Kagerou | BP-500X (
thxforthememories) wrote in
re_alignment_logs2013-04-18 08:49 pm
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this bitter earth
WHO: Kagerou
WHERE: Trion's Lake
WHEN: Shortly after Rung's death.
WHAT: A brief downward spiral of literal and metaphorical proportions. What happens when you never learn coping mechanisms.
WARNINGS: Implied/mentioned memory malfunctions brought on by stress, as well as shock, and resulting in visual and auditory hallucinations.
NOTE: written as narrative, but if anyone wants to find him, feel free.
It was a wonder there were not permanent impressions of his feet by the shore of the lake. He had certainly spent enough time there, lately, staring at the water as if it would somehow give him answers. Something... oddly morbid, really.
Except there were none to be found. There never were, save for one, and he was rapidly growing exhausted of hearing it. Of trying to accept it, or striving to overcome it. How long did one have to work, how many wrong steps did you have to take, before you found the path? Before you found your place?
Unless...
He stood at the water's edge, now, little waves lapping around his feet. Almost unthinking, he stepped forward into it. Right – he had to wash. He couldn't go back to his rooms, not with Kay there, not with the acolyte – he still had fluid smeared all over his plating, bright against the dark greens and black. It was here, at the lake, or nowhere. Here, at the lake, where he stood so often. Where he'd been consoled and advised and helped and –
Memories sparked to life. Hot, pained, and vivid as the fluids staining his frame. He had felt his friend's life go out. Seen the little light in that ravaged face grow dim and die. The memory of the ruined office flared, and, for a moment, it was so real he could have sworn he was back there again, unable to fully process what he'd seen.
He'd never felt as if he were drowning in his memories before. They had always been safe, gentle things to lose himself in – but now? Now they were tainted somehow. And he could no more be rid of them than he could miraculously gain a soul. His arms drew around himself, his body hunching over, as he sagged where he stood, ending in a half-crouch in ankle-deep water. His wings spread out for balance, for protection, something. That was all he wanted to do, wasn't it? Protect what was important. He should have been able to. Shouldn't he?
Unless …
Right. I'm nothing more than //// shadow.
… unless it was true.
He stared down at his reflection, at the pained, tired expression he couldn't seem to alter. What was the point of it all? Living was nothing like he'd wanted it to be. It wasn't beautiful. It was harsh, cold, and filled with empty aches. And yet, the others seemed to carry on as if nothing at all were amiss. If what the human beings told him wasn't true... why couldn't he do this? Why couldn't he keep others safe? If he truly had a place among these beings, even amongst the other BPs, why did everything that mattered slip through his fingers?
“Not everything.”
The reflection in the water was no longer alone. Someone looked back at him, smiling softly, looking down at him. For a second, he couldn't move. He couldn't even think. He stared at the water, at that face, and wondered, distantly, if this was another misfiring memory. Or if he dared to hope if this was real...
He shook his head, and dared to look up. Despite a sinking feeling, despite dread, and the image's words... he could have sworn there was a familiar form hovering above the surface of the water. Within touching distance. He reached for it, the motion desperate, jerky, and thought found his hand gripped in one so like his own. A memory wouldn't be so solid, would it?
“I don't know what else to do,” he whispered. “Nothing is working. Nothing is going as it should... so many are lost. I couldn't save them – I couldn't even keep my promise to you.”
His hand tightened its grip. “I wanted to live too badly and now... I'm here. I've made so many mistakes. I might not even be able to see you again because... because of what I've done. I thought it would help, but everyone is still hurting, still leaving and dying and...”
Slowly, his body bent again, hunching over his outstretched hand. He couldn't speak. It felt as if something had his chest in a vice-like grip.
“You're the one who matters most. Please... just. I need you here. I need to know what to do.”
Silence. Though his optics flicked, as if he were hearing something.
“Please. I can't – I can't do this.”
All that answered him were the soft, repeated words, recycled bits of speech he remembered so clearly, strung out together again. It was all this had ever been, some part of him realized – memories lumped and overlaid with one another until the new image, the new thoughts, blinded him. He tried holding on, tried keeping it pulled together, but it began to fragment, as his AI recognized what it was he saw.
... Nothing more than the small, toy-like "doll" of his friend. His fellow ninja. His reason for existing. He held it in his outstretched hand, his optic locked onto it, as one would a real face -- a real face superimposed over the tiny frame.
The hovering image faded into bits of imagined, remembered, motes of light, leaving him kneeling in the water, as alone as ever before.
WHERE: Trion's Lake
WHEN: Shortly after Rung's death.
WHAT: A brief downward spiral of literal and metaphorical proportions. What happens when you never learn coping mechanisms.
WARNINGS: Implied/mentioned memory malfunctions brought on by stress, as well as shock, and resulting in visual and auditory hallucinations.
NOTE: written as narrative, but if anyone wants to find him, feel free.
It was a wonder there were not permanent impressions of his feet by the shore of the lake. He had certainly spent enough time there, lately, staring at the water as if it would somehow give him answers. Something... oddly morbid, really.
Except there were none to be found. There never were, save for one, and he was rapidly growing exhausted of hearing it. Of trying to accept it, or striving to overcome it. How long did one have to work, how many wrong steps did you have to take, before you found the path? Before you found your place?
Unless...
He stood at the water's edge, now, little waves lapping around his feet. Almost unthinking, he stepped forward into it. Right – he had to wash. He couldn't go back to his rooms, not with Kay there, not with the acolyte – he still had fluid smeared all over his plating, bright against the dark greens and black. It was here, at the lake, or nowhere. Here, at the lake, where he stood so often. Where he'd been consoled and advised and helped and –
Memories sparked to life. Hot, pained, and vivid as the fluids staining his frame. He had felt his friend's life go out. Seen the little light in that ravaged face grow dim and die. The memory of the ruined office flared, and, for a moment, it was so real he could have sworn he was back there again, unable to fully process what he'd seen.
He'd never felt as if he were drowning in his memories before. They had always been safe, gentle things to lose himself in – but now? Now they were tainted somehow. And he could no more be rid of them than he could miraculously gain a soul. His arms drew around himself, his body hunching over, as he sagged where he stood, ending in a half-crouch in ankle-deep water. His wings spread out for balance, for protection, something. That was all he wanted to do, wasn't it? Protect what was important. He should have been able to. Shouldn't he?
Unless …
Right. I'm nothing more than //// shadow.
… unless it was true.
He stared down at his reflection, at the pained, tired expression he couldn't seem to alter. What was the point of it all? Living was nothing like he'd wanted it to be. It wasn't beautiful. It was harsh, cold, and filled with empty aches. And yet, the others seemed to carry on as if nothing at all were amiss. If what the human beings told him wasn't true... why couldn't he do this? Why couldn't he keep others safe? If he truly had a place among these beings, even amongst the other BPs, why did everything that mattered slip through his fingers?
“Not everything.”
The reflection in the water was no longer alone. Someone looked back at him, smiling softly, looking down at him. For a second, he couldn't move. He couldn't even think. He stared at the water, at that face, and wondered, distantly, if this was another misfiring memory. Or if he dared to hope if this was real...
He shook his head, and dared to look up. Despite a sinking feeling, despite dread, and the image's words... he could have sworn there was a familiar form hovering above the surface of the water. Within touching distance. He reached for it, the motion desperate, jerky, and thought found his hand gripped in one so like his own. A memory wouldn't be so solid, would it?
“I don't know what else to do,” he whispered. “Nothing is working. Nothing is going as it should... so many are lost. I couldn't save them – I couldn't even keep my promise to you.”
His hand tightened its grip. “I wanted to live too badly and now... I'm here. I've made so many mistakes. I might not even be able to see you again because... because of what I've done. I thought it would help, but everyone is still hurting, still leaving and dying and...”
Slowly, his body bent again, hunching over his outstretched hand. He couldn't speak. It felt as if something had his chest in a vice-like grip.
“You're the one who matters most. Please... just. I need you here. I need to know what to do.”
Silence. Though his optics flicked, as if he were hearing something.
“Please. I can't – I can't do this.”
All that answered him were the soft, repeated words, recycled bits of speech he remembered so clearly, strung out together again. It was all this had ever been, some part of him realized – memories lumped and overlaid with one another until the new image, the new thoughts, blinded him. He tried holding on, tried keeping it pulled together, but it began to fragment, as his AI recognized what it was he saw.
... Nothing more than the small, toy-like "doll" of his friend. His fellow ninja. His reason for existing. He held it in his outstretched hand, his optic locked onto it, as one would a real face -- a real face superimposed over the tiny frame.
The hovering image faded into bits of imagined, remembered, motes of light, leaving him kneeling in the water, as alone as ever before.