of connection to Dune for years to come. The natural world is full of tales etched by evolution, of landscapes shifting and creatures adapting to fit. We never observe such patterns with judgment! Some would call it the death of our civilization, to watch our world lose her character as an industry giant and become a world of banking, and melange processing, and even tourism. But there is also an argument to be made that we would do better to invest in a new reality than an old idea, even though that might call for changes. I have also heard claims, which make their share of sense, that industry has taken such a toll on the planet that looking to a new mode of being, even temporarily, can be of great benefit to our world after all. I do not think anyone seriously expects our present level of industry to be infinitely sustainable."

"Mr. Halleck, if you would like directions to a bar or any number of attractions Leto's boy is too young to know about, please let me know as soon as school is out. I would be happy to assist."

-----------

So this is Leto's boy, then. The Atreides' Baby Einstein they are trying to train as a Mentat. Who is going to tell Leto that nobody wants to be a Mentat! Watching Paul ask educated questions like that makes Piter a little sick. Look at those big trusting eyes. What a teacher's pet! He is altogether too similar to the way Piter was at that age. And someone has to punish him for it before 23 years pass and he ends up like how Piter is now.

So Piter offers praise that stings, a lecture that is factual but dry, and an emphasis that there is not only more to life, but that adults don't want Paul to have it. And hey! While he's at it contemplating charity work, who is going to help Gurney pull that rod out of his ass?

Vladimir is paying Piter for the hours, but perhaps Leto should be, too, he muses to himself; a private joke that makes him smile slightly.

[orestei]

Having only poised the initial question out of polite interest more than any real fascination with what was, apparently, a deeper issue than Paul cared to delve into, he weathered this monologue with the occasional nod of his head and a muted noise in the back of his throat at its end to indicate he'd absorbed the information given him. Equal parts condescending and enthusiastic, de Vries might, Paul thought, accidentally share something engaging if he kept up this pace. He hummed in thought, stopping at a plaque erected to commemorate a past governor on his quelling of a slave rebellion some two hundred years ago. To his credit, Gurney pretended not to see it. "The planet relies so much on outsourced technology and resources it would be a detriment to her own economy to upset that, at present. It makes perfect sense," Paul said equably, "especially in light of the profits raked in by way of the spice harvest. I assure you I know better than to ask too much of the details, but the benefits to your society thanks to those particular profits- anyone can see it. And that does appear to be sustainable, as long as the supply exists as it has for the last eighty years." None of this could be of genuine fascination to any fifteen-year-old boy, even one as thoroughly trained and highly bred as Paul, and he struggled to avoid looking bored. Gurney merely grunted a disgusted answer to Piter's offer, ever gruff when on such high alert. Paul gave a light cough to smooth over this social hiccup. "Unfortunately, I don't believe we as a party have enough time on this trip for too much frivolity."

[feydrauth-a]

It sure came off frigid, too.

He waited for the woman to pass out of ear shot, and it forced him to sit in an uncomfortable silence, head swimming.

"Have you?" Feyd fired back the moment he could, a sharp edge to his voice that hadn't been there when he'd first approached Paul. Even then, he seemed to hesitate, visibly grappling with his own temper.

"I've been more careful with what I'm practicing. Sticking to more of what we used to do." He didn't mention how diluted it felt compared to what they'd conjured together. "It's not fair to ask me to stop all together. You're treating this like... like an excommunication."

[orestei]

"I don't give a fuck what you're doing as long as it no longer involves me," Paul bit back suddenly, latching on to the heat of Feyd's temper before it could dissipate. It had worked for Feyd before, when Paul was younger and less sure, to rein in his anger before it stirred Paul's more immutable disposition, but time apart had only soured Paul's memory of Feyd further, and the cold tended to make him irascible lately. "And I don't care how you feel about it. You didn't care how I felt, and I gave you every chance in the world to make it right. I told you I wasn't interested in compromise. So yeah," he added with a short, humorless laugh, "it's an excommunication."

[lousysharkbutt]

have i mentioned how much i loved dune

[dune-sietchposting]

[devilishdescent]

california girls we’re inconsolable

dreams of doom the visions wont stop

[feydrauth-a]

I'm coming up

only to hold you

↡ under ↡

╰ 18+ rp blog for Feyd-Rautha Rabban Harkonnen ≜ carrd ╮

[orestei]

@fluxofthemouth: Piter de Vries.

Lost on Giedi's waste, lost in the wind's breath, Wounded by beasts and vines and blows and care, Waste world, Giedi, giving only pain and death, Pain and death, pain and death; but I bare, Though nights and days mix, slip, blend, I bare, as blood dries and hearts rend.

Gurney's lament the prior night had succeeded in souring any optimism Paul had managed to muster about this journey. Although his parents were happily poised to wed, and that a controversial enough thing in its own right, tension thick enough to taste dogged Paul's entourage so badly he'd had to beg Gurney to end last night's set with something, anything more lighthearted than that. The ancient feud would never heal at this rate. It all felt like theater, anyway; an instinct Thufir would neither confirm nor deny, but the old man always knew more than he let on.

Presently, as Paul followed along with Gurney in tow beneath the vaunted ceiling of the museum, there was little else he could think about. Plans within plans. Whatever his role was to be in the grand scheme of things had become an utter mystery to Paul himself, and overnight, at that. It frustrated him.

"Yes, of course," he answered to some rhetorical question their guide had asked. Piter de Vries proved a... whimsical host, so far, in stark contrast to Gurney's neatly contained rage at being back on this planet at all. Paul could see the subtle flare of his nostrils at every waft of ozone, the flit of his eyes from face to face within a crowd. It was easy to feed off of that energetic hyper-awareness. There would be no mollifying him, and so Paul carried on, inspecting Piter just as much as the exhibits and displays within the museum.

"The third industrial revolution of Giedi Prime doesn't seem so far removed, yet I detect there's some fear of stagnation, that progress and innovation may have halted in favor of safe profit. Would you agree with that, or is there something else I'm missing so far?" He couldn't let Piter believe he wasn't paying attention, after all.

[ofhouseccrrino]

orestei​:

“Disappeared?” Paul subtly arched a brow, folding his arms into his robe. A boyish habit he still kept. “I’ll have to have it tracked down.”

He let a beat pass in silence, cataloguing the other residents of the library. Mostly the women of the keep off-duty, he noted, with one Paul discerned as being desert-born, the occasional, suspicious dart of her eyes to the others a giveaway of someone used to more hardship than these walls offered.

“Are you comfortable here?” he asked softly, conscious of the quietude of the place. “Would you like a library added to your wing, so you might save yourself the travel to this one? I can source copies of whatever you desire.” He shrugged a shoulder, then, another youthful gesture coupled with the suggestion of a smile. “Or the original manuscripts. I suppose I have that much power.”

The Muad’ib had unlimited power. He could do whatever he wanted, however he wanted, and people would obey his commands. As empress, Irulan could make use of this power. However, that had never been her way. She knew better than to ask for anything because she better than anyone that whatever the Emperor gave could be taken away just as quickly. Favorites rose and fell and were like so much sand in the wind.

“I could never burden you with such a thing,” she replied bowing her head humbly in his direction. “My only request is that if these manuscripts are given to me, then that they may be preserved in such a place where other scholars might have access to them.”

She had read such places in the dusty books that she kept in her chambers. Before the thinking machines, the world had been a very different place and all of the world’s knowledge had been preserved in libraries and places called archives or museum.

“Are there any matters that you would like me to attend to?” she asked. “Diplomats for me to receive?”

[orestei]

"Burden me?" Some semblance of darkened humor flickered across the Emperor's features. "Princess, I believe you have the right to that, if nothing else." He studied her, the demure incline of her perfect golden head, the poise in every word and gesture. Truly an impeccable candidate for her station; if only Paul would grant her what was supposedly owed.

He would not.

He eased back against the table in casual repose. "I'm sure. But are you so eager to leave this place? And my company?" From anyone else it might have sounded flirtatious, but Paul was only ever cool towards her, even now. Even if she had his sympathies. From him, it sounded clinical. "You may go, if that's what you truly mean to ask."

[screenshotsofdespair]

[ofhouseccrrino]

orestei​:

Irulan was a difficult one to surprise. All Bene Gesserit must be, he surmised, in keeping with the acute awareness each possessed of their own bodies and the environment around them. Something as simple as the displacement of air within a room, even one as cavernous as this, carried with it information that could be dissected in less than an instant.

I must quiet myself. It’s not even breakfast.

“Restful,” Paul answered. Whether or not she believed it mattered little. He moved toward her, the hem of his simple morning robe catching the edge of the desk as he bent to retrieve the book she’d set aside. A rich thing, this book, the leather alone worth more than a month’s wage for the average city Fremen. “Figueroa is a fine author, though I find he forgoes depth in favor of brevity. This will only offer a wide and shallow pool of information. If you wish to learn more thoroughly of the subject, I recommend Guzmann’s Al-Naas: The Fremen.” Gently, he replaced the heavy thing on the desk. “I’m surprised not to find you here more often.”

“My handmaidens regularly bring me the books I need, but I thought that I should come and see the place for myself.”

On Kaitain, Irulan had spent hours in her father’s library reading to her heart’s content. Here, however, she had other duties to attend to. Some of them more onerous and tedious than others.

“The Guzmann you mention has disappeared,” she said quietly. “That’s why I came down here.”  

[orestei]

"Disappeared?" Paul subtly arched a brow, folding his arms into his robe. A boyish habit he still kept. "I'll have to have it tracked down."

He let a beat pass in silence, cataloguing the other residents of the library. Mostly the women of the keep off-duty, he noted, with one Paul discerned as being desert-born, the occasional, suspicious dart of her eyes to the others a giveaway of someone used to more hardship than these walls offered.

"Are you comfortable here?" he asked softly, conscious of the quietude of the place. "Would you like a library added to your wing, so you might save yourself the travel to this one? I can source copies of whatever you desire." He shrugged a shoulder, then, another youthful gesture coupled with the suggestion of a smile. "Or the original manuscripts. I suppose I have that much power."

[drunkshogun]

Paul Atreides  - Muad‘Dib

[nemfrog]

“The Zodiacal light in tropic latitudes.” A new astronomy for beginners. 1898.

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