He nodded, soon following the other noting the kettle and pulling two crates out. One which the spy sat on, he motioned for the other to sit, his own back leaning against he wall, hands folded on one knee as his foot rest on his other knee.
“That’s alright,” he waved his hand slightly, indicating that the spy didn’t have to worry about that.
“You’ve perked my interests still. Tell me anything more you know about Mathieu. Since, I admit, he’ll probably not tell me much. Even if we are such good friends.”
That gets a laugh from the man, and its about this point that Toby may notice the two slits in the back of his suit around the shoulder area. The fabric only parts a little when he raises or spreads his arms, giving a glimpse of skin color and black?
“Now why would I give you information on Mathieu? Come now, you know how this works~ You need to give a little more than what you’ve told me before I’m going to part with anything such as that.”
(Source: bloodstained-glasswindow)
“I have. I got him a weapon to defend himself with if he ever needs to… something that will at least do damage to supernatural beings.” Diethelm would understand if he were poked with it - it wasn’t deadly, but it would give a very nasty painful shock to supernaturals it cut. Kind of like a magical electric rod. It would be enough to make anyone think twice about continuing after the kid.He hadn’t thought of making it a dream. That would make the experience and explanation so much easier. Especially if he could just talk to him mentally, where he had more power than Marcel did.
“…If you want to stay in my shadow until we find a way to get you a physical form, I would be glad to be your host.” His smile is wider, more natural as he brushes back some of his hair. Then frowns at the smear of blood he can feel on his cheeks. “Ugh… I need a shower or a washcloth. I’m a mess.”
Hope y’ showed him how t’ use it. I dunno about your childhood, but kids ain’t really that great t’ defendin’ themselves. ‘Specially with weapons n’ shit.
But the offer of a host takes him by surprise. I mean, yea he’d love to, but it still seemed kinda a big deal to him. (Technically, a shadow ain’t nothing, but that’s besides the point. He was lettin’ him stick around and that in itself was fuckin’ great.)
Uh… yeah sure. Sounds good. Ain’t got alotta options anyway, so might as well, right? Just uh… make sure y’ castin’ a shadow, okay? But if y’ wanna take a shower go ahead. I won’t look or nothin’. It grins.
“Mm… I haven’t. I probably should, but it’s pretty basic - stick pointy end in skin, watch attacker writhe in pain and run. It’s too tiny to really be able to fight with otherwise.” The shirt is stripped off and sent to the floor, left for the maids to pick up and launder. He unzips as he heads for the bathroom, glancing back at the form on the wall and suddenly giving it a half lidded smirk. “You can look if you want. It’s not like I’ve got anything I want to hide.” And those leather wrapped legs waltz right on into the bathroom, shadow shifting to move with the new sources of light.
The fingers touch stone, but for a second Destan pretended he felt something. And it was more comforting than anything else.
It weren’t your duty to get me back. He says gently. Ain’t nothin’ you coulda done past that. N’ besides, ain’t like I never drifted off before right? And ain’t like I was never likely t’ come back. Can’t get rid’a me you lot.
The shade grins. Sorry t’ say, but y’ stuck with me.
Its smile fades into something uncomfortable, and you have the feeling the shade’s a little embarrassed. Or put out at least.
Pft. Sparkly bastard carin’ that bad ‘bout me? Yeah. I’ll bet.
Besides, the guy wouldn’t even damn look at him when Yivon brought him up t’ see him. Couldn’t say he blamed the guy though. He was right careless n’ dyin was sorta his own damn fault anyway. Diet was probably pissed at him n’ he had every right t’ be. He changes the subject before he can dwell further.
Nah. Yellin’s a’right. M’ used t’ it. N’ s’ best you got it outta your system, right? Ain’t nothin’ like some therapeutic yellin’. And Marcel… if you ain’t upt’ it … I dunno, do that mind thing on him when he ain’t lookin’ r’ while he’s sleepin’. ‘F he’s really linked t’ all this, m’ sure it’;s buried someplace in his psyche r’ somethin’. He might take it better r’ something. Worth a shot. The shade shrugs.
Apologies r’ nice, but make sure y’ show y’ sorry s’ well. He says, and if he could, he probably would have pat the guy on the shoulder.
But ya know if y’ feel that bad about Anatole, might s’ well make it up t’ his incarnation, dontcha think? A kid right? He’s still got his whole life ahead f’ him without any f’ that shit tyin’ him down, right?
“I have. I got him a weapon to defend himself with if he ever needs to… something that will at least do damage to supernatural beings.” Diethelm would understand if he were poked with it - it wasn’t deadly, but it would give a very nasty painful shock to supernaturals it cut. Kind of like a magical electric rod. It would be enough to make anyone think twice about continuing after the kid.
He hadn’t thought of making it a dream. That would make the experience and explanation so much easier. Especially if he could just talk to him mentally, where he had more power than Marcel did.
“…If you want to stay in my shadow until we find a way to get you a physical form, I would be glad to be your host.” His smile is wider, more natural as he brushes back some of his hair. Then frowns at the smear of blood he can feel on his cheeks. “Ugh… I need a shower or a washcloth. I’m a mess.”
He honestly couldn’t make heads or tails of any of this. And, truth be told, he was fucking suspicious as shit. But there was little reason for the man before him to lie, wasn’t there? He had no quarrel with Anatole as far as he remembered, so if this was done out of nothing but necessity, why… did he still feel so goddamn sorry for himself?
Still, he probably owed the guy an apology, he reflects, as the fire rages and the man rages and everything burns red hot anger. He was right. He probably couldn’t imagine what the heck it musta been like. And though he was kinda linked to his Origin, he never woulda guessed. (Nor would he have imagined that small part of his head tucked away would be something like that.)
So, saviour of the waking world then huh. He mutters. S’that why you’re still cut up about it? If y’did the right thing, why’re y’ still so goddamn depressed about it?
He probably should have asked questions. But hey, there was little Etienne could probably do to him right now, being a shadow on the wall. Could rip out the heart and destroy it, but it wouldn’t make no difference to him. That wasn’t his anymore.
But he wonders why these guys always meddled. They had no business nor cause getting’ involved. But he supposes it just sucked in one person after the other until it just-
Ended up this way.
But he waits for the guy to calm down before speaking again.
If y’ are ‘cos y’ feel guilty, then don’t. If y’ speakin’ true, y’ did the right thing. Ain’t no two ways about it.
N’ I guess I should say thank you, huh? He sighs
M’ pretty sure he would have if what you say’s true. I mean, I ain’t even gonna think about what the guy went through, but I know the feelin’ f’ being jerked around n’ bein’ told you can’t do shit with yer life ‘cos you weren’t supposed t’ have on in th’ first place. Not t’ mention I’m kinda part f’ th’ guy s’ well. But I ain’t sayin’ it’s anywhere near t’ what he probably had t’ go through. Musta been fuckin’ with his head constantly. Musta been fuckin’ tired of everythin’. So thanks at least fer doin’ that. Ya didn’t have to. But y’ did. N’ I appreciate it. N’ m’ sorry fer sayin’ anything otherwise.
He seems to take a long moment, as if thinking of what he’s about to say next however.
I recon. He starts slowly. You should probably let Marcel know exac’ly what y’ yelled at me. Minus th’ yellin’. He’s an understandin’ guy yaknow. N’ stronger than y’ probably give him credit for. He’ll probably get fuckin’ depressed, but how’s he not gonna make th’ same make th’ same mistake ‘nless he’s told what happened before?
His steps are leaden, but he manages to walk up to the curtain, reaching up to touch the side of the shadowed cheek as if he could caress it.
“Because I failed to get you back. Diethelm… He was hurt when you didn’t come back. I don’t know if you understand just how much you mean to him. He… doesn’t let people in easily. Doesn’t forgive easily either.”
His eyes trail down to the floor, grief welling up again. “I should. Maybe explain it in something a little less guilt tripping, but yes. Mmmh… I could just… let him access the memory itself. It’s not like it would be that hard, now that he’s in the family.”
There’s a tenuous smile now as he looks back up at Destan. “I’m sorry for yelling. Actually.. what you told me was probably the best thing you could have done. I needed a slap like that. And… As for Anatole, I… I can’t stand to see the people I care about suffer. Even…” He sighs. ” I should apologise to Diethelm too… I’ve put him through so much shit over the past year.” Maybe then I can actually start healing the damage I’ve done to our relationship.
Relief was quickly smothered by utter confusion.
Generations?
….What?
How… wait, had they been alive for longer than he.. thought they were or something? But they both seemed so… well, young. And mortal. Weren’t they?
(Considering where he came from, he supposed that was a stupid assumption. And considering the shit that went down even back at base, he shouldn’t have thought it was that simple.)
Wait, wait, wait. Back up. ‘Circle of agony’? ‘Generations’? What are you even talkin’ about?
He hovers about the other man as he falls to the ground, his hands coming up before realising there is little he can do. Little he can touch.
And then.
It drops.
He felt the guy dying but he always figured it was something stupid or something he couldn’t help or he just up and left one day. But-
You- Killed him?? Killed him for what? Weren’t he not at the killing other people stage yet? Weren’t he doin’ okay for a crazy guy? Don’t see us all up ‘n arms when anyone else goes fer a dip off the deep end.
He was fuckin’ pissed. Of course he was. But he could at least understand why he didn’t wanna tell Marcel nothin’ of this. It woulda… really killed the guy. And as shaky their relationship was (a thin line bound together by someone who was fucking- oh god he needed to sit down) he guess he still owed it to the guy to at least… feel bad for him, right?
Well done you then. He hisses. Congrats n’ all that fuckin’ shit. Killed him ‘n shoved him inter a bot n’ then decided ter mess about with our meatsuits huh? But hey, guess I shouldn’t be too sore about it since I was dead right?And now yer walkin’ around with a bit f’ me in yer fuckin’ chest n’ who knows what’s been transmittin back. Ten fuckin’ points fer fuckin’ result.
Why his heart of all things? Why him? Why kill the guy? Coulda locked him up or something, right? Couldn’t they just, I dunno, Burn the fucking gate? Goddamit, there were too many things he wanted t’ ask but he definitely weren’t in the right state of mind to ask them.
Oh, so y’ felt bad n’ took a long nap, boo fuckin’ hoo. What, y’ want me t’ feel sorry fer ya r’ somethin’? Ain’t y’ gonna fuckin’ man up n’ fuckin’ deal? Okay yeah, y’ fucked up but stop feelin’ so goddamn sorry for yerself. Ain’t provin’ nothin’ t’ no-one or doin’ anyone any favours n’ I certainly ain’t gonna feel fuckin’ sorry for ya. I’m dead remember?
Swear to god if he had a physical body he’d punch the self-pitying fucker in the goddamn throat.
A kid? Who gives a shit, he’d deal with that info later. For now, he’s hissing and spitting and really, really fuckin’ pissed.
Each word.
Hurt.
As a searing blade burning into ragged scars.
“SHUT UP!”
And everything exploded in violence.
The fireplace burns with royal luminance, throwing everything into stark contrasts of lavender and black. He’s on his feet, an unearthly wind whipping his clothes and hair about, blowing his feathers out in full wingspan. Screaming at the shadow on the curtain.
“YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT BEING TORN FROM YOUR LIFE AND FORCED INTO A BODY TO BE SOMEONE ELSE. YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT COMING BACK TO SERVE THE SAME PERSON OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN, WANTING TO REST BUT NEVER BEING ALLOWED TO BECAUSE THAT MAN CAN NEVER LET YOU GO. MARCEL’S SPIRITUAL ANCESTOR FORCED ANATOLE INTO LIFE AND BOUND HIS SPIRIT TO HIM BECAUSE HE COULDN’T LET GO OF THE PERSON’S DEATH.
I RELIVED IT, DESTAN. I WATCHED THEM AS THEY PLAYED THE EXACT SAME FUCKING ROLES OVER AND OVER, ACTING OUT THE SAME SCRIPT AND ENDING AND BEGINNING AND ENDING AND AD INFINITUM. I GOT TO EXPERIENCE EACH TIME ANATOLE WAS DENIED PEACE, WHILE MARCEL DIED AND REINCARNATED AND CAME BACK AND EACH FUCKING TIME ANATOLE RETURNED TO HIS SIDE BECAUSE HE COULD DO NOTHING ELSE. HE WAS A SLAVE. EVERY TIME HE ASKED MARCEL’S SPIRIT IF HE COULD PASS ON, AND MARCEL WOULD ALWAYS SAY NO. CAN YOU EVEN COMPREHEND IN THE SLIGHTEST HOW HORRIBLE IT IS TO BE CONSTANTLY DENIED YOUR OWN DEATH? ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU WERE FORCED INTO LIFE AGAINST YOUR OWN WILL?
Don’t you dare tell me I didn’t do every single fucking thing I could to get you back. I took your heart in the hopes of bringing you back through your memory imprints. I tried to find any other way to get the mirror to leave us alone. But when I saw just how much agony Anatole was going through, how he was starting to remember the cycles of himself and Marcel and their sick little dance, I knew something had to be done. When Marcel’s ancestor ripped him out of the mirror, he tore a part of the reality itself from that realm. He wasn’t whole. He was a substitute for someone who was already long gone, and he was never allowed to die.” The fire dies down, though it is a sullen flame that now burns in there. “I gave him peace, Destan… I gave him what Marcel would not. I wish there had been another way, that I knew how to bring you from the mirror and put you back where you belonged. But I didn’t. I did what I could.”
And like that, all the hurt and anger drains from his form. His wings fold back, eyes closing as his head tilts forward and tears flow freely, drips staining the front of his white shirt with crimson dots.
“How was I supposed to know you were still trapped in the mirror? It had stopped functioning. I thought you were gone.”
Oh.
Well.
Uh… shit.
Okay…. He starts slowly. So Anatole finally cracked up, n’ started killin’ shit like he wanted to even though that’s pretty fuckin’ shitty of him. N’ got addicted or somethin? Didn’t think he was one fer substance abuse r’ nothin’. His head was blowin’ up with somethin’ or someother… Right?
N’ then… relfections n’ dopplegangers n’ shit turned up, n’ I remember that deal with th’ sparkly bastard since I got left behind at that point.
And… he went back in?
He looks a little bitter (?)Idiot. Told him I’d be fuckin’ okay. Not t’ be ungrateful r’ nothin’, but I woulda been fine.
Probably.
Yeah… nah, not really.But Marcel didn’t know shit? Musta… been real hard on his Origin not to let anything show. And he’d be the first to admit that both of them shared that trait at least. Weren’t too keen on fronting shit that was wrong with them. Especially to people they fuckin’ cared about.
Violent? Like… what, was he tryin’ t’ kill youse r’ somethin? A shock to him actually. For all his control he would have never allowed this to go down.
…Unless he was tired and desperate and losing his mind that is.
Poor bastard.
But he feels a cold trickle in his being at the other’s closing words, as he trails off and fails to look at him.
What else could… he do?
What…
W.. what did y’ do?
“No… but he wasn’t far from making that step. What would stop him from crossing the fine line between a mirror image and the native form?” He shakes his head, turning fully around and facing the shadow on the bed curtains. His eyes drip crimson and violet, firelight glinting at odd intervals over the scarlet tinted sclera. “The mirror wanted to be whole again. Degare was the arm reaching to pull Anatole back, but it didn’t know how to exactly. I… I figured out how. Only I knew how to fix the circle of agony that Marcel and Anatole had been playing out for generations.” Slowly, he sinks to the floor, hugging one knee and staring at the curve of mouth he could see in his shadow.
The next words are forced around a quaver and halting breaths. “I… murdered Anatole, and I killed Degare. I-I was left holding two corpses, and I knew there was nothing I could do to bring you back. I thought… I though the mirror ate you too, and all I could do was… I don’t k-know what I did, how I explained it to Marcel. I know I didn’t tell him the truth, that would have broken him. I found plans that Anatole made to put a respawn chip in a robot, and I… I tore into both of your chests. His chip went into the robot.. and I took your heart to keep your chip intact. Forced my own blood through the dying flesh to keep it alive longer. I visited the lobster and had her preserve the chip properly, so nothing would be lost. I… I defiled your corpses to save those chips, and kept your heart for myself because I couldn’t just put it back. What would be the point of it, you didn’t care, you were dead!
“I… I shut down after that.” Now he was shivering, hearts pounding in his chest as he chokes on harsh sobs. “I couldn’t handle it, I tried. I tried to keep going, to stay strong and be with my family, but it was agony. I sought comfort outside of the castle, alienated myself from Diethelm and our son. I neglected everything. F-Finally I… I went comatose. I just woke up a week ago, and Diethelm wants nothing to do with me. Marcel’s a vampire too, now, and Anatole’s spirit has been reborn, the cycle broken. He… he’s a child now, no recollection of anything.” He looks up at Destan and smiles, chuckling in bitter notes. “He likes dinosaurs. Absolutely adores the things. He’s… almost a splitting image of Anatole, but so young. So innocent…”
The shadow doesn’t seem to notice the tears for now.
Well shit. It mutters instead. At least it got someplace else I guess. But that’s gonna make it annoyin’ fer me t’ figure out.
But he listens for the most part. Something taking over his body huh? Wow, he didn’t like t’ think about that actually. But as long as it didn’t cause shit or nothin’.
He assumed it hadn’t since there wasn’t anythin’ mentioned to him about it.
Hopefully.
But there was still… something bothering him.
Okay… uh… So I’m gonna assume whatever was usin’ me body’s long gone r’ dead. But uh… what happened?
Not to mention why he attacked the Etienne’s shadow of all people, but he doubted the dude knew anything about that.
“Oh god… What didn’t happen?” He wipes his eyes with his fingertips, pulling them away to glance at the smears. “Anatole became obsessed with immortality and the mirror, withdrawing from everyone. He started having crippling headaches, downing pills nearly constantly, and writing down equations to… something. His crab robot, he’d send it into the mirror to bring back shadows from beyond the frame, experiment with them. I don’t know if he realized he was killing them, or if he cared. Funny, considering he was one of them…
“As the mirror’s influence grew beyond, Diethelm was lured inside. Out here, a doppelganger took his place and caused havoc. Seems there’s a rule for passing between, where there must be a swap to keep the figurative balance between the two realms. He was curious, but he was mostly looking for you. I… I don’t think the mirror, or someone who lived in it, liked him. He was nearly trapped until I enlisted the crabbot to help rescue him.
“After that, we avoided going inside again… but by that point I had perfected my ability to mentally dive into another’s mind. I… I used it on Degare when it refused to tell me what was going on, ripped the answers from its memories. With Marcel oblivious, Anatole growing violent, and my love unable to handle the frame for much longer… What else could I do?” He falls silent, seemingly reluctant to continue on with the story.
-writes two page long response to post-
-hits publish-
-chrome page crashes-
Weeeeeell… technically I was. He says, causing Etienne’s shadow to shrug.
For a bit. But I guess somethin’ gave n’ somethin’ decided they didn’t need me anymore. So I got spat out or somethin’ n’ woke up in that place behind the frame n’ spent a real long time tryin’ t’ figure out how t’ do this at least. He gestures to himself, and the shadow ripples slightly.
Ain’t th’ best arrangement, but t’ least m’ able t’ talk t’ you lot now. And don’t even ask me what happened t’ me body. I have no idea where that fuckin’ thing’s gotten ta.
“…It’s gone. Marcel sent it back to the sea…” Fuck, there’s the tears - little red rivulets that crawl down his cheeks and either side of his nose. But not here. He couldn’t break down just in a random hallway; he turns and hurries on, making sure there’s enough light for a shadow to be cast somewhere. A torch is snatched from its holder, carried with him into the bedroom he’s been given to stay in.
“A shadow took it over while you were in the mirror… called itself Degare.” Abbreviated version of events would suit for now. The torch is tossed into the fireplace, fire roaring up in an explosion of light that makes his shadow nearly pitch black on the drawn curtains of the bed. “I’d… imagine it’s lost by now.” All of it but his heart.
Oh hey, so he got the name right!
But er… yeah he probably should have.. broached it a little more carefully. Ya’know, not scared th’ guy or nothin’. Still, not like he’s goin’ anywhere he couldn’t follow.
Unless he went someplace and didn’t cast a shadow at all, but anyway.
Yeesh, couldn’ta scared him that bad, could he?
“Yeh guy. Sorry fer strayin’ in like this. Ain’t my intention r’ nothin’.”
It takes several long moments before he can calm both hearts enough to speak without a quaver in his voice. “Straying in?” His eyes dart around, still trying to see if there’s some sor-
He looks straight at his shadow, turning towards the wall and moving right in front of a torch. The way that outline was a little less distinct, more like a cutout of his form than something that flowed naturally with the flickering firelight…
“…I thought you were gone,” he says, choked.
