|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Tue Feb 05, 2013 8:32 pm
"Ah... Yes... Well..." Of course Hunters were the hot button issue he wanted to pursue. Not the fact that he'd been grabbed by some mysterious force and placed into a world that wanted to keep him so it literally gave him everything he wanted. Not the fact that the witch had cried over him for days (which he should have assumed happened regardless if she told him that specifically or not) or had worried herself overly about him. But Hunters. And she might have gotten a little petulant over that fact had the appearance of his tongue not caught her off guard. It was such a silly gesture that she couldn't help but sigh and let all the negative emotions go. They had no place here, after all, not with her Mort so she only smiled lightly.
"I actually only know that Ofelia was there... There might have been others, but I don't know... It was hard to tell what was a copy of this world and what was your imagination."
After all, there had been a horribly large amount of people in the Kingdom of Om. How was the witch to know whether those other people who offered themselves up to help their kingdom were actual fragments or people a dream created?
As for the next part, the witch took another breath and rubbed her thumb against his hand. It was one thing to have him and another thing to have him awake. Hecate, had this past week been a torment.
"You came out to this dais in the marketplace with your crown on... Big, black thing with a green gem. Kind of spiky, made you look like you had horns." She pauses and does her best to say this next part with a straight face. "People occasionally called you the Horned King because of it." Among other things... "Anyways. You came forward and told us that The Voice, which was basically the... Overlord? Supreme being? I'm not really sure, it wasn't wholly clear... It was just this thing that you and the other Kings listened to..."
Still, it wouldn't do to get distracted by technicalities over what The Voice was or was not. Belladonna only shrugged and continued.
"The Voice had told you that the time had come to break the treaty between the other kingdoms, that we might all fight in your name or the kingdom would fall... That each of the others kingdoms would fall and that only one kingdom could remain... And you asked who among your kingdom would step forward and fight."
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Feb 06, 2013 10:22 pm
Forgive him, Bells. He could be terribly, terribly one-track minded once Hunters got thrown into the equation. His mind was also still viewing this as less a tragic event and more a story, because that was quickly becoming the go-to coping mechanism for him. The zomboil simply nodded and let her continue after a moment to get over it.
So he wasn't terribly surprised to hear he had been called The Horned King, given the setting and the description of the crown. "Mrrr . . . Must've cut striking figure, eh?" he joked, all too aware of what . . . nicknames horns could produce. But that wasn't the sort of person he was, right? It seemed too unreal to consider how he would have ever gotten such titles. Just as much as it was hard to imagine being in charge of so many people . . . And yet, the idea of ruling also had an appeal - not necessarily the power that came with it, though that was certainly a bonus, but the recognition, the freedom it allowed! When not bogged down by politics or business, he could already imagine the things he would have accomplished . . . Hopefully this version of him had had similar goals.
Mort tilted his head a bit at the mention of The Voice, a small chill resting at the base of his spine at the words "or the kingdom would fall". And with it, so many others . . . What good video game plot didn't play with some fatal consequences, though? Fakes or not, if they had died then . . . Brr. "N' m'guessing you three volunteered?" he asked with a knowing look. "Did you have plan to stop me?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Feb 08, 2013 4:06 pm
The joke about a striking figure did make the witch smile, as well as made her soften a bit. One side of her mouth tilted up in a half semblance of a smile, for he had been extremely striking in appearance as King. Quite truthfully he had been a fantastic king and it was a honest shame he could not remember. It would have made this whole thing easier and would have saved the witch not having to smash all those memories into one story.
"You were very striking. Exceptionally handsome... Bit different..." There didn't seem anything wrong with taking a moment away from the retelling to do something a bit silly. It had been a few days since she'd been able to talk with him, to see his gaze move and Belladonna was nothing if not horrifically sentimental.
"You weren't patchwork, but you had scars where most of your stitches are... Like here." One finger rose to touch the seam that started above his eyebrow. "It made you look like a seasoned warrior, but still handsome." Had she mentioned they had, more or less, been secret lovers? Was that important? Well, perhaps in a few it would...
As for his guesses as to what happened next, the witch only shook her head softly with a small smile. Not quite, darling...
Once more she begins again, telling him that yes, all three of them volunteered but not because they wanted to stop him. At that point they had not woken up, had not yet been put into the dreaming world and that what the witch remembered of that was all part of her own counterpart's will. She did go a bit soft to tell him of how the faerie had offered herself with a white rose of undying love and how the King had pretended not to be worried over the fact that he was most assuredly putting her in danger. But there were others who volunteered, their friends and strangers and the King had accepted them all as Champions but had named a few special.
Then she spoke of how suddenly they all heard The Voice and how the Silver Kingdom had fallen, how they had received a few of its discarded citizens and how the King had gladly welcomed them into the kingdom. After that was the recounting of the miasma gathering, a tale the King had actually not heard of because he had been gone when the faerie and Eladrin had returned. But Belladonna told Mort, how Sin had wanted to come along and protect her and how the faerie had done quite well despite a rather fierce injury.
After all that the witch paused to take a breath and gather her thoughts. After that came... Awakening. It was odd to recant how it felt to have lived a whole life all at once and suddenly recall that it wasn't true, that it had all been a flawlessly rendered dream. But somehow she manages to describe it, her voice going a bit soft in places as she mumbles about the King and the faerie's time together, about how things had been different and happier and how she remembered this life as that faerie.
Then it was the rest. Attacking the king (of which she apologized to Mort profusely, as though that would win her the forgiveness she'd already been granted), how he'd run and how they'd chased and all those stairs. Then the darkness and being lost in it until he'd found her, how she'd known it was him because of the white rose he'd carried all that time and how much it had hurt to feel the bite of his sword.
Thankfully, she was able to give a much happier ending, in a way at least. For they'd all woken up too, a little, and he'd forgiven her and kissed her and promised to love her in all their lifetimes. The witch had begun to cry a little at retelling this, for it had still been Mort she'd had to say goodbye to, even if they had been different. And the story ended with them saying goodbye and him laughing and making her promise to make the real Mort happy, which made her cry a little harder than she'd expected. But then that was it, it was over and he was here safe and sound come dawn, just like she'd wished.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Feb 11, 2013 10:57 pm
Mort once again sat quiet as he listened to her explanation, because the more she spoke the more he had to stop himself and let the word sink in. It wasn't an unbelievable tale - he'd been in much weirder situations - but the fact that he couldn't remember was enough to throw him for a loop.
So they hadn't remembered in spite of the manner which they entered the dream . . . That alone sent a small chill up his spine, for what sort of power could do that? A different shiver went through him when she described how they had greeted each other, a warmer kind that soothed him; at least even when under a spell, they couldn't be parted. It was enough to get him through the retelling of how his subjects had gone off to what was practically a battlefield without too much of a wince, though this was also aided by how Belladonna had gone through in spite of taking some nasty hits.
The rest, however, stole that warmth away and replaced it with bewilderment and denial. He would never . . . But apparently he had. He had attacked them out of fury and strove to kill instead of self-defense. Actually murder. His hands tensed their grip as he set his mouth in a thin line, gazing down at their hands as he strove to process the witch's tale with some difficulty. He didn't . . . He wouldn't . . . They were trying to kill him, yes, but why had he taken them all on? Why hadn't he retreated first instead of attacking? Maybe his king self had thought himself all-powerful . . . "The Creator" indeed.
He shouldn't have been surprised they had to kill him at all. It wasn't the first time Bells had to stop him that way.
What was most disturbing was that this all ended happily somehow. Somehow he was disturbed and shocked by that. It made Mort take a step back to look at himself and wonder if he was so used to torment that he now looked for it as a sign of the end rather than imagine something as messed up as this could still end on a good note. He could blame the Insanity - certainly the whispers hadn't helped his outlook on life - but . . . Even before Insanity he had begun to assume all events on this scale ended badly. He had been bracing for it, stiffening, readying himself for the worst - and instead somehow found himself with a crying witch for a very different reason.
He took a few moments to get past that one revelation by itself.
Then Mort swallowed and exhaled a breath he didn't know he had been holding onto, softening as he reached out to pull her into an embrace. "Thanks for telling," he murmured. "Sounded . . . hard. M'glad came out okay, though." He might have said more, but everything was just pushing on him and he wasn't sure how to deal with it all at once, so he went at it the ol' zomboil way: one step at a time. It'd eventually really hit him and then he might be a small bundle of nerves as well over it. "Don't cry, s'okay, s'okay . . ."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Mar 03, 2013 3:15 pm
An unwelcome thought pushed more tears down her cheeks as the witch folded herself up and into his arms; Things kept happening to him. He kept getting hurt or taken away or something worse, and she kept having to step up and rescue him, or even more awful, she had to wait for him to come back to her. That voice of reason that has become increasingly squeaky and small as of late reminds her that it always works, that she always manages to stumble her way through, that her friends pick the crying witch up off the floor and drag her through, and that he's always safe. That in the end, they are together.
But a clattering, hollow noise inside her has begun and it drowns out that tiny voice.
"I-I'm sorry--" Belladonna mumbles against him, her fingers trying to wipe away the tears that don't stop and she cannot be sure what she's apologizing for. To be sure, she is regretful for all the pain she caused his other self, and surely him with the retelling of this story. But she is also, unknowingly, apologizing for the shape of her heart which is morphing to glass. It feels so cracked and ready to shatter that she is sure one more instance like this and she will become irreparable.
It isn't fair, as it has always been, but she also apologizes that she is not happier. They got the good ending and still she cries, still she is sorry, still she feels as though she has failed.
Because despite what he might think, she has not come out of this okay.
"I'm sorry." Its become a mantra and she takes a deep breath, which was a rather bad idea for despite her tears his scent is drawn in. Out of everything she feels, it is this one little mixture of scent that is something to concentrate on. It is him, it is her Mort, not any other one. It is the broken Mort that she cannot ask to fix her fragile heart, for his is already in pieces and she has been unsuccessfully puzzling over those mixed up bits for ages.
"I... I apologize. It never gets any easier..." Belladonna finally admits, pulling back just the slightest to fully push her tears away and look up at him. "But things turned out for the best." And they had.
That, above most everything else, was what she had to hold onto. As always Mort was counting on her to make the best of this situation, to be bright and cheerful and a constant when things turned inconsistent. For such a flighty ghoul, she's expected to keep both feet on the ground far too often.
But its easier when someone she loves asks something of her and she sighs.
"How are you feeling?" In the end, it wasn't about her. It wouldn't ever be, which made things easier to deal with, in an odd, aching sort of way. "Can I get you anything?" And though her face is still wet and she hurts and she's tired but scared to sleep, Belladonna smiles up at Mort. Because that makes things easier, because it lessens the darkness and the space that tries to push between them. And, hopefully, because that is what he wants.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Mar 03, 2013 6:22 pm
Of course it never got easier. Something always happened, either by his doing or by fate's design, that decided only a small break was necessary before the next bundle of stress was hurdled. But right here, right now, the world outside that door didn't matter, nor did the time that continued ticking on; here it paused. Here he had all the time in the world to gaze at her in consternation and concern, and some form of shock. Why was she asking him how he felt when he remembered nothing? More than that, why was she acting like he was the one who needed taking care of? It was frightening how she disregarded herself despite being the one who had experienced it from beginning to end. A year of memories in only a few days. A year of joy and pain . . .
Mrring softly, he kept one arm around her but let them slide to just her waist, to allow her space while still being able to touch her in some capacity. "Shouldn't be me is talking 'bout," he answered, wishing he could return the smile better than the weak one he was sporting. His other hand moves to brush away remnants of tears from her cheek. "Should be you, Bells. A-All that going on . . . You okay? Need t'get you something?" He wanted her to stop saying sorry when she wasn't at fault, wanted to know if he could somehow help ease her past that bittersweet adventure -- and back to another one, he thought wryly.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon May 20, 2013 9:51 pm
Whether it was the words he said, or the kindness they imparted, or even the simple brush of his fingertips across her cheek, but whatever it was made the fragile glass heart in her chest finally shatter. Maybe it wasn't any of those things, for the feeling that snatched up the witch was something not entirely kind. It was not gratefulness that he cared for her, but more gratefulness in the sense that he recognized her and her pain. There was compassion, but it was overshadowed by a larger idea, something a bit darker. All this time it had been easier, and simpler honestly, to push any feeling that was not in direct help of him down. To pretend that Belladonna did not really exist as a person but as a vehicle for help, for kindness and love, for making him better and happier in some way. And for a while it had worked. For a time she had been able to step away from her being and tend solely to his needs, and by extension, the needs of others. Too easy, really, for the witch had not realized just how much she'd given of herself until Mort turned the question back on her and she noticed how hollow she'd become.
The heart that sped up for him had turned to glass, had cracked when he touched her just now and with a startled noise the ghoul folded herself down to press her face into his leg and really let herself cry.
Fingertips pulled at whatever she touched, the fabric of his jeans, her own skirt and tendrils of red curls that slipped down due to gravity. They all wound up clutched haphazardly in her grasp as she poured out her pain in the form of choked sobs and buckets of tears.
"N-n-not o-okay--" She tried, her voice cracking on the words as she shook her head. "A-almost lost y-you again-- C-can't seem t-to keep y-y-you--" A ragged breath was drawn in and choked on, for air hurt when the ache in her chest was so fierce. "Y-you were so ha-happy! And--And I-I tried to kill you! To wake y-you up and-- And I want to be happy! I-I want us to be happy! And wh-when we are, i-its a dream y-you made!"
And maybe that was why she cried so hard, for once she said that she dropped off speaking to continue her sobbing. After all this time, he did want to be happy with her. If he didn't, if he truly did not want her then things in the dream would have been different. The King would not have loved the faerie, would not have been so bitter or hurt when he realized she had been stolen from him. An entire lifetime would have been changed had Mort deemed it so.
But even then, he had wanted her.
Startled by her feelings laid bare she broke off her crying with stilted gasps and little noises. With a start she was back up to rights, spine straightened as her hands fluttered to remove the water from her face and reclaim her position as the stable one of the relationship. Every movement was an action that worked to cover up the vulnerability she had literally placed into him lap. But it was useless really, for she had been shaken, shattered and brought down to the bottom of a pit Belladonna had been sure she had left months ago. But it was never gone. It waited for her, patient and dark, a spot prepared in its folds of melancholy, just waiting for the day Mort disappeared again.
"I-I am sorry, love I... I just... P-please stay with me... That's what I need."
A hand that trembled more than she cared to admit reached for him, hesitant as it wrapped around his chill. There was safety in his gaze that she could only meet in flitting glances, hating to know that he could see her so red faced and broken and weak. The realization that the witch had put herself aside for his sake turned her already raw heart to bleeding, angry that she could be so selfish. When he was gone she would worry about herself again, but she would fight all the harder to make sure that day never came.
But there was still a cycle to complete, a third occurrence yet to happen. There was time to do all the other things. For now, the witch finally found the courage within herself to meet his gaze and attempt an apologetic smile, unable to really stop the thought of Long live the King that flitted through her mind.
Goddess save the Queen, in that case.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
