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softedisworlFandom. Discworld
Characters. Moist von Lipwig
Summary. He's spent very little of his life as himself.
Rating. G
Moist is ever-changing, a reflection in the water, and when he looks at it he is not sure who he sees. People take note of the quirks he creates for Albert Spangler, Edwin Streep, anyone who he wants to be, and pass over the current running underneath it all. He knows he’s an act, a surface without substance, especially seeing it in the presence of someone like Vimes. The man is solid, real in a way Moist has never been.
He’s spent very little of his life as himself.
He wasn’t all that old when he first learned how to read people, tell what they wanted and how to mold himself to their expectations. He was an outsider looking in, and soon enough he knew how others worked better than he knew himself. He took his sharp words and sculpted them into curves, glazed them in honey. It’s been ground into his tongue, and he’s learned his lies so well they’ve become more real than the truth. It grew from loneliness, with him seeing how much people would deceive others given the chance.
He spent his time practicing in private whenever he got the chance, improving with each day. It was a game, and with every act he was adding more points to his score. It added a thrill that he longed for, whatever story he could weave better than the one that was given to him; being the golden man instead of the kid with the funny name. He experimented, taking on any personality needed for the story he was selling; anything that kept the danger and novelty going. He wore his act so often it became second skin. It’s only when he’s on the way to breaking that he snaps, always quickly reigning himself in after, that who he is bleeds through.
Except, no, that’s not quite true.
There’s been silent nights with only the moon out, him sitting on the side of a bed or wherever he’s sleeping, with the light from the window resting on his back. It’s then, without the clamor of a show to put on, that Moist can see himself through the ripples. He never tends to linger on it, but he always hesitates long enough to recognize the emptiness behind his front; the worn fa ç ade that is more whole than the reality. But it only lasts until the next morning as the show resumes and he slips back into his role.
He can remember the thrill when he first made a profit from his talents; a simple sale of a ‘diamond’ ring to some dishonest man or a another. It was a sharp feeling of standing on wire, and it stayed with him up until he left town. Everything before that moment had just been practice, for reshaping himself into something different, for leaving everything behind but the game. He feels new, and if there’s the sense that he’s lost everything that made him real, it’s fleeting.
He flew through life, seeing stories and how to weave them, laughing until he danced right into the noose. He was hung under someone else’s name and left for the first time in years as himself. He’s still free to walk down the streets invisible, but Moist von Lipwig is now a public figure, with no other identity to hide behind. He has nowhere to run to, not with Vetinari’s rule and Vimes’ watchful gaze. It’s new, and he’s always run on novelty--making the dance as he went. So, perhaps it’s that: being stationary, left open, that has him looking closer at his emptiness and trying to build something solid.
He’s been trying to make himself more real for Adora, too, who is straightforward in a way he’s never been. She wasn’t charmed, instead seeing his artificial nature, and she deserved better than a mirror that only showed what wanted to be seen. He’s decided to stick around in Ankh-Morpork, for the time being, and that, alongside her, is exhilarating.
So, at the end of the day, he sits in the darkness again and lingers a bit longer. Starts searching for what lies at the core of his bright brown eyes, resting as himself with no one else to be. He still often is left with a sense of emptiness, but sometimes he grasps a sliver of something solid, and builds himself up. Time passes, and more and more often, he finds something real. It’s a long way coming, but he’s made himself before--this is just a different way of doing it.
Characters. Moist von Lipwig
Summary. He's spent very little of his life as himself.
Rating. G
Moist is ever-changing, a reflection in the water, and when he looks at it he is not sure who he sees. People take note of the quirks he creates for Albert Spangler, Edwin Streep, anyone who he wants to be, and pass over the current running underneath it all. He knows he’s an act, a surface without substance, especially seeing it in the presence of someone like Vimes. The man is solid, real in a way Moist has never been.
He’s spent very little of his life as himself.
He wasn’t all that old when he first learned how to read people, tell what they wanted and how to mold himself to their expectations. He was an outsider looking in, and soon enough he knew how others worked better than he knew himself. He took his sharp words and sculpted them into curves, glazed them in honey. It’s been ground into his tongue, and he’s learned his lies so well they’ve become more real than the truth. It grew from loneliness, with him seeing how much people would deceive others given the chance.
He spent his time practicing in private whenever he got the chance, improving with each day. It was a game, and with every act he was adding more points to his score. It added a thrill that he longed for, whatever story he could weave better than the one that was given to him; being the golden man instead of the kid with the funny name. He experimented, taking on any personality needed for the story he was selling; anything that kept the danger and novelty going. He wore his act so often it became second skin. It’s only when he’s on the way to breaking that he snaps, always quickly reigning himself in after, that who he is bleeds through.
Except, no, that’s not quite true.
There’s been silent nights with only the moon out, him sitting on the side of a bed or wherever he’s sleeping, with the light from the window resting on his back. It’s then, without the clamor of a show to put on, that Moist can see himself through the ripples. He never tends to linger on it, but he always hesitates long enough to recognize the emptiness behind his front; the worn fa ç ade that is more whole than the reality. But it only lasts until the next morning as the show resumes and he slips back into his role.
He can remember the thrill when he first made a profit from his talents; a simple sale of a ‘diamond’ ring to some dishonest man or a another. It was a sharp feeling of standing on wire, and it stayed with him up until he left town. Everything before that moment had just been practice, for reshaping himself into something different, for leaving everything behind but the game. He feels new, and if there’s the sense that he’s lost everything that made him real, it’s fleeting.
He flew through life, seeing stories and how to weave them, laughing until he danced right into the noose. He was hung under someone else’s name and left for the first time in years as himself. He’s still free to walk down the streets invisible, but Moist von Lipwig is now a public figure, with no other identity to hide behind. He has nowhere to run to, not with Vetinari’s rule and Vimes’ watchful gaze. It’s new, and he’s always run on novelty--making the dance as he went. So, perhaps it’s that: being stationary, left open, that has him looking closer at his emptiness and trying to build something solid.
He’s been trying to make himself more real for Adora, too, who is straightforward in a way he’s never been. She wasn’t charmed, instead seeing his artificial nature, and she deserved better than a mirror that only showed what wanted to be seen. He’s decided to stick around in Ankh-Morpork, for the time being, and that, alongside her, is exhilarating.
So, at the end of the day, he sits in the darkness again and lingers a bit longer. Starts searching for what lies at the core of his bright brown eyes, resting as himself with no one else to be. He still often is left with a sense of emptiness, but sometimes he grasps a sliver of something solid, and builds himself up. Time passes, and more and more often, he finds something real. It’s a long way coming, but he’s made himself before--this is just a different way of doing it.
