i'm just yeeting us right into a memory. congrats on stepping into the memshare void, ichiban. ]
--
[ when the apothecary and the cleric emerge from a small bedroom within the cathedral of the order of the sacred flame to talk to the pontiff, grim expressions on their faces, you're right there beside him, and you can tell with just one look that things can't be good.
you're barely ten years old, too tiny for your age, and holding onto the pontiff's white vestments as he speaks with the apothecary in hushed tones, tiny fingers clutched in expensive silk. you'd think he wouldn't know you were there, were it not for the way his hand comes to rest very gently between your shoulderblades, as you listen to the apothecary when she takes off her gloves.
"His fever's very, very high, your excellency. We've done all that we can, for now. Just in case, if you'd like to say goodbye..."
the pontiff nods, and thanks the apothecary and the cleric, who nod their heads and step out of the way. the words echo in your head like someone's slammed their hands into the church organ - "say goodbye?" - and your head whips up to look at the pontiff, who looks down at you.
he kneels to your side, and reaches to cup your cheeks. you can already feel the tears starting to well up in your eyes, and the breath you take in feels sticky and heavy in your chest; the pontiff's expression is kindly, and he wipes the first tears that drop free with his hand. "Temenos. It's alright: let's see to him. Perhaps he just needs our encouragement."
you swallow back the lump in your throat and nod, and the pontiff stands to bring you into the small room.
the bedroom is yours, of course - it's the same one you've slept in for years now. the bed on the right is unoccupied, but in the bed on the left is a child, laying flat on his back underneath the covers, a cool cloth on his forehead, his dark hair pushed backwards. he's bigger than you are, older - this is, of course, roi mistral, the pontiff's other foundling, and your best friend, your older brother. he is your constant companion - you follow him starry eyed around the church, study scripture with him and listen to him talk, spend hours whiling away at the histories and learning hymnals and tending to the church's smaller duties with him, because he's like the sun. you've always seen roi as this figure ten times greater than you, but today, he looks so... small.
just the sight of him in that bed, shivering and wheezing softly, makes the tears well up in your eyes again. the pontiff keeps his hand between your shoulderblades and you grip even harder at the material of his cassock as you make your way over to the bed, and stare at roi, your lower lip quivering as the tears start to fall down your cheeks.
the pontiff leans over to brush roi's sweaty hair from his forehead, frowning. the room smells like medicine and sickness and death - he's so pale, so still, so wrong, and you're terrified, suddenly, to think of a world without roi mistral.
as the pontiff kneels, you come to join him.
"Let's say a prayer for him, shall we? Do you remember the proper order?"
you hiccup the right answer as you drop down. ] Bifelgan, Aeber, Draefendi, Brand, Sealticge, Alephan, Dohter, Aelfric.
[ the order you've been through a thousand times. pray to the gods in the correct order, and your prayers will have better fortune. your prayers are more likely to be answered. lessons you and roi learned together.
"Very good." the pontiff says, quiet and approving even under the weight of what must be his own sorrow - he looks for a moment longer at roi before he clasps his hands together and you follow suit, dropping your head down and mouthing the words. it's automatic as you make your way through each one, and the pontiff pauses slightly towards the end, and changes his wording. you listen attentively to him, hanging on the words.
"Dohter the Charitable. Giver of life, protector of health: Comfort and relieve your sick servant, and give your power of healing to those who minister to his needs, that he may be strengthened in his weakness and have confidence in your loving care.
Aelfric, the Flamebringer. May your light guide Roi back from the brink of death, as it has guided us all away from the darkness. We pray that you will lay your healing hands upon all those who are sick. We beg for your compassion on all those who are suffering so that they may be delivered from their circumstances."
he pontiff's hand falls on your back again, and then he pulls you into his side to give you a hug. you take in a deep, shaky breath and someone calls the pontiff's name - a soft "your holiness?" from the doorway. he releases you from the hug and stands, and after a moment, is called away, leaving you in the room alone.
the apothecary's words echo in the back of your head. "say goodbye."
you can't lose roi. you just can't. but there's nothing you can do, is there? you're ten years old, and you don't think of the logistics of medicine, or the holy magic the older clerics can wield in all of its warmth. you can barely do simple spells, but you look at roi, and your faith is as strong as it always is, as it will always be.
the gods will save roi. if you just pray hard enough, if you just call out to them enough, they'll save him. they'll save him. he's done nothing but good, his entire life. he holds your hand when you get lost, wipes your tears when you cry, helps you when you scrape your knee running up the hills to the cathedral with him, teaches you how to read and write, shares his snacks, whispers secrets with you at night by candlelight when you're supposed to be asleep. he's your best friend. he's your brother. he is good, and he has to be saved.
you feel determination and - no. it's desperation, for a lost child. it's complete and utter terror, and despair, and you reach out to the thing in your life that is the source of all of the goodness you have. you hiccup, and you clasp your hands together. and you pray. ]
Bifelgan, may you watch over our markets and keep them hale. [ between a hiccup and a sob. ] Aeber, our less fortunate, that you keep the wickedness from men's hearts. Draefendi, the huntress, for full bellies and endless bounty.
[ desperation colors these tiny prayers, this tiny voice, as you reach out to every god you know. it feels almost silly, sometimes - why would the god of dance care about saving someone's life? - but you do it anyway. you kneel by that bed with your hands clasped together and your head bowed on top of your hands, resting on the edge of roi's bed, and you beg the gods to save his life. I'll do anything. I can't do it without him. Please save him. Please save him. Please save Roi. Please. Please. Please.
you pray until your knees are numb, and you cry the entire time, until you're wrung out into nothing. you put your entire heart and soul and your faith - your strong, strong faith - into saving his life. it's not much. it's all you can do.
who are you, if not the faithful?
--
years and years later, roi mistral recounts this tale to the pontiff when you're sitting at the dinner table. he's laughing as he does, and the smile on his face is so genuine that it brightens up the entire room, even if he is being tacitly embarrassing. as usual.
"I woke up the next morning, and I touched something, and I realized the covers were wet. I thought I'd wet the bed! But I realized it was just because Temenos had fallen asleep with his face on it."
your ears are burning as you roll your eyes from behind your teacup. your crybaby days are long behind you, at twenty five. the pontiff laughs, and roi continues, animated and warm as he turns his attention to you, "But, you must have prayed all night, and with the gods as my witness, my fever broke. Surely, you're the reason I'm here, aren't you?" ]
Or, [ you say, lightly, lofty ] It's the Grapewood Panacea that the apothecary managed to get from the town next door.
[ roi scoffs, a ha! noise, and claps you on the back, hearty. it rattles you a bit, because he's the stronger of the two of you. "No, no. Your prayer for plenty saved my life. We always knew you'd be a powerful healer, didn't we? "
in the years that have passed, you know your answer - the grapewood panacea - is the correct one. roi's shining faith in the abilities of the church, and really, in you, are characteristic of him, and the reason why he wears the inquisitor's mantle now. his optimism is boundless. you feel the urge to put a pin it and prick it, mostly because it's your duty, even if self-imposed. reality checks are your forte.
you look at the tea in your cup, idle. ]
Hmm. Perhaps. I feel that Aelfric must have chosen me. When you use the holy magic, does a choir start to sing in your head? Does he not speak to you when you pray? When I ask him a favor, he says, "Of course", and that is what happened that night.
[ roi stops midway through picking up a spoonful of soup and delivering it to his mouth, blinking at you with wide, stunned eyes. it is almost comical, how fast he freezes, and asks, "What?"
a long moment of silence passes. roi's mouth works open and closed, and he begins to look and sound awed. "Really?"
you smile, cheerful as can be, and deliver your answer with no mercy. ] No, of course not. [ and then, with a touch of mischief and a touch of a scold, you add, ] Roi, must you be so gullible?
[ and roi just sighs, heavily, and kicks you lightly under the table, as the pontiff laughs; you smile to yourself, small and private, as you sip your tea. ]
--
[ five years later, roi bangs on your door in the dead of the night. when you answer it, he's wild eyed and terrified, holding an ominous looking archer's bow between his hands. he tells you of the bow. he tells you he's going to get rid of it - he tells you where it was found. as the inquisitor, it's his duty. he has to get this thing away from flamechurch, and as fast as possible. he's always like that - heroic, brave, brilliant. you've never seen him look so scared. (to 6:17.)
roi looks you in the eyes, and he says - "The church has secrets. Extraordinary, terrible secrets."
and before you even have the chance to say goodbye, he's out the door.
you will dream of those words for years afterwards: roi disappears into the night, and never returns. ]
--
[ however. when the memory fades, temenos and ichiban still stand in the void, and standing before them is this creature. its massive, tongue lolls out of its mouth, and it stares at them both with unblinking, eerily bright white eyes. it doesn't attack, or lunge, or even move. it just takes a heavy, ragged, pained breath.
there's a lot on ichiban's mind, but nothing makes it out of his mouth; none of the words seem to coalesce into anything cohesive. there are emotions tied to each scene, at least, all of deep empathy resonating with temenos's feelings—desperate anguish at roi's illness, fond exasperation at his naivety, the notion that something is very, very wrong at his terror.
and then, this creature in front of them, that same one from the biome who had been ever so curiously playful with them despite its grotesque form...
. . .
as he did before, once ichiban has his own sense of self back, he reaches a steady hand out to the creature as he begins to connect the dots. ]
[ temenos stays silent as ichiban does this - as the memory fades away entirely, he's left with temenos' emotions swirling around the space, too. there's something just...hollow, and a sense of grief that is so pervasive it could drown someone. temenos is so good at hiding his feelings, and even now, on his face, you wouldn't be able to tell, but emotion share makes a liar of him.
the creature gurgles. it's such a familiar noise - and it slowly starts to stretch its neck out. there's a rattle and a click noise, ligaments popping and bone shifting, and after a long, long moment, it rumbles out words. ] Cannot...trust...
[ each word sounds like it takes an extraordinary amount of effort. the monster takes a heaving, wheezing breath. ]
No longer.... allowed to exist....
[ there's a flicker in temenos' emotions around them - grief, again, loud and miserable, love and anguish as he watches ichiban reach out to touch it. ]
a chill runs up his spine when the creature speaks. he withdraws his hand as its bony face draws closer, his own head whipping to the side as he feels the flood of emotion begin to well up within his friend. ]
Tem—
[ it's not that he tries to protect temenos from the creature; when he rushes over and places his own hand at temenos's back, it's to steady the other man, to try and provide him an anchor before he loses his grip entirely. ]
despite that awful, depressive whirlpool of grief? he just says: ] ... I'm fine, Ichiban.
[ with a slight huff and a smile. he seems perfectly steady. perfectly calm - fine, really. the monster freezes too, and starts to slowly lower itself down onto its haunches, like its trying to lay down. ]
I suppose we will need to decide how to clear this void.
[ ichiban thinks "man, don't give me that shit right now", but he at least does not verbalize it, so there's that, at least. he makes sure temenos is okay to stand on his own before he lets go and crosses his arms, only to cast a careful look at the creature in its pitiful state. ]
...how much you wanna bet the answer is some stereotypical "confront your past regrets" stuff?
[ this just makes him give him that even more. that, or maybe temenos is just always like this? maybe he has just so badly repressed all of his emotions that calmness is his forte.
he does laugh a little at the question, though, looking down at the monster, which gurgles. he lifts his own hand towards it, and the monster begins to extend its neck outwards towards them again. ]
when the rift spits them back out again, there is a new figure standing—or rather, sitting—next to the skeletal beast. it's a younger ryo aoki, or "masato arakawa" as he was known once before. he's sitting in a wheelchair with a smoking gun in his hand, and his face is coveredin blood. he looks directly at ichiban, expression equal parts resentment and fear as he rasps, ]
Ichi... I fucked up.
[ ichiban, meanwhile, is frozen in place, his own emotions a haze. it's hard to separate any single feeling from the maelstrom, but temenos will not mistake the sheer strength of each and every tumultuous way his heart is wrested upon hearing those words. ]
[ first of all this game is gorgeous. second of all. WEH!!!!
as these memories go in pieces, there's this sense of empathy on temenos' end, too. at first, it's just recognizing - this sort of bitter unhappiness, because at first, the man - ryo aoki - reminds him of kaldena, but as it continues, that unhappiness changes. we're like the light and the shadow hits him so deeply it stops him in his tracks, and his hands curl tightly in the sleeves of his cassock. ichiban's desperation to try and give his brother another chance is so visceral that he can feel it, feel his own heart pounding hard against his ribcage with every part of the memory that passes, feels the way his voice cracks in resignation and raw desperation. because i don't want to see any more family die.
but as it turns out, there is no other option.
there's a sense of hopefulness that temenos doesn't necessarily resonate with - it reminds him for a moment of crick, of his dream to save the world, charming in its naivete (and yet the kind of thing that temenos has always wanted to emulate, too.) he doesn't find himself thinking this moment in front of the lockers will end any differently than it does - and watching ichiban try so hard to convince him is heartbreaking, a reminder of his sincerity that has shone since the first day here.
(it is the kind of sincerity that temenos admires, no matter how cynical he can be about it - it is the kind of thing that roi had. that crick had. the kind of thing that has to be cared for. that has to be protected. that the world just loves to snuff out. )
there don't have to be monsters, sometimes. humans make monsters of themselves, whether they mean to or not - whether they give into it or not. so it surprises him, when ichiban's talk starts to work, and then just like that - and sometimes, even when things seem like they're going to go right, they end like this. just a cold knife in a nondescript alleyway. they end in nothing.
that's how the world works.
as the memory ends, he exhales out - one long, slow breath as he steadies himself in his composure, even amongst the torment of ichiban's emotions. the futility of it all is so frustrating, but temenos keeps it off of his face, and he reaches out this time to be the one to steady him instead. he keeps a reign on his own emotions in exchange, pulling them back in to be something easily steadying, something gentle and supportive, something -
well, a little heartbroken, though you'd never be able to tell. ]
... Ichiban. [ temenos says, quietly, just like he had done for him. ] Take a deep breath.
I know. [ the breath he takes is shaky, but solid. ] Hah... I just had to open my big, dumb mouth, didn't I...
[ finally, he lifts his head again, eyes red as hot tears streak down his face. his mouth, however, is not turned downward in a grimace or scowl—no, it's in its usual state of a smile. it may not be as big as temenos may have grown used to seeing, but it's just as warm as ever, its radiance unmarred even as he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.
that same hand reaches out to temenos in a show of camaraderie, a beacon in the cold, unfeeling void as the two figures opposite them wait with tense, bated breath. ]
Looks like it's time to be our brothers' keepers one more time, huh?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
week 7, thursday
i'm just yeeting us right into a memory. congrats on stepping into the memshare void, ichiban. ]
--
--
[ however. when the memory fades, temenos and ichiban still stand in the void, and standing before them is this creature. its massive, tongue lolls out of its mouth, and it stares at them both with unblinking, eerily bright white eyes. it doesn't attack, or lunge, or even move. it just takes a heavy, ragged, pained breath.
doesn't it look awfully familiar? ]
no subject
there's a lot on ichiban's mind, but nothing makes it out of his mouth; none of the words seem to coalesce into anything cohesive. there are emotions tied to each scene, at least, all of deep empathy resonating with temenos's feelings—desperate anguish at roi's illness, fond exasperation at his naivety, the notion that something is very, very wrong at his terror.
and then, this creature in front of them, that same one from the biome who had been ever so curiously playful with them despite its grotesque form...
. . .
as he did before, once ichiban has his own sense of self back, he reaches a steady hand out to the creature as he begins to connect the dots. ]
no subject
the creature gurgles. it's such a familiar noise - and it slowly starts to stretch its neck out. there's a rattle and a click noise, ligaments popping and bone shifting, and after a long, long moment, it rumbles out words. ] Cannot...trust...
[ each word sounds like it takes an extraordinary amount of effort. the monster takes a heaving, wheezing breath. ]
No longer.... allowed to exist....
[ there's a flicker in temenos' emotions around them - grief, again, loud and miserable, love and anguish as he watches ichiban reach out to touch it. ]
no subject
a chill runs up his spine when the creature speaks. he withdraws his hand as its bony face draws closer, his own head whipping to the side as he feels the flood of emotion begin to well up within his friend. ]
Tem—
[ it's not that he tries to protect temenos from the creature; when he rushes over and places his own hand at temenos's back, it's to steady the other man, to try and provide him an anchor before he loses his grip entirely. ]
Tem, hey, stay with me.
no subject
you know
despite that awful, depressive whirlpool of grief? he just says: ] ... I'm fine, Ichiban.
[ with a slight huff and a smile. he seems perfectly steady. perfectly calm - fine, really. the monster freezes too, and starts to slowly lower itself down onto its haunches, like its trying to lay down. ]
I suppose we will need to decide how to clear this void.
no subject
...how much you wanna bet the answer is some stereotypical "confront your past regrets" stuff?
no subject
he does laugh a little at the question, though, looking down at the monster, which gurgles. he lifts his own hand towards it, and the monster begins to extend its neck outwards towards them again. ]
Likely so. I hope you've not too many.
no subject
i am not nearly as articulate or prepared as you, so time freezes once more as another set of memories plays: the first in a luxury office near the top of a high-rise building (20:58-30:18); the second in front of an unassuming set of coin lockers in a shadowy corner of a city. the common thread that ties this man to temenos's roi is clear as day—ryo aoki is ichiban's brother, the one he always looked up to and the one who deserved the world, the one who wouldn't make it in the end.
when the rift spits them back out again, there is a new figure standing—or rather, sitting—next to the skeletal beast. it's a younger ryo aoki, or "masato arakawa" as he was known once before. he's sitting in a wheelchair with a smoking gun in his hand, and his face is covered in blood. he looks directly at ichiban, expression equal parts resentment and fear as he rasps, ]
Ichi... I fucked up.
[ ichiban, meanwhile, is frozen in place, his own emotions a haze. it's hard to separate any single feeling from the maelstrom, but temenos will not mistake the sheer strength of each and every tumultuous way his heart is wrested upon hearing those words. ]
no subject
as these memories go in pieces, there's this sense of empathy on temenos' end, too. at first, it's just recognizing - this sort of bitter unhappiness, because at first, the man - ryo aoki - reminds him of kaldena, but as it continues, that unhappiness changes. we're like the light and the shadow hits him so deeply it stops him in his tracks, and his hands curl tightly in the sleeves of his cassock. ichiban's desperation to try and give his brother another chance is so visceral that he can feel it, feel his own heart pounding hard against his ribcage with every part of the memory that passes, feels the way his voice cracks in resignation and raw desperation. because i don't want to see any more family die.
but as it turns out, there is no other option.
there's a sense of hopefulness that temenos doesn't necessarily resonate with - it reminds him for a moment of crick, of his dream to save the world, charming in its naivete (and yet the kind of thing that temenos has always wanted to emulate, too.) he doesn't find himself thinking this moment in front of the lockers will end any differently than it does - and watching ichiban try so hard to convince him is heartbreaking, a reminder of his sincerity that has shone since the first day here.
(it is the kind of sincerity that temenos admires, no matter how cynical he can be about it - it is the kind of thing that roi had. that crick had. the kind of thing that has to be cared for. that has to be protected. that the world just loves to snuff out. )
there don't have to be monsters, sometimes. humans make monsters of themselves, whether they mean to or not - whether they give into it or not. so it surprises him, when ichiban's talk starts to work, and then just like that - and sometimes, even when things seem like they're going to go right, they end like this. just a cold knife in a nondescript alleyway. they end in nothing.
that's how the world works.
as the memory ends, he exhales out - one long, slow breath as he steadies himself in his composure, even amongst the torment of ichiban's emotions. the futility of it all is so frustrating, but temenos keeps it off of his face, and he reaches out this time to be the one to steady him instead. he keeps a reign on his own emotions in exchange, pulling them back in to be something easily steadying, something gentle and supportive, something -
well, a little heartbroken, though you'd never be able to tell. ]
... Ichiban. [ temenos says, quietly, just like he had done for him. ] Take a deep breath.
no subject
[ finally, he lifts his head again, eyes red as hot tears streak down his face. his mouth, however, is not turned downward in a grimace or scowl—no, it's in its usual state of a smile. it may not be as big as temenos may have grown used to seeing, but it's just as warm as ever, its radiance unmarred even as he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.
that same hand reaches out to temenos in a show of camaraderie, a beacon in the cold, unfeeling void as the two figures opposite them wait with tense, bated breath. ]
Looks like it's time to be our brothers' keepers one more time, huh?