|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Mon Aug 13, 2018 11:10 am
A cat rattled around in an overturned garbage bin and the youma captain listened to it for a time, its claws ticking dutifully on the sides. Somewhere within it dug around for another morsel where it was sheltered from the rain. It fell steadily between a light peppering and a drizzle, enough to stir the trees with boisterous gusts, with thunder rolling freely about in the distance. Cars drove by only at need. Otherwise, the area remained wet and sacrosanct to the rest of the city.
Faustite sat atop a thin retaining wall that marked a ramp to the back of one of the oldest furniture shops in the city. He sat sideways upon it, with both legs drawn up to his politely narrow form, a hand wrapped about his knees and the other hand clutched to a stolen umbrella's thin stem. It was black and drab, but wide enough and sturdy enough to cover up Faustite's pipes. If he looked up, he could watch the smoke lazily coalesce into meaningless shapes. Sometimes he did when the seconds passed too slowly.
Thunder rumbled again. Lightning cracked across the sky in a brilliant flash, rending it open, tearing out the bright white in a sound bellowed so terribly that it nearly started him. In that brief second, he saw his black silhouette painted like a Hiroshima shadow across the brick wall beside him. His cast hand fit neatly over the doorknob, and he felt, briefly, a sense of mortality.
How superstitious. He knew not why he showed up so early, nor why he sat in the still-too-sticky heat of a summer storm while Lysithea and her no-longer-youma friend arrived. Perhaps it was foolish to come at all.
He breathed a sigh to steady himself. They'll come or they won't. He pulled from vest pocket a watch, suspended on a chain and, for once, wound to the proper time, and he opened its face to measure how long he would still wait. 8:54, it read in a few punctual ticks. Six minutes. Thunder rattled again, and the cat startled in its meager shelter.relatively orange ice cream substance meet then go to lysitheaville? something something japanese
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Aug 13, 2018 6:44 pm
It had taken a lot for Lysithea to convince Evan that it was a good idea to come and visit with Faustite. It had taken even longer to convince Tobias to stay home, as the male insisted that he had to go with Evan. To protect him. To protect them both…
…As if two eternal senshi needed protection.
Though, when she mentioned that she wanted Evan to cook up a large picnic, he had seemed at least a little excited, but food always did that for the boy.
They had two picnic baskets both full to the brim with different dishes that Evan had wanted to try out, new recipes that he had been thinking of using in the food truck.
Lysithea was a little nervous though, wondering if Faustite would leave since there was more than just her coming…but…she hoped that he would at least stay long enough for her to let him know what was going on…
As they neared the meeting spot and she felt the dark splotch of the half youma captain’s aura, she called out, her voice loud against the quiet night. “Faustite? It’s me. I’ve brought Malus, I know you said to come alone…but I can’t really come alone if I’m bringing him…so please don’t leave, we brought a lot of food for you!”
She sounded excited, hopeful, eager to help and eager to see what would become of all of this.
Hopefully it was something good but…you never could really tell sometimes.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Aug 16, 2018 6:56 pm
Malus trailed behind Lysithea, visibly cautious and peering around corners for any suspiciously dark shadows. He carried one picnic basket with both hands and gripped it as if he were ready to hurl it towards the slightest movement. And yet, he still held the picnic basket with the upmost respect; he took great pride in all of the meals he made and these were no exception. Though he was visibly nervous, there was something undeniably hopeful about him.
Despite being an eternal, there was nothing even remotely imposing about Malus, especially when he carried himself with such a cautious demeanor. He was thin, though far less scrawny than he had been last year. He was either underweight or so very nearly there that it didn’t make much difference, but he didn’t seem to be struggling with the basket. He was shorter than Lysithea, and though he didn’t trail so closely behind her that it seemed like he was trying to hide, he didn’t stray far from her either.
His nervousness didn’t seem limited to this plan to meet with some agent, who may or may not be unhappy to have him tagging along; it seemed like he was hyperaware of everything that moved.
It wasn’t really the energy signature that he was afraid of—it was everything that didn’t have one.
Everyone that didn’t have one.
Lysithea’s call seemed to draw him out of his hypervigilance; he picked his head up and stood a little straighter, trying to pick out the source of the energy signature.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Aug 16, 2018 9:41 pm
Faustite breathed a slow sight as tension wended through his shoulders. "Alone meaning 'without other senshi'. You never said he was a senshi." The rain fell to a steady drizzle, pelting the ground and can to a percussive ambience, and Lysithea's footfalls joined the harmony. Behind her, lagging back, was another with lighter feet — or more sensible footwear.
Did someone try to corrupt him without knowing the difference between unawakened senshi and civilian? How unlucky. Better that it was Heliodor in his stead, perhaps.
Faustite slipped carefully from the retaining wall, umbrella still in hand, catching all the errant smoke from his pipes. He looked to Lysithea first, who seemed well despite all the dreary. Somehow her outfit retained an unearthly shine, even under the dull dolor of a clouded sky. Her friend caught up with her and looked as much a disappointment as Faustite imagined he would be if he retained his humanity through the ranks. What presence they each lacked. Whatever youma this senshi once was, no sign of it showed in his face or stature — unless youmafication stunted growth of any who encountered it. It would explain Faustite's own troubles, and this senshi's youthfully small stature.
He carried two burdens, however: the basket, heavy but for his eternal's strength, and his own paranoia. The latter looked far heavier for how it hunched his back and shoulders, wrenched his head this way and that. Faustite said nothing of it.
"Introduce him on your planet. We should go now." He extended his hand as he had done to Castor, bleak as the wet night, yet fever-hot.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:48 am
Shaking some of the rain off of her, Lysithea drew Malus close, placing the other basket into his hand and took out her senshi phone, preparing to head up to her world. Quietly she smiled at Faustite before taking his hand gently in hers and pulling him a little closer. The heat surprised her, but only caused her to tighten her grip. She could fix this. “Hold on tight now, won’t you?”
She knew Malus would. He was used to this. Trips up to her homeworld weren’t common but they happened often enough that he at least knew the drill.
When she felt sure that both of the boys were secure in her grip, she pressed the button and focused, feeling the pull that would take them all up to Lysithea, and feeling quite excited. Apprehensive sure, but more excited than anything else.
It didn’t take long to get there, no more than the span of a few heartbeats and then a soft breeze caressed her face. The damp air and dull rain were gone, left back on Earth, and as far as the eye could see there was nothing but that funny lavender colored grass and a few trees speckled here and there…though. As Lysithea took the other basket back from Evan, she couldn’t stop the smile that had began to spread across her face. There were flowers too. Flowers…blooming everywhere. Like nothing she had seen before on Earth and…
And it made the place seem even more magical. A wonderland, or at least that’s how it felt to her.
“Now, Faustite…I didn’t tell you that he was a senshi, no, and I apologize. But, this is Malus, the senshi of glass. And, Malus,” She glanced at the purple clad boy fondly. “This is Faustite. I thought…it would be good for you two to meet…”
Obviously. She hadn’t been able to stop talking about the captain. Worry about him. Fussing over what they brought for the picnic. With a quiet sigh, Lyisthea opened the lid of her basket and drew out a blanket, taking a moment to spread it out on the ground. “You’re going to love his cooking, Faustite, I’m sure of it. It’s…it’s utterly delicious.”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Aug 17, 2018 9:03 am
”It’s okay,” he countered, perhaps a bit concerned that his reputation was at stake and that any hope of a positive first impression would be lost if Faustite found the food subpar to Lysithea’s claim.
He seemed to relax a bit, away from the shadows of Destiny City and the dreary weather. He patted down his uniform as if it would dry it out any faster but it was a short lived action and his attention was once again on things other than himself. Absentmindedly, he brushed his fingers through his hair as he admired the flowers—and, with no sign of outside concern—his eyes again found Faustite.
He was undeniably curious about his physical features, but there was no look of disgust or disdain. It was polite curiosity, if such a thing could even be claimed. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, and though he seemed to be a creature of caution, he offered a smile and extended his hand in greeting. “I’m, ah, sorry. That I came powered up, I mean. I didn’t mean to make anything awkward.”
It would have been foolish though, if he’d come as a civilian. Any intelligent person could have figured his identity—his living situation. He shared a house with two knights—both salvaged from the Negaverse—and a senshi, and under careful scrutiny or watch, their entire lifestyle could have been compromised.
No, this was safer. It had little to do with not trusting the agent; if Lysithea brought him here, Malus trusted him as much as she seemed to.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Aug 17, 2018 9:42 am
Away went rain and shadow for day, for flowers, for grass of a peculiar shade that reminded him, however briefly, of last year's Easter where a small festival had the city's youth searching for eggs. But that memory felt as alien as this place — cheerful, shallow, sickeningly distant. He wondered, as ever, how far the Rift was from a place like this. How many miles? How many lightyears? Playing picnic with the White Moon felt unreal, preposterous, traitorous, and he chewed the words against his cheek as he swallowed.
Malus, it was. Decked in blues and purples and geometric patterns that lost the eye with their vivacity. He wore a sash, he wore wings, he wore white. He wore a constant nervousness that never died down until now, and even on this planet, it sung its dreary hum beneath his skin. "Malus," he echoed as he tilted his umbrella backward, its caught smoke spilling out in a billow. He shut the accessory at once and offered his hand, black and hooked as it was.
I wonder what you were before. How you were. From what type of youma springs a man like you?
While introduction settled, Lysithea set their scene on the side of a low hill, where the blanket drew out a clean space among lavender grasses. "I'm sure it doesn't taste like starseeds." He gave a brief glance to Malus before he sat, his thin legs folding up like like wishbones and tucked in by black hands. He sighed softly, smoke wending out at the influx of breath afterward. Food of any kind tasted a thousandfold better than Tiberius' vittles.
But there was conversation to address alongside that food; his choice here was not solely a social call. When he spoke again, his tone dropped to match the quietude of their surroundings. "Lysithea said you were purified from a youma state. Do you remember anything of that? Of the life before it?
"What do you remember of his youma form, Lysithea?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Aug 17, 2018 9:15 pm
She had begun to spread out the food, placing dish upon dish on the blanket following with a plate for each of them. When she was addressed, Lysithea seemed a little surprised, but the easy smile was back on her face at the question, and the memory of Evan as a youma.
“He was cute.” She said softly, holding out napkins for the both of them and taking a seat on the corner of the blanket. “He was cute, and furry. About three feet tall, he loved to cuddle with me…and once, I kidnapped him and took him up here…”
Her eyes wondered to Malus and there was a sadness in them that she often tried to hide. A deep regret that she hadn’t been able to do anything for him sooner. A guilt that sometimes gnawed at her insides. Something she never shared with Evan or Zac. Or anyone for that matter.
“I had gotten frustrated because nothing was happening. His General had done nothing to save him. Nothing to help him, to heal him and I just…decided I would do it on my own. So I kidnapped him and…oh, Malus. You didn’t like that. You were so scared.”
It had hurt. He had never been afraid of her. The first time they met, he had run over. He had known her. And she had realized it was him. “It was a rough time for me. And for him. Obviously…but. So far as youma go…he was the cutest one I’ve ever seen, both before and since. And he wasn’t…I mean…” Lysithea shrugged. “There’s never been a mean bone in your body, Mal.”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Aug 17, 2018 10:28 pm
Malus remembered his youma form differently than Lysithea did. Comparatively, he was arguably cute, but when faced against the other youma he’d encountered it was a decisively easy competition to win. ‘Small’ and ‘cute’ were not terms one wanted to embrace when life and well-being were at stake.
If, even, you could call that a ‘life’.
Malus’ eyes drifted to the smoke again, questions at the forefront of his mind more than answers, but he had been asked here for a specific purpose and he could save his own inquiries until he’d served his purpose.
Lysithea spoke with so much kindness, and optimism, like she was afraid to say anything bad about him being a youma.
He hadn’t felt cute. Even now, when he thought about what he was, he was filled with disgust and loathing. But, he let her speak, and was cautious not to say anything that might upset or hurt her. It wasn’t her fault he was like that.
It was Zac’s.
Or, rather. Cavansite’s.
He bit the inside of his cheek and inhaled, nodding absentmindedly along with what she said regardless of how much differently he considered some of the things that had happened.
“I remember it,” he said after a moment—because, he did. He might not have remembered everything of his time as a youma, but he remembered some things. Important things. “…I remember what it was like, when my Captain’s hand was in my chest.”
‘My Captain,’ because even now he felt like Sanidine had some claim over him. Maybe he was Michel now, and maybe he was a different person now, but there was some deeply ingrained thought that bound him still.
“…It hurt.” But, that was a given; whenever Chaos was around, of course it hurt. “Not like a skinned knee or split lip. Like if someone shoved needles all the way through your body and doused you in gasoline and burned you up from the inside out. It felt like being crushed and stretched at the same time. Or maybe that was just what it felt like when my body changed. I don’t…that part maybe, is a little vague.” He remembered looking up at the sky, remembered the stars that sparkled, the sensation of cold concrete on his back.
Malus felt like he could taste bile just by thinking of the memory, so he shrugged and tried to move away. His head dipped as he picked through his memories. It occurred to him only then that maybe he should be cautious about what information he shared; he didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want to be put on some list of people that needed to be taken care of for knowing too much. He skipped over what he could and avoided talking about the faces he remembered, the Rift, the Castle. They weren’t clear in his mind, and if he ever went back he knew he wouldn’t be able to navigate with any clarity, but he knew they existed and he had flashes of scenery that painted a general idea of where he’d been.
But Faustite hadn’t asked about all of that, he’d asked about the purification, so Malus continued, “But the purification was different. Like falling, and feeling like the ground was coming up. Like you’re plummeting so fast that you can feel your skin flying off, like the air gets so hot the friction starts to peel at your skin. That hurt, too. The Chaos melting away. But it…It’s far from the worse pain I’ve ever felt. Thinking back on it now, it was a relief. I’d do it again, a hundred times over. Being free of that Chaos, I.”
Lysithea remembered a cute, fluffy little youma that could run to her and knew her.
But he remembered being a monster who, despite what lingering morality he might have had, craved starseeds and suffered a horrifying hunger. He remembered being close to her, feeling his skin crawl, wanting to dig himself into her chest and devour the starseed. She was a Senshi; as a youma, it had only taken time before her very presence sickened him—even if he had known, and yearned, for her assistance.
“I don’t know if I have words. I got to be myself again. And I lost that, for a long time. I couldn’t speak.” His eyes raised to Faustite again, as he emphasized. “I was trapped in a body that wasn’t mind, that didn’t act like mine or move like mine. And I could think, I could hear the words in my head, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t make them come out. I could understand what everyone else was saying, but I was just this stupid, useless thing. I should have been destroyed. I couldn’t fight. I was a liability in every battle I was in. I don’t remember how many times I was dusted, or nearly dusted.”
If he had confidence in himself in anything, it was his ability to hate himself.
“And the whole time, I remembered who I was, and everything I’d lost. I guess, after a while, those memories started to fade. Like a fog had rolled in and I couldn’t cut through it. But I remembered that I was somebody, and it…” The words escaped him for a moment. He shifted positions and crossed his arms over his chest as he thought. If he hadn’t been wearing gloves, his nails might have dug into his skin, but his costume offered him that protection, at least.
“…It ate away at me. I didn’t forget anything, at least—it doesn’t feel like it. I just…I don’t think I can describe it. When I was a youma, I forget how many months it was that I started to lose hope. I didn’t think I’d ever get to be a human again, and maybe I started to give up. Parts of me started to flake away. I didn’t want to be a monster, but it hurt to know that I used to be somebody. Not somebody important, I’ve never been important, but I was me. And the Negaverse…” His eyes were faraway, not looking at anyone or anything anymore. “…They took that from me. And to get that back, after all that time…to get rid of that fog and remember everything again, to be someone again…”
Malus swallowed and suddenly seemed to realize that he’d been talking more than he meant to; he shook his head and his demeanor changed. He cleared his throat and, self-conscious and worried that he’d drifted to rambling or stolen someone else’s time to speak, tried to tie things up quickly. “Well. I just mean, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. The purification. It was scary, I thought I was going to die, to burn away, but the only thing that burned away was the Chaos. At the end of it, it didn’t even hurt so bad. It felt like coming home. Like being gone for so long and coming home. And, uhm. I don’t know.” He did know. He could have gone on for so much longer if he was given free reign, but instead he said—mostly to remind himself to stop talking, “That’s all.”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Aug 18, 2018 9:00 am
Juxtaposition of questions gave two very differing accounts on the same collective experience. The first, Lysithea's, was concise in her delivery. She cited one specific instance through her retelling, an experience taken at face value, where the youma knew her — knew who she was, knew that she wanted to help, and knew fear. It spoke most of Lysithea herself — that she was optimistic, kind. That the baser values of men seldom came into her purview. That the creature she cradled, born of misdeeds, could be forgiven for those misdeeds. Was forgiven. Her account declared that she felt bonds kinesthetically foremost.
That she, too, disliked stagnation was not something he anticipated. Brows lofted at declarations of frustration, at her snap decision-making. Here, on a planet serene, while she was garbed in magical silvers and whites, she looked a storybook princess. And those were objects — macguffins motivating men to take up arms and move their bodies. That she made her own decisions was heartening, however tempered that expectation by insidious words.
Then came Malus's account, rife with the brittle sounds of fear and strife. He spoke well, engagingly, jabbing his listener with iterations from the life he led before. His tales raked with a rawness that, owing to what Faustite observed of them, he attributed to youma. He, too, described only two distinct events — youmafication, presumably, and purification — with the rest left to anecdotes. To this, Faustite listened quietly and spoke no interruptive word. He spoke of failures on the battlefield, and Faustite empathized; he knew, objectively, that he made no great strides in hand-to-hand combat, that he hadn't yet yielded any great strides for the Negaverse to consider him a potent officer. He knew his general likely grew impatient for his underperformance, for his lack of projects beyond training his subordinate and making quota. But youma required ever less — they were meat shields, shock troops, bodies meant for psychological warfare. Clearly they, too, were affected.
Though perhaps only in retrospect. Faustite shifted in his crosslegged position, his ribs protesting the hunch and pipes ever reminding him of their presence by pulling their bolt-fingers taut on his back. More came: more regret, more feeling, more rumination relegated to a life no longer lived. Guilt and robbery were common themes.
"It's a start," Faustite observed at last. Hearing their two accounts alongside one another likewise presented their relationship to one another — how one account juxtaposed to the next implied what was shared, what was memorable. The looks exchanged with each other, the looks pointedly ignored. But most pointed was Malus' dissociation to the distance, not looking to his friend and confidant. To his caretaker. What was he hiding from her? What was the motive for hiding it?
"You're very careful, Malus. I asked you about purification and the life before it and you gave the barest. You were a feral youma, weren't you? Short and small and mute. Your captain never broke your will. Relationships with others mean more to you than ideals. It isn't someone's state as a youma that boils your blood — it's their isolation. It's that they'll never experience the relationships you have, and had.
"And Lysithea, you dance around the person who catalyzed this youmafication. You call him general, Malus calls him captain — so he was promoted since you both knew him. What did you do about him? Did you seek revenge? Or is he still hanging over Malus like a knife?" He looked to Lysithea, the pointedness of his gaze lost in murky black, before cocking his head toward her companion.
His hands left his boots and folded together like a lattice reigning in his own heat. He starved, its audibility unquestionable. "I want to know more. Malus, you strive to paint youma and human into absolutes, but there's more than that. There must be. You enjoyed starseeds, didn't you? You enjoyed the power to hurt others when you could. You enjoyed the lack of responsibility. Which is it?"
He looked to Lysithea from the corner of his eye. "Better that we save that question for later. You brought a lot of food; it's a shame to leave it for so long."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Aug 18, 2018 9:35 am
She had tried to keep getting the food out as Malus spoke. She had tried to keep working and not just sit there and watch Malus but…
They had never really spoken of these things. She knew them, but she had never heard Malus describe them so…plainly. It almost felt surreal.
Lysithea held a large tupperwear container in her hands and vaguely heard Faustite’s question about Sanidine, nodding without really thinking. “He was a friend of mine. He left, of course. Purified soon after we saved Malus…but..” She shrugged, inwardly kicking herself.
“He left the city too. Didn’t even bother to say goodbye. I’m a little annoyed with him even now. I keep trying to contact him but.”
With a sigh, she shrugged, opening the container and putting a big spoon into it for serving.
Quietly she drew out the three bottles of Dr. Pepper and held one out for the others. “You know how cowards can be.”
It was a lie. Well delivered but, a lie. Perhaps if she had been paying more attention she wouldn’t have made her slip up. “Though, I suppose when you cause that much trouble…it’s best to just leave. To get out and figure out some other way to spend your life. I suppose other parts of the world are a lot safer.”
Not that she had ever really thought about it. For her, the war was only in Destiny City, she had never given thought that it really might be elsewhere too…but. Today was not the day to think about that. “But…but yes, I think food sounds like a great thing for right now…”
But, she wasn’t sure she could stomach whatever answers Malus gave to the captain. The thought of Evan, her Evan ever…craving starseeds. Ever craving violence…was so against her perceived reality..she wasn’t sure that she could handle it if she heard him say that Faustite was right.
“What did you make for us, Mal?”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Aug 18, 2018 11:15 am
Malus’ face was taut with strain; his lips pursed tightly and his jaw clenched, albeit as discreetly as he could manage. His eyes remained distant, faraway and strangely piercing.
Faustite has hit a nerve, probably unintentionally, but Malus wasn’t used to such blunt questions and shrewd observations. He wanted to lie and say he forgot, that those things weren’t real and never happened. But Faustite knew. Knew things he didn’t admit to himself, didn’t talk about with anyone.
He was struggling to find his voice to answer when Lysithea spoke; his eyes snapped up when she said he had purified, and again, that he had left town. It wasn’t a giveaway that it was a lie, and given Malus’s skittish nature it was probably just as safe to assume that he was still sensitive to the topic.
He clung to her every word, but seemed a bit delayed a bit in processing things. When she asked him he made, it took a few seconds to answer. “Oh. A lot.” He shifted positions and began sifting through the food, titling then and sharing a summary of ingredients. He’d made a wide variety, explaining that he didn’t know what Faustite might like. His assortment contained a few different samples—curry, seasoned rice, a sausage pie, fried dumplings, vegetable wraps, potato salad, and of course, his staple, macaroni and cheese. There were chips, some sodas, and a few other generic condiments and seasonings. There was half an apple pie stashed away; baking might not have been his forte but it was crafted with as much care as each of the varying courses. He didn’t seem hungry; after identifying the food he just sat with his hands in his lap and debated what he wanted to say.
He didn’t want to ignore Faustite’s question but he didn’t want to interject awkwardly. It took him a moment to exhale and just answer.
“...I don’t like to think about those things.” He didn’t give a lead in, but his eyes were on Faustite and he continued, “Nothing about being a youma was glamorous. I didn’t ‘enjoy’ starseeds. But I needed them. They were tasteless, ash and dirt and they sustained me but it’s not like this.” He gestured to the food and deliberately avoided looking at Lysithea. His head was bowed just slightly despite the eye contact he attempted to keep with Faustite. He had never spoken to her of these things; there has been no need. They were the same reasons everyone disliked and feared the youma.
“I don’t know if I knew what they were. I never saw one pulled. No one ever sat down to explain he or to me, and even if they did I don’t know if I could have starved myself just to settle my morality. Or, whatever of it a youma has. I didn’t have power, though. I had less then than I did even before the cat found me.”
He didn’t sound like awakening had been pleasant or something he’d even wanted, but neither did he dwell on it. “I was surrounded by things larger, stronger, more fierce than I could have ever been. Maybe I could have taken down a civilian. Maybe. But I might have been able to take down that same civilian without being a youma. I guess it was nice to think that if you died you came back,” but even then he sounded a little cold, a little hollow. “...But who wants that when your entire existence is based on commands and fear? Maybe something happens the longer you’re there. But for most of it, I knew I didn’t belong there. And I just got stupider and hungrier as time went on. It eats away at you. I was aware enough to know it was wrong but not able to do anything about it. It’s the worst.”
He said that, decisively. He has sifted through his memories, shuffled through the worst of the trauma he’d ever confronted and decided, “Someone makes a choice for you, and you can’t fight it. You’re a thing. You don’t matter, nothing you do will ever matter. You exist to be used, destroyed. You don’t get to think so you feel yourself forgetting how to. You’re stuck with your thoughts, and no one else cares. And then slowly, you don’t care either, because you can’t anymore. And then, you die inside, and nothing matters, and you wait to get sent on a mission you know you’ll die in, but then you don’t even stay dead. You have to come back and do it all over again and the Negaverse knows what you are, what you were, what you could have been. And they just make more. Because the ones they have aren’t good enough, and they never will be.”
He seemed agitated, too many pent up emotions, and reached a hand up as if he intended to comb his fingers through his hair. Instead, he got halfway through his bangs and just tangled his fingers into his hair and gripped tightly—not enough to hurt, but though to give himself to focus in as he rested his forehead against his wrist. He propped his elbow up on his knee and drew in a sharp breath. Everything seemed a little foggy and he couldn’t even recall what the question had been.
For a few seconds, silence—and then he reached for one of the baskets, fished around, and drew our a cold can of Dr. Pepper. He opened it, took a long swig, and then seemed to have managed some sense of calm again. He held the can between both hands, eyes focused on it, and then shrugged. “I mean. I guess,” he said, almost dismissively, as if he should discredit his own thoughts and feelings on the matter, or perhaps our is some distant concern that he was going to offend Faustite.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Aug 18, 2018 8:43 pm
"Better that he did," Faustite confirmed, his voice still calmly controlled. "The Negaverse takes much greater interest in a general's loss than a youma's." His attention lingered on Lysithea a moment longer, expectant. He left a trail, else you would try to find him, not contact him. Pity for him; that only postpones the inevitable. He will be 'contacted' eventually.
Where senshi crafted human interest stories out of lives saved, out of spines untwisted from their hellhound-esque fantastical forms into the more familiar, more human S-curves, and old friends reunited after a year spent in that wretched form, the Negaverse found little interest. And unless Lysithea found some means to expand her purification means to a mass scale, purification of youma would continue to mean nothing. It misunderstood the scope and breadth of carnage wrought by idealisms.
As he accepted the proffered bottle, he knew she was right that he understood cowardice. That she spoke of cowardice in front of Malus was curious, however; he ran away from his fate — from his life in the Negaverse. Either he ran from it outright or he was delivered from it, but the fact remained that he never returned to that life and showed no intention of returning to it. Lysithea must not consider him a coward. What qualified a coward, then? What exempted one from cowardice? And where did traitors fall?
He set the folded umbrella behind him and out of the way as Malus unpacked his offerings. It was a feast as much as a bribe — one celebrating Malus's fleeing from the Negaverse and an enticement for Faustite to join him and a bribe for Faustite to stay quiet on concerns that otherwise have little value to his organization. Perhaps, to Malus, his food production was none of these things. But that nervousness that so riddled his person needed an outlet, and obviously that outlet was not in the company of others. No, he imagined food had something to do with it, which guaranteed a much simpler explanation for its grandiosity. The mix of sumptuous scents were their own reminders to a life no longer lived. And when was the last time he answered to Elex? When was the last time white fingers weren't a falsehood?
I will eat all of it, he decided. I will eat until I burst and I'll keep eating. His stomach had protested uproariously and Faustite found no love for guest protocol with which to combat it. So while Malus rattled off dish names, Faustite feigned interest while loading up a plate with curry, two slices of sausage pie, and a couple vegetable wraps. He'd repeat his choices a couple times, he was certain, and would possibly make an exception for the more basic dishes. Chips were ignored outright.
Faustite dipped a vegetable wrap into the curry and chewed it voraciously while Malus elaborated further. His dislike for the topic belied his guilt; Faustite struck near, if not on, Malus's old guilty pleasures. That he found their taste so repugnant was itself curious; did youma never indulge as people did? Did starseeds not trip lurid dopamine receptors? Were those destroyed in full youmafication? To tread further was to boil the world down into inelegant abbreviations, into numbers mixed with letters into nonsensical drivel. Even brain biochemistry lapsed into ugly charts and cumbersome graphs.
But Malus touched on another curiosity that edged Faustite. He shifted his jaw, tensed the muscles of his neck just so, rolled a shoulder under the guise of a kink. Commands and fear.
The openness pursuant to that line of questioning ended when Malus's hand entangled in his own curiously matching hair. Tension laced those memories like bitter almonds, lurking in that glimmering core of himself, waiting for those prying words to reach them like so many fingers. Now that Malus was stirred and restless, Faustite's questions would have to cease. But after two vegetable wraps and half his portioned curry, the captain expected there would be questions in exchange.
"These questions will spoil your appetite. That's enough." Any more and you'll curl in on yourself like a smashed bug.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Aug 22, 2018 7:18 pm
For once, Lysithea felt very much like an outsider. She watched the two dark haired boy’s exchange of words as though she were watching a television show and the answers that Malus gave to the Captain’s questions left her feeling winded and bewildered.
She had never thought of Evan eating starseeds. Had never considered that the furry black creature that she had come to love…was honestly a monster. Though…she knew he had been. Knew that…he wasn’t human. Obviously he wasn’t human.
The senshi watched as the Captain began digging into the food, and for a moment, she felt more in tune with things. More in tune with the situation. With things going forward as she had hoped. Friendship. Shared experiences.
And of course it looked as though Faustite liked the food. She noticed that with the ghost of a smile on her face, at least…until she saw Malus with a hand in his hair, looking as though he were on the verge of a panic attack. And for once, she was unable to move in the face of it.
Lysithea frowned at the boy, heart beginning to pound, a strange high pitched noise in her ears, something that had been there since about the time that the other senshi had mentioned eating starseeds. She felt a little faint, slightly dizzy…was Faustite draining her energy or…
Or was this something else.
Quietly, she put down the two bottles she was holding and moved to wrap her arms around Malus gently as the words of the Captain reached her ears.
These questions will spoil your appetite. That's enough.
Pausing, Lysithea looked at him, confusion and tension in her eyes. The words weren’t meant for her, but for Malus. He shouldn’t question things that couldn’t be fixed…but what had he been questioning? What had even been said?
She blew out a breath and sat down next to the purple clad senshi, wrapping a firm arm around his waist. “…He’s right. We should eat…”
But why did she suddenly find all of the food that they packed revolting? Why was her stomach in knots?
…What had she missed?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Aug 23, 2018 7:11 am
For a short while, Malus didn’t move. Not with Faustite’s comment about eating, not with Lysithea’s embrace. He stayed still, jaw clenched and gaze as faraway as his thoughts. His fingers remained tightly woven in his hair for a few more seconds as he struggled with the awareness that now she knew. Another disgusting secret, another mark on his record. It wasn’t that he thought she didn’t know before, but now she had to confront the reality of what being a youma was. Of what he had done, even without any malicious intent.
Maybe she thought him vile, or evil, or repulsive. Maybe she hated him, at least a part of him, and the thought made him sicker.
Her holding him should have been a comfort—and f they hasn’t had an audience it certainly would have been, but now he was just worried about looking weak.
He was nervous. Out of his comfort zone. Weak was a helpless mentality, and maybe some days he was weak. But he was resilient, too. If he could survive being a youma, certainly he could survive talking about it.
He took a few scant seconds more to collect himself and then just loosened his fingers from his hair and sat up a little straighter. He forced a smile, for Lysithea, and though he has no appetite himself, he reached for a plate. He selected a few samples of the food and then pushed the plate into Lysithea’s hand. “Try these,” he insisted, before he began to make a plate of his own. Small samples of everything—the illusion of a full plate without gorging himself.
He was still undeniably shaken about the topic but he has played his part. They were down with those questions; no more thinking about any it, no more prying, no more invasive and intruding questions and answers.
At least for now.
He could live with that.
He had no hostility or disdain for Faustite himself; whether he’d asked the questions or not, it was still the truth, and he had been called here to talk and he’d done the best he could.
With a plate littered with food, e settled back against Lysithea—not because he was helpless, but because he liked the contact, he decided. And because he didn’t want her to think he was upset.
He was, but minimally, and only because he liked to deny the harsh truths and hide from the ones that hurt him. They could talk it out later, privately. For now, they still had a guest.
Malus drew in a breath, soft and steadying, to calm himself. His eyes sought Faustite’s face.
“Do you like being in the Negaverse?”
It wasn’t an angry question, just a curious one. There was a severe lack of judgement in it, as if he were asking something simple—akin to inquiring if he liked school or work.
But it was more than that, despite how he’d worded it.
If he liked it, why purify? Or was t just about the way his body had visibly changed. Malus didn’t want to stare at any off the oddities our of fear of insult, but even looking into Faustite’s eyes was a reminder that he wasn’t completely human. He acted it, though, and when Malus wasn’t looking at him it seemed like a conversation with anyone else.
Purification likely wasn’t just for vanity’s sake; Faustite seemed to clever and analytical for something cosmetic.
Malus had purified for his own reasons. Good reasons, for him, and he didn’t regret it. Feeling yourself losing your his mind, being a disposable pawn, hurting, fearing, being trapped in a subhuman vessel—the form of a monster...
It would have driven anyone to it, he thought.
And Faustite, as human as he was, must have felt trapped in a body that looked like it wanted to hurt him. To be human and know that your body wasn’t your own, to be trapped to the command of others—reliant on them. Could Faustite have taken care of himself? Could he go shopping for food, have a job to sustain himself, have any hobbies or emotional fulfillment? Or was he bound to the Negaverse by necessity?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
