Lup (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
necromanswers) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
faesphere2019-01-20 11:03 pm
necromanswers) wrote in faesphere2019-01-20 11:03 pm
Calibrations Text References
Just a place for dumping calibration info/writeups w/ included HTML.
UPDATE: also for storing memories for Hugtopia Memory share, for Lup and Noctis.
UPDATE: also for storing memories for Hugtopia Memory share, for Lup and Noctis.
Messer
toplevel
There's a digital console on the back of the pilot's seat, containing a star map and a list of possible locations. A simple touch on each option reveals an image, along with the option button: "Proceed?"
The planets available for selection are:
-Alfheim
-Voldor
-Windermere
-Ragna
-Al Shahal
Tucked unto a side pocket of the console, almost out of sight, are two photos: a picture of Messer with a crew of men wearing the same uniform as he, posed in front of a jet, and a picture with Delta Platoon and the Walkure singing group.
While any visitor is checking their surroundings, Messer's voice speaks up, quietly, from the front seat.]
Where to?
al shahal
As the light fades, a scene plays out.]
The clouds part, and below them, the desert fades into view. A battle, already raging. He's late, but not too late. Not yet. His blood is pulsing in his veins, and he can feel skin protruding on his face. He feels wretched, but adrenaline carries him to where he needs to go.
Walkure, in the distance. Delta squad struggling to hold back the Knights of Windermere. Three of them break off to charge the singers, wounded and undefended, and he doesn't think- he flies towards them at top speed, guns tearing through the sand between his enemy and her. He lands, half-crashing in his haste (he'd flown in too quickly, too clumsy, he needs to do better, but the Var is already threatening to overwhelm him) and risks opening his cockpit to call out to her. To plead with her, what might be the last time-
"Please, sing, Kaname. Please sing, before I turn Var for good."
He can recognize her hesitation, understand to some degree her reasoning, but all along he's known that she's an equal to Mikumo and Freyja when she puts her heart into it, and he wants her to know it, too. Their voices will never have the sort of effect on him that hers does. When she finally agrees, her smile, determined and fierce and full of the strength he's admired in her for years fills him with hope, and he can't help but smile back as he returns to the sky, tearing through enemy ships with the sort of ease he's never felt before, not on this level. Everyone around him is slow, the machine under his command flawlessly responsive to every reaction, every dodge, every jerk of the controls. This is what he'd been lacking, before. To not think about the future, to only consider the present- Freyja had been right, and he'd needed to hear those words. Whatever the future might bring, his present is here, fighting alongside his comrades. What purpose was there to his existence, what reason did he fail to die two years ago, if he couldn't be a wall between danger and the woman that he loves?
...ah...
...wouldn't it be nice. If he let himself.
She sings AXIA, of course. He'd hoped that she would. He's glad that she had known that. It's the song that saved him back then, and it's the song that will save him again.
And he can save her, this time.
The White Knight dances through the air with him, their planes twisting and twining, gaining and losing the upper hand with each passing moment, and if he wasn't so angry he knows he'd be… enjoying it, deep down. He'd felt that way before, a hidden, shameful thrill at finally finding a worthy rival in the air. No other had ever come close. Now, though? Things have changed. That distraction very nearly cost them all dearly - cost him dearly - and he won't let it happen again. He'll end this, he'll kill this man. He can decide how he feels about it later, but he'd choose the loss of a worthy adversary over her any day of his life.
For now, all he feels is the wind rushing into the vents of his ship, guiding his hand.
He feels the fold waves of her song weave through his veins, calming his rage, suppressing the Var.
He feels the Var fight back, muscles throbbing with pain as he twists the control stick of his plane.
He feels, suddenly, his heart stop.
His hand won't move. He can't dodge in time.
Kana-
The White Knight's attack cuts through his cockpit, a splash of red coating the glass, and then he feels nothing.
windermere
The Knights of Windermere attack in the dead of night, and immediately he finds their leader, the White Knight, in the air. Their planes dance around one another, exchanging bullets, missiles, and laser blasts, and for a time their skills appear to be equal.
Messer knows differently, and he can tell that his enemy feels it, too.
He's tense, angry, his heart pounding in his chest- all a distraction, dangerous in the heat of war, but it's not one he can control. Not anymore. He fights and fights and fights but his blood is pulsing, and he can feel that familiar bulge of veins pronounced on his skin. He's turning. He's turning he's losing he's losing and it's all going to happen again and
like the snap of a taut thread, he feels his awareness teter off the edge. After that all he feels is
die
die die die die die die die die
killyoukillyoukillyou
I'LL KILL YOU
Instinct fuels him, his mind suddenly empty of all thoughts except the pure, unfiltered carnage, a desire for violence. His movements in the air are no longer graceful and controlled but wild and sporadic, his plane jerking from one direction to the next. He sees nothing but the target in front of him. He doesn't know who that is anymore. There are no names, no faces, no enemies or allies, no war. He has no memory of why he is fighting.
There is only:
kill
end
destroy
tear and slash and stab and shoot and strike and kill and kill and kill and kill and
....
music
Kaname. It's the first thought that breaks through the haze of his mind, the wall of violence that had overwhelmed him. The sound of her voice, her song, slams right into his very core and wraps around him like a warm embrace, and just in time he has enough awareness to jerk the controls to the side, dodging out of the way of an attack that surely would have ended him. He'd... lost. He'd lost it. He'd gone Var again.
It's over.
His teammates come to his aid, chasing away the knights, and he twists his VF-31 towards the stage where Walkure is performing, following their siren song and allowing it to ease the raging fire in his blood.
Again... she saved him again. And now everyone knows.
Now she knows.
voldor
Of course they'd come to him in his quarters, where he has no means of dodging their questions. He wouldn't have let them in to begin with, but they'd caught him
Mirage brings up Alfheim, and he feels a sharp pang in his heart at the memory, of blood and bodies and screaming in the air, of being trapped in his own madness until Kaname's song had set him free. He remembers hearing words like "no survivors" and "mass graves" and "casualty numbers" from his recovery room as reports came in from around the world. He remembers, vaguely but horrifically, his own hands murdering more people than he cares to think about. Some were innocent, unaffected by the disease running rampant through his veins. Others were not. He killed them, all the same.
She'd done her research. It's not a surprise- that's just the sort of person she is. For the first time he wishes she wasn't so damned competent. He listens quietly to their complaints, answers their questions, ignores their demands. They think they know more than they actually do. Again, not surprising. They're young and lack experience; it's part of why he's so hard on them. They do mean well, so he keeps his temper in check and only shows them out when they insist on fighting against the decision he's made… until Hayate touches the bracelet.
"Don't touch that!"
That's his. That's private.The bracelet he's carried for two years now, the one that carries her song- what's helped him hold on to his sanity all this time while he kept his secrets from the one who could truly help him if he needed it- this fool goes and drops it, of course, and there it is, playing for the both of them to see. AXIA. Her voice.
He's not allowed to keep his secrets anymore, it seems. With a tight frown he retrieves the bracelet before they can examine it too closely, and then for the first time ever, he bows to them, polite and respectful despite the irritation he carries, and simply pleads, "Don't tell anyone about me. Please."
When they leave, he sits down on his bed, gripping his wrist, and just… lets the song play for a while, over and over, allowing her voice to calm his pounding heart.
It's like feeling a dream die all over again, the second time in his life. It's awful, and his heart sinks with the knowledge that nothing he does will stop this from coming.
[As the scene fades away, they find themselves back on the runway where they'd begun.]
ragna
After years of refusing nearly every attempt of hers to invite him to join her, Messer asks Kaname to watch the jellyfish with him, and she immediately accepts. He's surprised by this, though he knows he should not be. She's always been kinder to him than he to her, though his slights had never been intended to hurt her. Over the last few days he's been reviewing his life choices the same way he'd reviewed flight paths and combat decisions- what he'd done right, what he'd done wrong, how he could have done everything differently. He's... found a lot of flaws, in retrospect. Gained a lot of perspective.
It doesn't really matter, ultimately. What's done is done. All he should be focusing on now is how to live going forward.
She comments on the lights, and it's true, the sky is beautiful as the jellyfish float and dance. He'd watched this in previous years from the base or his room, but the experience is quite different up close. It's far more personal. He's suddenly aware of how close she is to him, what this event represents. What it implies, to those watching, for him to have asked her here.
He does not comment on that. He's here for her, not the festival. Quietly he removes his bracelet and offers it out to her, watching as she recognizes the track saved on it. Walkure has plenty of songs, but none have ever left an impact on him quite like that one. None have saved his life the way AXIA did, the way her voice did.
There are so many things he'd like to tell her, if he had the strength, or the time, or the freedom to do so. But he's leaving soon. Their lives will no longer be intertwined in the same way. To do that now, to ask anything of her now, would be… cruel. Instead he tells her the truth: that she saved his life, that she gave him a second chance. That he's grateful for what she did for him.
He doesn't tell her everything, but… he hopes it'll be enough. If she stays safe, even without him, and maybe if she thinks about him every now and then, he'll be satisfied.
She deserves so much better.
[The light of the jellyfish flash in the sky a few more times until the world bleeds to black. When light returns, they're back on the runway, and there's an uncomfortable exhale of breath from the front seat.]
flight team photo
It's a simple household, cozy and smelling faintly of some kind of spicy food being prepared, and the scent grows stronger as Messer enters the kitchen. He's young, here, mid-to-late teens but already tall, wearing the basic issue uniform of a low-ranking trainee in Alfheim's military. Before he can even call out a greeting he is embraced by a middle aged woman who shares many of his features, though distinctly different is her bright eyes and warm smile. "Messer! We didn't expect you until tomorrow!"
"I caught an early flight," is his answer, soft as ever but warm in a way he rarely allows himself to be. "I only have a few days until training starts, so I wanted as much time here as I could get."
She pulls back, hands on his arms as she gets a good look at him, pleased and proud. Her eyes lift and- "Ohhh, but your hair was so lovely and long," she laments, patting at his fresh buzz cut as if mourning a child. "All that fluff, gone. I hardly recognize you- now you look too much like your father."
"Hey," comes a man's swift, mildly offended protest as he wanders in from the next room, an older, grizzled fellow with a noticeable limp.
Messer ducks under her touch and accepts the man's firm handshake. "Military issue. I'll be allowed to grow it back if I rank up. And if I want to." He's still deciding. It feels weird beneath his hand, but he'd already tried on his father's old helmet and it feels right.
"Well, I suppose." She doesn't look convinced, but doesn't argue against what's already been done. Instead she pulls him into another hug, too strong and fierce for his fussy teenage pride to let him pull away. "You be safe, okay? Promise me. I'll worry anyway, but promise."
He huffs quietly against her neck, sheepishly hugging her back. "I promise."
"Your mother and I are both very proud of you," chimes in his father, and he can hear it in the man's voice- the strength of an old soldier past his prime, pleased to see the next generation follow in his footsteps. He doesn't answer, merely nods, his eyes carrying with it a promise of that pride not being misplaced. He'll be strong, he'll go further. He'll fly higher than any who came before. Not for his father, or for family pride, but for him.
"Mesa! Mesa!"
He pulls back with a disapproving frown directed at his mother. "See, someone still knows it's me. Hey, Adie, want to feel it, too?"
The infant in the corner playpen reaches out towards him with all the urgency that a two year old can muster, and he crouches down, offering his head out to her. Tiny, stubby fingers sift through his hair, tickling and tugging. Rather than trying to free himself, he just grins. Yeah, feels just right.
[When it's over, they're back in the plane, but the window is still open and Messer is sitting on the edge of the cockpit instead of in the seat, and his helmet is in his lap. He's gazing off in the distance, towards the town below.]
alfheim
He's walking through a city in chaos. People are shouting and running around him- away from him, towards him. He wants that. He wants both. He reaches for them.
need to kill
In the distance, a child shrieks.
keep walking
A body slams into his side. He grabs for it, all instinct, and when it falls to the ground he drops with it. It has a face and it's making noise at him that might be words, but he recognizes neither.
He reaches down and something crunches beneath his fingers; when he pulls back they're wet. The noises stop.
He doesn't stop. He can't stop.
need to kill
An explosion. The sound of falling. An impact against his head, red trickling down his cheek. He doesn't feel it. He's hit, over and over, and he feels nothing. He hits back instead until it stops.
Something screams in his face and a hand, like solid iron, tears out its throat to silence it. His hand. He did that.
another
there's blood on his face his hands his tongue and he feels nothing, nothing, but the laser-focused urge the drive to kill to kill to kill to
killkillkillkillkillkillkill--
ANOTHER
....
singing
------someone's singing
The world slows to a halt. Silence, deafening. No voices, no chatter, no thrum of life around him. He's still walking, one foot in front of the other, mindlessly observing what is around him without truly seeing it yet:
Bodies, haphazardly scattered in the street, bloodied and unmoving. Crackling fire, buildings half-crumbled and ripped apart. Broken vehicles, downed planes, used and abandoned weaponry everywhere.
He is alone.
The throbbing pain in his head continues without end, but he can hear, through it all, the distant sound of a woman's voice- haunting, soothing, calling out to him. It takes him a long, long moment, but eventually the sound of it untangles itself in his mind and reforms as a song.
And suddenly, just like that, reality snaps back, consciousness returns to him, and he understands everything. Where he is. How he got here. What he's done. He looks down at his hands, drenched in red. Still wet, still fresh. Not his.
I killed--
I killed----
everyone.
everyone killed. everyone died.
everyone died.
he screams. he screams in the middle of an empty city surrounded by the corpses of everyone he's ever known, and no one hears it.
[When the memory fades, they're flying over a broken city, and Messer is silent and grim in his seat.]