Lup (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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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.
Lup
toplevel
A handful of items stand out among the rest, as if drawing the eye (or hand) to them:
-a cookie jar
-a red robe draped over a chair
-a model ship in a bottle
-a small bag of gold with a vial of blue liquid atop a parchment paper
-a bottle of alcohol with the label "Grey Goose"
-a set of sheet music
Towards the back of the room, a doorway is blocked by a curtain of faded beads, and behind them veils of deep black silk. If approached, it gives off a strange, dark vibe- implying that more lies beyond, but it won't be as cheery.
Lup is working at the counter, mixing something together. She's humming a song under her breath, something soft and peppy, and she doesn't acknowledge the arrival of anyone, but you can try to talk to her if you like.
You can also go straight for the back room. Approaching it will make that dark vibe grow stronger, but there are no barriers preventing entry.]
(( ooc: more details on all of Lup's options found here if you want to know what you're getting into! ))
BACK ROOM:
[The room beyond the curtains isn't nearly so domestic. There are no decorations, no furniture, no windows or doors. Every wall is draped in that same black fabric, soft and pliant but impassable. Any attempt to go beyond it is futile. The atmosphere of this place is also... oppressive, steeped in negative emotions: there's fear, there's anger, there's loneliness.
There's so much loneliness here.
no one comes here
no one finds me
There's a set of objects scattered in the room seemingly at random, sprawled haphazardly on the floor
-an intricately decorated umbrella
-a silver gauntlet with fiery accents
-a human skull
-a folded paper note, sealed in wax with a lipstick mark above it
-a little copper bell
And in the center of the room is Lup again... or a being that could be Lup, anyway. Her flesh, features, and casual clothing are all gone, leaving a spectral figure in a flowing red robe hovering a few inches above the ground. Skeletal hands are visible below the sleeves, and eerie, glowing red eyes peer out of the shadow of her hood. When she speaks, her voice has an echoing quality to it, as befitting the ghostly body it's coming from.]
...I did kind of warn you.
TOPLEVEL PASTE:
SECOND ROOM PASTE:
cookie jar
When the room changes, the scene it reveals is... blurry. Bits and pieces of it are fuzzy, making it difficult to see many of the details. It still looks like a kitchen, but a different one- a more simple looking design, less sleek but more uniform. It smells sweet and the air is warm. Four chairs are placed around an old wooden table and one is occupied by a small, blond-haired child who is quietly watching an adult female elf wrap a bandage around the child's leg. Something is odd about her face, shifting and coalescing, features changing from moment to moment. One second she looks exactly like Lup, the next she looks older, then younger, then her nose is bigger or her eyes are a different colour. The child in the memory never notices the changes.
"Mama? Is Koko gonna be okay?" The child - Lup - whispers. Her shoulders hunch, fear audible in her voice.
Her mother hums. Unlike her features, her voice rings through clearly enough. She sounds fairly young. "He'll be fine, sweetie. His cut was deeper than yours, so Papa wants someone else to make sure it'll heal safe. You'll see him tomorrow."
Lup is quiet again, her eyes glued to the window, waiting. There's another wave of anxiety, mingling with frustration. Tomorrow is too long. He'd been crying, he'll be lonely. "Can we go there too?"
The elf woman sighs. "I'm working tomorrow. It'll be hard enough with your father…" She trails off, then looks up. Her face blurs, there and gone and back again, and she smiles and brushes a hand through Lup's hair. Warm. "Sorry, honey. We can't go tonight, it's almost bedtime."
"I don't care about bedtime, I-"
"The answer is no." Silence follows the stern scolding, and her mother returns to quietly bandaging her leg until she can fasten it shut and relax, leaning in to kiss the child's forehead. "I know you want to see him. I'm certain he'll be missing you, too. But the roads are dangerous at night, and he and your father will want you safe too, don't you think? They'll be at your auntie's tonight." She's quiet a moment, studying Lup's expression, and then sighs and murmurs, "How about sending a message, then?"
Lup's eyes light up, instantly relieved, and her mother goes to fetch a quill from a locked box and offer it out to her. The child focuses intently on it for a long moment, then calls out, "Taako? How are you feeling, are you okay? Is your leg gonna fall off? It better not! Um- Mama and me just wanna say goodnight! Come home soon!" The spell winks out a few words early, but Lup doesn't notice, her eyes closed, waiting for a response. When her eyes open again, they're bright and happy. "He's okay! They're still with the healer. He says goodnight and that you gotta teach me how to count better."
Her mother laughs, loud and relieved, and trades the quill for a warm, soft cookie. A hand brushes a hand through Lup's hair as she takes a huge bite and grins with chocolate in her teeth.
gold & blue liquid
"Only 'cause you got the first move in," Taako mumbles, dusting himself off.
Lup scoffs. "Whatever. That means you owe me one. You promised to keep quiet." She waits until her twin huffs an agreement, fidgets, then reaches out to tug him in close. She cups a hand over his ear and whispers for a moment.
There's a long, lingering silence, until Taako finally breaks it with, "That's it? That's your big secret? I knew that already!"
Lup stares, then stomps her foot. "Liar! There's no way! Even I didn't-"
"Yeah you did, dingus, you just weren't saying it."
They bicker back and forth for a while, almost devolving into another wrestling match, until they finally settle down on a log and Lup lets Taako unravel and braid her messy hair. It's quiet until Lup whispers, "It's okay, right?"
Taako hums, gently tugging free a knot in her locks. "Yeah, it's okay."
"You swear? You don't mind?"
"Dummy. You're still Lulu."
They fall silent again, and when Lup sniffles, Taako reaches forward to wrap his arms around her.
-----
The scene shifts again. It's years later, and the two are standing in a room so finely decorated with ancient artifacts and expensive objects that they, scrappy preteens dressed like your standard fantasy peasants, look incredibly out of place. They're holding hands, and Lup is clutching a plain leather bag close to her chest as they wait. At last a tall male elf in equally intricate robes steps into the room and approaches them. He holds a hand out.
"You have the requested items?" Lup nods and hands the bag over, and they wait as he opens it to examine its contents. Coins jingle as he fishes two small bottles out and shakes the rest. Satisfied with his findings, he passes the bag to an assistant who'd followed him inside and gestures to the carpeted floor. "Sit down. We are not to be disturbed for an hour, after which the change will be permanent. This is your last chance: are you certain?"
Silence greets him, broken only by the weak, shuddering breath Lup takes. She opens her mouth, hesitates. Her hand clutches Taako's more tightly.
"Lulu, you got this," he whispers. She looks over at him, eyes wide, frightened. "We got this."
She lets go of his hand only to fling her arms around him, clinging tightly. While she hugs him, she finally calls out, "I'm sure. I'm ready."
They sit down as he arranges the bottles, holding them in one hand while he waves a candle with the other, smoke wafting through the air. A bolt of arcane energy flies towards them and hits Lup in the chest, but she makes no move to dodge or resist it. She closes her eyes, holds fast to Taako's hand, and waits. Nothing discernable happens, but after a few seconds she gasps, tugging Taako closer to herself, and hunches over, trembling.
"Lup?" Taako calls quietly, mindful of the wizard's scrutinizing gaze. He looks defensive now, angry on her behalf. "Lulu, are you okay? Do you want to-"
"No," she mutters, and when she looks up at him she's smiling, tears of relief in her eyes. "No, it's just… it feels right. It feels just like it should, I think."
She closes her eyes again, and after a moment, so does he. They wait; fifty-nine minutes and counting.
Mikleo
toplevel
Mikleo is sitting by the bed, cross-legged, flipping through an old notebook. A beautiful feathered staff rests against the wall nearby. Visitors to his calibration room from a prior year, if they remember, might notice a change: where once his items were located on a table in front of him to be examined, instead they're arranged in a more organized fashion on a set of shelves lining one of the walls, carefully compartmentalized like items in a museum exhibit. Remembered, but... distant, now. Glass doors hide them, but they're not locked, so visitors will find easy access. Within the glass are a set of objects:
-a daisy chain of dried flowers
-an old, weathered smoking pipe
-a golden circlet with an emerald center, covered in dried blood
-a huge, gnarled and snapped-off dragon’s horn
-a feathered earring
-an orange feather tied up in leather cord
Friends might also be drawn to a particular ancient book on the shelf, hidden amongst a set of other, less noteworthy titles.
Mikleo looks up when visitors get close enough, lips pursing- not displeased, but mostly unsure.]
Oh, it's you.
(( ooc: more details on all of Mikleo's options found here if you want to know what you're getting into! ))
circlet
A charred, barren field opens up around them, where a blue-scaled dragon lies bound and wounded, screaming in pain and rage as it slowly suffocates in a pool of blood.
Zaveid and Dezel, working together to end the beast's suffering, chain over chain to hold it down.
Sorey, rushing down a hill and getting between all of them, rejecting the efforts of anyone else to stop him, or to hold him back. He's shouting, crying, desperate.
"It was supposed to be me-! I’m the human!"
"He just can’t die alone. Not Mikleo."
The ghost of a ruined soul hovers above the dragon, begging for salvation, for death, slowly falling to pieces.
kill me, KILL ME
The gentle touch of a human hand on broken scales, green eyes gazing into a single violet slit as big as a dinner plate. Stroking, soothing, as a monster breathes its last.
"It's over now, I'm here. You can rest if you want."
The end, at last.
it's okay.
you'll be okay.
thank you.
And just like that it's gone.]
pipe
"Does he never cry at all? I've never seen a child so quiet and serious," A kind-faced young woman murmurs, holding a stone mug into a fire. The flames part around her hands and focus on the base of the mug, warming the milk within.
An old man sits and smokes his pipe at her side, calm as can be despite the noise around them. "Oh, he cries alright. Just not when the babe is watching. Just let him be."
You pay them no mind. Instead you watch the wailing baby swaddled up in layers of cloth in the floor bed in front of you. You lean in, touching his cheek, holding his hand. Your fingers move to cover his mouth and he pauses to suckle instead.
"Stop," you whisper. It's a little annoying, but you don't leave his side. You know why he's crying, and you want to tell the others but your mind doesn't know the words for it yet.
(it's because they haven't given him a name. if you didn't know who you were, wouldn't you cry, too?)
The woman arrives with a cup and a cloth, soaking the warm milk into a corner and giving it to the infant instead. You are pulled, gently, into the lap of the old man, the pipe in his mouth with barely a wisp of smoke left inside. He rests a hand on your head.
"It's alright, Mikleo," he tells you with an understanding smile, "We'll find it soon."
You feel a little better, as the baby stops crying and the old man strokes your hair. He always knows.
"Gramps... Gramps, let me try it!"
"You won't like it, Mikleo."
You pout, as best as you can, cheeks puffed and tiny fists clenched. Sorey's been coaching you- he's always been the best at pouting, as he's younger and more genuine with his expressions, but you're getting better. "Let! Me! Please!"
Gramps is rarely affected by this, by neither you nor Sorey, but he relents this time, and lowers his hand to let you take in a puff from his pipe, eager and itching with curiosity. Regret floods into you as the smoke does, and you cough, and cough, and cough. Gramps laughs, not unkindly, and pats your back while you struggle to clear your lungs. What a foul thing that pipe is!
"I told you, you fool," he mutters, giving your head a solid thwack with the pipe and returning it back to his mouth. "Next time maybe you'll heed my warnings."
You doubt it, but you do at least hope that Sorey will heed your warning about the pipe. Their grandfather really must be the strongest person in the whole world.
Sorey has been growing like the grass lately, all gangly limbs too big and awkward for the rest of him, his voice taking odd tones and faltering in embarrassing ways, so he's taken to hiding in the forest a lot. you go hunting for him sometimes, but other times it's best to let him sulk and come back. You've always been better at the waiting game than Sorey.
Gramps calls it puberty, a human thing; you call it annoying and wish it would stop. Why can't humans just be who they're meant to be without a fuss? It works fine for seraphim.
"What is it, Gramps?" you call out as you enter his house, summoned at Kyme's request, likely for loitering about the gate to tease Sorey when he returns. Your voice has changed too, with far more ease. When his began to change, and Gramps told you it was a matter of becoming an adult, you decided that you needed a new voice, too. That's just how it goes.
(Sorey sulked more than usual that day, and you didn't understand why it mattered so much, but there wasn't really any going back. you like your voice now.)
"There are things I need to tell you, Mikleo, that must remain between us," Gramps answers, gesturing you closer. A map is sprawled out on the floor in front of him, one different from the little sketches inside the Celestial Record; it looks older, dated yet more detailed than any you've ever seen. At once you are delighted, but concerned. Why not Sorey?
The question is in your eyes and Gramps tugs you in and touches your hair; the gesture is comforting and stern at the same time. "The outside world is a place that Sorey, inevitably, will leave to explore for himself. He will see and experience things firsthand as a human should- with his own eyes. I shan't sully that with what I know. But you... you must be his guide, Mikleo. I will teach you everything, so that when he goes, you'll know how to protect him from the evils of that world."
To guide and protect Sorey... it's what you've been doing your whole life, anyway, so this is nothing new. It feels deceptive, yet exciting, and after a moment's thought, you nod. Gramps is trusting you with this- you, above all the others, are Sorey's irreplaceable comrade. Who better to lead him safely through the world of humans than you?
Gramps isn't surprised. He smiles and lights his pipe, rests a hand on your shoulder, and begins the first lesson. When Sorey finds out, he'll be so surprised.
He's laughing at you. He's been laughing at you all along. Heldalf sneers and lifts his hand, and in the center of his palm is the screaming face of Zenrus, the very seraph you'd been searching for since leaving Elysia. Gramps. He's absorbed Gramps, as surely as he absorbed Maotelus years before. Malevolence pools around him dangerously, and to the very core you want to flee the field, hide within the safety of your vessel, but you've come too far, and there's no turning back. Now you have to save Gramps, too.
You watch Heldalf turn Gramps' lightning on Sorey, you hear him scream, and in desperation you beg Lailah for aid. Surely, surely, if the purification is complete, Zenrus will be saved. You hope and hope and plead but she won't answer, and that itself is answer enough.
"Do you feel it?" Heldalf mocks them, as the voice of Gramps cries out from his hand, as the lightning crackles once more. "The pain of hurting one's beloved children? Go on, save him, if you can."
You fight on, dodging the lightning, healing the others, struggling with every arte as he laughs and cajoles all of you. Use your weapon, he urges. Free him. But you know you can't. You have four bullets to fire and every one is crucial to sever the ties between him and Maotelus, to save Glenwood, to save the world. They can't spare a single shot. Not even for this. Not even for Gramps. You ache to volunteer, but you hold your tongue. Conviction has carried you this far. If you die, let it be for something greater than your own selfish love.
Rose charges to try and kill Heldalf, but you stop her, and then the lightning finishes the job when you falter. And then- and then, Sorey steps forward instead.
You don't try to stop Sorey.
"This... this is something that I have to do myself! Stand back, everyone!"
He moves to attack, and you tell yourself to stop crying, to get up off your knees and face this. "I won't let you carry this by yourself," you tell him. The burden of this decision belongs to you both. If saving him isn't an option, then at least... at least let him die by the hand of those who love him.
Both of them, together.
Sorey calls your true name (luzrov rulay, a song in your soul that calls and calls and pulls you in) and you converge together as one, Sorey's body with both minds co-mingling, only a singular goal set in crystalline focus. You nock an arrow to fire, charging, energy flaring around you with a power and strength never felt before.
You don't falter this time. You don't stop.
Are you sure?
Are you?
You are. And when the blade of your bow strikes Heldalf's hand, you feel that old, steady presence wrap around you one last time, as he's purified, freed, killed. He's gone, gone forever, and all you can do is scream and cry through your pain.
The fight isn't over, but oh, oh, you wish it was.
staff
With his last breath, with the sacrificed blood upon the altar, he curses a man named Heldalf-
"Oh ye who brought us this misfortune... I grant thee eternal solitude! Heldalf... live now and forever in a hell of your own making."]
daisy chain
A young Mikleo sitting in the grass, quietly humming fragments of a particular tune. Sorey of a similar age rushing over with a sloshing bucket in hand. The air smells fresh and clean, the wind blowing across the mountain; there's a protective domain of Zenrus permeating through the whole area that neither notice because it's all they've ever known, but any observer might feel it, that quiet sense of peace, safety, something spiritual and holy.
The two bicker lightly and pointlessly, as they always have and always will. Sorey leans in, eager and excited, as Mikleo parts his bangs to reveal his circlet, just barely big enough now for it to fit on him properly.
"How come you get one and I don't?"
"Dummy, it's because it was on me when Gramps found us."
"I know that. I was just wondering."
"You're jealous of my treasure."
The children argue, then wrestle together, tickling and laughing until Mikleo surrenders.
"Here, close your eyes. ...Don't look at me like that, just for a minute!"
And then the soft rustle of grass and flowers against hair as Mikleo sets a woven crown on Sorey's head, a treasure of his very own.
"Thank you, thank you, Mikleo! It'll be my treasure, too!"
"...W-well... it better be... I worked hard on it, you know."]
dragon horn
"Why are you here, Mikleo?! Go away!"
"You know why. Why are you!?"
"You were right all along, mortals, humans, we're just- we're all just rotten. I thought we could be better but I was wrong."
"Sorey. Please. Come back... come back, so we can handle this together."
"How many mistakes? How many, huh? These mistakes are lives lost, and dreams shattered and- these aren't just mistakes!"
They begin to fight, wrestling inelegantly in the storm, Sorey's sword against Mikleo's staff. A third person enters the fray, blocking Mikleo from Sorey's attacks- a silver-and-green haired man in dark clothes and a hat. His voice rings out over the wind, shoving Sorey back, on the defense. He's hunched over, struggling just as much in the swelling darkness.
"If you really hate what you're doing-- then stop doing it!"
At last Zaveid joints them, standing with Dezel and Mikleo, all three facing off against Sorey. Despite the numbers, they have the look of people fighting a battle they've already lost. The dark, choking mist surrounding the area is weighing on them so heavily they can barely stand.
"You know we're here too, with you. We just want to help. All you need to do is come back."
There's a moment, almost like a held breath shared amongst all four of them. The briefest of instances where it seems, somehow, that this can end here, without another fight, without loss, without more pain. There's a plea in the howling wind, an aching feeling.
no, no, no
don't give up
I need you
please come back
Suddenly the darkness swallows Sorey whole, and the wisps of it abruptly blast outwards like a shockwave that nearly bowls them over. Fighting against it, Mikleo somehow rises to his feet, facing off against the devouring cloud. He screams, his voice barely audible over the wind.
"Get out of here!! Dezel-- break the pact!!"
And then he's running, running as fast as his legs will carry him. He runs straight into the shadows, and the whole world goes dark again. There is pain. There is screaming. There is an eerie crackling of bones breaking, growing, reshaping themselves.
There is a whisper, dark and cold in the wind--
filk
luzrov rulay
mine--
And the darkness parts like a curtain, revealing Sorey once more: cold, empty-eyed, affectionately petting the iridescent blue scales of a dragon.
"You're my one and only," he whispers. "I love you."
Mikleo's gone.]
model ship
The ship is real, now, no longer in a bottle but all around. Six people stand in a circle on the deck - Lup, Taako, two human men and one woman, and a dwarf. A gnome steers at the helm, apart but close by. Stars fly by the ship as it sails and in the distance, huge and overwhelming but mercifully leaving the ship alone is an enormous mass of black scarred by countless streaks of colours, tendrils slamming down on the world they're abandoning. Everyone is quiet, the atmosphere solemn and grim as they watch the destruction below.
Lup is the one who breaks the silence, first with a flippant joke-]
Listen. That stuff I was saying down there — that wasn’t just, that wasn’t just talk. I believe that, one of these times, we’re gonna get it right. And we’re gonna find a way to defeat the Hunger and... save everybody inside of it. I— I have to believe that, to keep doing what we do. Because I have to believe... that I’m gonna get... those fifteen dollars back from Greg fucking Grimaldis!
[-to make them all laugh and then, more quietly, to encourage them all to do better, to be better.]
Seriously, though, it got— we got dark down there. I— I know this journey’s been hard, and it’s only going to get harder, but we can’t allow ourselves to— to get to that place again. To even think about destroying an entire world. We need to promise each other, right now, we— we won’t let one another get to that place. Never again.
[She stretches a hand out, holding it in the air towards the center of the circle, her expression firm and urgent. She won't tolerate a repeat of what happened, no matter what. Slowly, one by one, they all join their hands with hers, echoing the sentiment in their own ways, and she smiles at them all. This is her family now, every single one of them, and she believes, she knows they can be better. She looks at Taako in particular and something shifts in her gaze, a look of understanding and forgiveness. He'd done something to earn her ire, but in the end he'd made it right again. She's glad, the relief in her expression plain as day. She hates feeling angry with him.
They all stand like that for a while as the ship flies further and further away, leaving the ruined plane behind them, and suddenly their bodies all dissolve into threads of light, carried off to separate corners of the ship. The cycle begins anew.
Here we go again.
And with one final flash of light, the memory is gone, and the kitchen is back.]
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?
red robe
-if the IPRE letters weren't there. Which. They were. Emblazoned across the wax-sealed envelopes, plain as day. "The Institute of Planer Research and Exploration". One for her, one for Taako. She does not open them, not even her own. She sits down on the bed with them, and she waits quietly, fingers twisting together, stress permeating the whole room.
what if we didn't get in?
what if we fucked it up?
what if one of us got in and the other-
She replays the exam in her mind again, over and over, searching for any errors she could have made that would result in them denying her entry. She hadn't. She couldn't have. And Taako boasted that he'd done it perfectly as well, but he'd have done that anyway, even if he'd bungled it up. He wanted her to get in as much as she wanted him to.
fuck
fuck
we'll have to skip town again, we'll have to start over
This paranoia feeds her thoughts until the door opens and Taako joins her, bitching about work or some other nonsense until he catches sight of her expression, and the envelope in her hands. He freezes. Wordlessly she holds it up to him as he joins her on the bed. Silence lies thick like a blanket between them both, until finally Lup says, "Together, or not at all."
"Together, or not at all," is his echo, and as one they tear open the envelopes and draw out the letters to read the contents within. Lup's eyes scan the text until she finds the word she desperately needed to feel safe again. She looks up at the same time he does, frozen in shock for a moment. 3...2...1....
"Accepted!!" they shout at the same time, turning their letters towards one another- identical, save for the name attached. Taako lifts his hand for a high-five but she just lunges right at him, tackling him down against the bed, giggling wildly, her legs kicking as he laughingly protests. She knows he's full of shit- he's as happy as she is.
Accepted. Accepted. With full fucking scholarship. Their lives were going to change forever. Their lives were going to be amazing.
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.
grey goose
-and a memory.]
She's been dreading this part all day; it's been in the back of her mind all along, though she's done her best to suppress it and let Taako's surprises be her focus. He'd done so, so wonderfully. First that amazing breakfast in bed, then the water fight in the park, then the chance to set that shitty DMV ablaze, and now this: her favourite meal, with her favourite person. She'd never had a single doubt in her mind that he'd fail. He'd given her exactly what she'd asked him for, the best day ever. A perfect memory.
Now she owes him the truth.
"We're gonna become liches."
The words are hard to say aloud, and the reaction he gives in return - the one she knew was coming - is why. She can't blame him, because it is scary, even if she trusts the research they've done, trusts the method and the process and the notes and everything. Trusts the memories that the two of them have given her to protect her sanity. The danger is still very real- liches are dangerous, absurdly powerful. Liches are… monsters, in the technical sense. And if this goes wrong they could put the whole mission in jeopardy, ruin everything they've worked towards for eighty-two years.
It's why this day was so, so important.
"I love him, Taako, with all of my heart, but you… I needed a day from you because you are my heart. You know that, right?"
The ease with which he agrees warms her to the core, and she smiles softly as their hands entwine. Taako's half of who she is, her heart and her soul, and she knows she couldn't have chosen a better anchor. Even if he's scared - even if they both are, at least a little - she trusts in this bond they've carefully cultivated together over the last 200 years. She won't ever lose him. He won't ever lose her.
She accepts the bottle from him and downs the first swig without hesitation, glad to have it; with the stress of having to tell him finally eased, she can relax and enjoy the rest of her night with him. She can give Barry the go-ahead, they can retrieve the whale bone and prepare the ritual. They'll be changed, soon, but they won't be different. And long as she has him, as long as she has her other half, she knows she'll be able to hold on to her soul.
It'll be fine.
[When the memory ends, the bottle is half-empty. It hadn't lasted long that night.]
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.]
touching lich lup
And with that contact comes thoughts, unbidden and uncensored, like a rush of scattered emotions--
it's been so long
am i going crazy
taako?
don't even remember what i looked like
he can't hear me
back soon, my ass
i'm here!! i'm right here!!
sorry i'm so sorry
what did she do to you
i'm going to fucking kill them
eating something
a gentle, maternal hand brushes through [his] hair
skin pressed to [his] forehead, a friend's breath sharing [his] own
cautious fingers weave through [his], squeezing tightly
the soft lips of a lover on [his] cheek
It's gone as quickly as it came.]
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.]
music sheet
It's love.
The sheet music is covered in adjustments and corrections, notes transcribed and erased and re-written, two sets of handwriting peppering the margins, neat printed text alongside a scrawling cursive. The top of the page has half a dozen titles, most of them scratched out, the final one still with a question mark attached, undecided and ultimately irrelevant.
And as his eyes scan the page, the room bleeds into a memory-]
The sound of scales, rising and falling in tandem, from violin and piano fill the air of the music room, simple and predictable practice. Note, pause, note, pause, note, pause, note, pause, an unspoken agreement obviously made of when to shift and how, until- BRRRRNGHH goes a single piano note out of order, and the violin shrieks to a halt.
"Aw, shit, my bad," a heavyset, middle-aged man in glasses grimaces, lifting his hands into the air and away from the piano as a surrendering gesture. "Sorry, Lup."
Lup drops the violin from her chin to giggle at him, tucking it under her arm. "Were you looking for a key in the next room over, bud?"
"Nah, just- clumsy thumbs, I think." He gives them a wiggle. "Or just nerves. Feels like we've been at this for ages and I still have no idea what I'm doin' here."
She considers him for a moment, taking in the way he fidgets, the obviously nervous lilt in his tone, then she sets down her violin and walks over to him, plopping down onto the bench at his side. "Here." She takes his hands, resting them against the keys, and softly shifts his fingers into position before resting her own on the opposite end of the piano. "You and Magnus both- you love to hit hard, and I get it, but this is art, not fighting. Relax your fingers, be gentle with those ivories. They didn't do squat to deserve the beating you're trying to give 'em. The notes'll come easier and you'll move faster, too."
They work through a fresh set of scales, and he watches her hands move over the keys rather than his own; as they play in tandem, one high and one low, the synchronization is back, same as it had been with the violin, but softer this time. His hands on the keys are gentle, and very soon his posture relaxes, too. The tension between his shoulders ease, the crease of his brow irons out. And Lup? She's... warm. As she moves her hands their arms brush together, and the distance when they move away again is palpable, uncomfortably so. It's difficult to focus on moving from note to note but she pushes through, trying not to linger on these feelings and what they imply. This is still the mission. It's always been the mission.
When they stop she finds him staring at her, a confused and awe-struck gaze that she meets for barely a second or two before dropping her eyes, oddly self-conscious at his scrutiny. "Lup...?"
She moves her hands away from the keys, toying with her hair instead, fixing some unseen out-of-place lock of it as she attempts an explanation. "...There was... this one caravan Taako and I traveled with, for like, half a year- they landed a long gig in some town and decided to set up a whole tavern instead of using the wagons. They ran nightly performances, Taako did his thing in the kitchen, and I tried my hand at bartending and bouncing for a while." She gives the air a few playful mock-jabs- to make it clear that bouncing was the much bigger draw for her. "On quiet nights I spent a lot of time watching the band, mostly the guy on piano. We got talking, and he showed me how."
He opens his mouth, as if to ask something, then stops to reconsider, opting instead with, "Wait, wait, wait. If you already knew the basics, why didn't you pick piano? You'd be ahead of the game here, and if we wanna get the light..."
He trails off as she shakes her head, lip curving upwards. "Gimme your hand." When he holds it up, she presses her palm against his, fingers stretched up towards his own, and her tips barely reach halfway. He's always been a big guy, but his expression is still somewhat surprised when he sees how much his hand dwarfs her own. "You've got piano hands, my dude. Mine are too small, can't really go from one end to the other. Doesn't suit me."
She lets her hand linger against his; suddenly and inexplicably, she's reluctant to move away from that point of contact. He's redfaced and stunned until she snaps out of it and pulls back, at which point he stammers, "Th-that's not true. Elise, that girl always fighting with me over practice times- she's got tiny hands and she plays just fine."
"You noticed her hands? Got your eyes on her, do ya?" she quirks a brow at him, and when he stutters a protest she laughs and leans in, bumping against him playfully. "Relax, I'm just razzing you. I know I could play- it's a convenient excuse." She uses one hand to slowly play another upward scale along the white keys. "I like the violin. The piano's... too big. I wanted something I could take with me, to remember moments like this."
She smiles up at him, and after a moment, his cheeks pink, he tentatively smiles back.
Months later they stand at the center of a beautiful, ornate white stage, dressed to the nines, he at a grand piano and Lup with her violin. They play a love song, a duet, and every note is perfect and practiced, synchronized as if they'd been doing this their entire lives, as if this is what they were born for. The sound echoes through the valley surrounding their stage and the audience watching is silent, attentive and in awe of the music they've crafted together. When they finish the noise of cheering is practically deafening, and when he takes her hand in his, she very suddenly realizes that she never wants him to let go.
And when he doesn't let go, she realizes that he wants that, too.
[As the memory fades, the top of the page has a title now, no more scratched out words, no more question marks. Written in the elegant curve, in Elvish, are the words, "Hello, Love" for those who can read the language. The signatures of Barry J. Bluejeans and Lup are beneath it.]
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.]
HUGTOPIA MEMORIES: LUP
a mother forgotten (no CW)
The scene of this memory is... blurry. Bits and pieces of it are fuzzy, making it difficult to see many of the details. It looks like a kitchen of simple and uniform design. It smells sweet and the air is warm. Four chairs are placed around an old wooden table and one is occupied by you, who are quietly watching an adult female elf wrap a bandage around your small leg. Something is odd about her face, shifting and coalescing, features changing from moment to moment. One second she looks exactly like Lup, the next she looks older, then younger, then her nose is bigger or her eyes are a different colour. The child in the memory never notices the changes.
"Mama? Is Koko gonna be okay?" You whisper in a child's voice. Your shoulders hunch, fear audible in your voice.
Your mother hums. Unlike her features, her voice rings through clearly enough. She sounds fairly young. "He'll be fine, sweetie. His cut was deeper than yours, so Papa wants someone else to make sure it'll heal safe. You'll see him tomorrow."
You are quiet again, eyes shifting to the window, waiting. There's another wave of anxiety, mingling with frustration. Tomorrow is too long. He'd been crying, he'll be lonely. "Can we go there too?"
The elf woman sighs. "I'm working tomorrow. It'll be hard enough with your father…" She trails off, then looks up. Her face blurs, there and gone and back again, and she smiles and brushes a hand through your hair. Warm. "Sorry, honey. We can't go tonight, it's almost bedtime."
"I don't care about bedtime, I-"
"The answer is no." Silence follows the stern scolding, and her mother returns to quietly bandaging her leg until she can fasten it shut and relax, leaning in to kiss your forehead. "I know you want to see him. I'm certain he'll be missing you, too. But the roads are dangerous at night, and he and your father will want you safe too, don't you think? They'll be at your auntie's tonight." She's quiet a moment, studying your expression, and then sighs and murmurs, "How about sending a message, then?"
Your eyes widen, feeling instantly relieved, and your mother goes to fetch a quill from a locked box and offer it out to you. You focus intently on it for a long moment, then call out, "Taako? How are you feeling, are you okay? Is your leg gonna fall off? It better not! Um- Mama and me just wanna say goodnight! Come home soon!" The spell winks out a few words early, but you don't notice; your eyes are closed, waiting for a response. You hear a sleepy, unhappy voice in your head mumble a response, and you feel instantly better.
When your eyes open again, it's as if the world belongs to you. "He's okay! They're still with the healer. He says goodnight and that you gotta teach me how to count better."
Her mother laughs, loud and relieved, and trades the quill for a warm, soft cookie. A hand brushes a hand through your hair as you take a huge bite and grin with chocolate in your teeth.
gold and blue (no CW in the memory)
"You have the requested items?" You nod and hand the bag over, and wait as he opens it to examine its contents. Coins jingle as he fishes two small bottles out and shakes the rest. Satisfied with his findings, he passes the bag to an assistant who'd followed him inside and gestures to the carpeted floor. "Sit down. We are not to be disturbed for an hour, after which the change will be permanent. This is your last chance: are you certain?"
Silence greets him, broken only by the weak, shuddering breath you take. You open your mouth, then hesitate. Your hand clutches that of the boy beside you more tightly than before.
"Lulu, you got this," he whispers. You look over at him, eyes wide, frightened. "We got this."
You let go of his hand only to fling your arms around him, clinging tightly. While you hug him, you finally call out, "I'm sure. I'm ready."
You sit down together as he arranges the bottles, holding them in one hand while he waves a candle with the other, smoke wafting through the air. A bolt of arcane energy flies towards you and hits you in the chest, but you make no move to dodge or resist it. You close your eyes, holding fast to the boy's hand, and wait. Nothing discernable happens, but after a few seconds you gasp and hunch over, trembling. You feel different. Your body has changed, your body is-
He calls you quietly, mindful of the wizard's scrutinizing gaze. He looks defensive now, angry on your behalf. "Lulu, are you okay? Do you want to-"
"No," you mutter, and when you look up at him you are smiling, tears of relief in your eyes. "No, it's just… it feels right. It feels just like it should, I think."
You close your eyes again, content for the first time in what feels like ages. Together with him, hand in hand, you wait; fifty-nine minutes and counting.
greg fucking grimaldis
You see a spaceship, the size of a large yacht with an open deck, a soft magical shield protecting it from the galaxy beyond its border. The back of the ship thrums with energy, a circle of light with rings spinning around it to keep it moving steadily through the stars. Six people stand in a circle on the deck - yourself, Taako, two human men and one woman, and a dwarf. A gnome steers at the helm, apart but close by. Stars fly by the ship as it sails and in the distance, huge and overwhelming but mercifully leaving the ship alone, is an enormous mass of blackness scarred by countless streaks of colours, tendrils slamming down on the world they're abandoning. Everyone is quiet, the atmosphere solemn and grim as they watch the destruction below.
You are the one who breaks the silence, first with a flippant joke-]
Listen. That stuff I was saying down there — that wasn’t just, that wasn’t just talk. I believe that, one of these times, we’re gonna get it right. And we’re gonna find a way to defeat the Hunger and... save everybody inside of it. I— I have to believe that, to keep doing what we do. Because I have to believe... that I’m gonna get... those fifteen dollars back from Greg fucking Grimaldis!
[-to make them all laugh and then, more quietly, to encourage them all to do better, to be better.]
Seriously, though, it got— we got dark down there. I— I know this journey’s been hard, and it’s only going to get harder, but we can’t allow ourselves to— to get to that place again. To even think about destroying an entire world. We need to promise each other, right now, we— we won’t let one another get to that place. Never again.
[You stretch a hand out, holding it in the air towards the center of the circle, your expression firm and urgent. You won't tolerate a repeat of what happened, no matter what. Slowly, one by one, they all join their hands with yours, echoing the sentiment in their own ways, and you smile at them all. This is your family now, every single one of them, and you believe, you know they can be better. You looks at Taako in particular and something shifts in your gaze, a look of understanding and forgiveness. He'd done something to earn your ire, but in the end he'd made it right again. You're glad, the relief in your expression plain as day. You hate feeling angry with him.
You all stand like that for a while as the ship flies further and further away, leaving the ruined plane behind you, and suddenly their bodies all dissolve into threads of light, yours included, carried off to separate corners of the ship. The cycle begins anew.
Here we go again.]
grey goose
You've been dreading this part all day; it's been in the back of your mind all along, though you've done your best to suppress it and let Taako's surprises be your focus. He'd done so, so wonderfully. First that amazing breakfast in bed, then the water fight in the park, then the chance to set that shitty DMV ablaze, and now this: your favourite meal, with your favourite person. You'd never had a single doubt in your mind that he'd fail. He'd given you exactly what you'd asked him for, the best day ever. A perfect memory.
Now you owe him the truth.
"We're gonna become liches."
The words are hard to say aloud, and the reaction he gives in return - the one you knew was coming - is why. You can't blame him, because it is scary, even if you trust the research you've done, trust the method and the process and the notes and everything. Trust the memories that the two of them have given you to protect your sanity. The danger is still very real- liches are dangerous, absurdly powerful. Liches are… monsters, in the technical sense. And if this goes wrong you could put the whole mission in jeopardy, ruin everything you've worked towards for eighty-two years.
It's why this day was so, so important.
"I love him, Taako, with all of my heart, but you… I needed a day from you because you are my heart. You know that, right?"
The ease with which he agrees warms you to the core, and you smile softly as your hands entwine. Taako's half of who you are, your heart and your soul, and you know you couldn't have chosen a better anchor. Even if he's scared - even if you both are, at least a little - you trust in this bond you've carefully cultivated together over the last 200+ years. You won't ever lose him. He won't ever lose you.
You accept the bottle of alcohol from him and down the first swig without hesitation, glad to have it; with the stress of having to tell him finally eased, you can relax and enjoy the rest of your night with him. You can give Barry the go-ahead, you can retrieve the whale bone and prepare the ritual. You'll be changed, soon, but you won't be different. And long as you have him, as long as you have your other half, you know you'll be able to hold on to your soul.
It'll be fine.
music of the heart
"Aw, shit, my bad," a barrel-chested, middle-aged man in glasses grimaces, lifting his hands into the air and away from the piano as a surrendering gesture. "Sorry 'bout that."
You drop the violin from your chin to giggle at him, tucking it under your arm. "Were you looking for a key in the next room over, bud?"
"Nah, just- clumsy thumbs, I think." He gives them a wiggle. "Or just nerves. Feels like we've been at this for ages and I still have no idea what I'm doin' here."
You consider him for a moment, taking in the way he fidgets, the obviously nervous lilt in his tone, then you set down your violin and walk over to him, plopping down onto the bench at his side. "Here." You take his hands, resting them against the keys, and softly shift his fingers into position before setting your own down on the opposite end of the piano. "You and Magnus both- you love to hit hard, and I get it, but this is art, not fighting. Relax your fingers, be gentle with those ivories. They didn't do squat to deserve the beating you're trying to give 'em. The notes'll come easier and you'll move faster, too."
You work through a fresh set of scales with him, and he watches your hands move over the keys rather than his own; as you play in tandem, one high and one low, the synchronization is back, same as it had been with the violin, but softer this time. His hands on the keys become more gentle, and very soon his posture relaxes, too. The tension between his shoulders ease, the crease of his brow irons out. And you? You're... warm. As you move your hands, your arm brushes against his, and the distance when you move away again is palpable, uncomfortably so. It's difficult to focus on moving from note to note but you push through, trying not to linger on these feelings and what they imply. This is still the mission. It's always been the mission.
When you stop you find him staring at you, a confused and awe-struck gaze that you meet for barely a second or two before dropping your eyes, oddly self-conscious at his scrutiny. "You..."
You move your hands away from the keys, toying with your hair instead, fixing some unseen out-of-place lock of it as you attempt an explanation. "...There was... this one caravan Taako and I traveled with, for like, half a year- they landed a long gig in some town and decided to set up a whole tavern instead of using the wagons. They ran nightly performances, Taako did his thing in the kitchen, and I tried my hand at bartending and bouncing for a while." You give the air a few playful mock-jabs- to make it clear that bouncing was the much bigger draw for you. "On quiet nights I spent a lot of time watching the band, mostly the guy on piano. We got talking, and he showed me how."
He opens his mouth, as if to ask something, then stops to reconsider, opting instead with, "Wait, wait, wait. If you already knew the basics, why didn't you pick piano? You'd be ahead of the game here, and if we wanna get the light..."
He trails off as you shake your head, lip curving upwards. "Gimme your hand." When he holds it up, you press your palm against his, fingers stretched up towards his own, and your tips barely reach halfway. He's always been a big guy, but his expression is still somewhat surprised when he sees how much his hand dwarfs your own. "You've got piano hands, my dude. Mine are too small, can't really go from one end to the other. Doesn't suit me."
You let your hand linger against his; suddenly and inexplicably, you're reluctant to move away from that point of contact. He's redfaced and stunned until you snap out of it and pull back, at which point he stammers, "Th-that's not true. Elise, that girl always fighting with me over practice times- she's got tiny hands and she plays just fine."
"You noticed her hands? Got your eyes on her, do ya?" you quirk a brow at him, and when he stutters a protest you laugh and lean in, bumping against him playfully. "Relax, I'm just razzing you. I know I could play- it's a convenient excuse." You use one hand to slowly play another upward scale along the white keys. "I like the violin. The piano's... too big. I wanted something I could take with me, to remember moments like this."
You smile up at him, and after a moment, his cheeks pink, he tentatively smiles back. Something in your heart flutters in a way you've never felt before, and it frightens you as much as it warms you right to the core. Oh no, you think. Oh no.
How wonderful.