[ hey, sieg. a faint pulse of exhaustion precedes hope's actual arrival. when he does make it to the isolation cabin, he looks around with equal parts curiosity and caution. ]
...This might be nice if it wasn't for the jail cell.
[Sieghart is sitting on the bed with an impassive expression, which softens at the sight of Hope. There's no more rage on his end—just numbing emptiness with the occasional wave of shame that recedes like a pulse.]
...I knew a deep anger once, yes. A hate so strong that it almost consumed me. But... I was just a kid. Fourteen years are nothing compared to three hundred.
[ and he'd made peace with that anger, used the thirteen years since then to forgive and grow. it doesn't sound like sieghart had had that same opportunity, though.
[He won't contest the years between them. It's true this rage has festered for far longer, though he knows better than to say that his is something more than Hope's.
Yet . . . fourteen years are nothing compared to three hundred, but isn't that the tragedy of it? Fourteen is far too young. Sieghart sighs silently.]
My anger was also born from hatred. For three hundred years, I wandered in search of him . . . and now he's finally gone.
[However, he does not relish this victory. All that transmits through their connection is that sense of emptiness, just like the one back at the butterfly garden when they met again. At the end of the day, Sieghart feels as though he's achieved nothing.]
[ again, on a much smaller scale, hope can relate. it's what he felt when he came to terms with the fact that he never really wanted to kill snow; he simply wanted someone, something to blame for the loss of his mother. all his anger was gone, but that void never really filled. what he sends back is a signal of understanding.
[Coming from Hope with that signal, Sieghart truly believes that he sees. That understanding fills part of the void in Sieghart's own heart. At this stage in his life, perhaps that's what he needs.
The mention of the hostage draws in another feeling—one that's almost paternal.]
Her name is Mari. She's a kid I've been looking after in my late immortal brothers' stead.
As far as I can tell, all the shadow did was muddle my judgment. It made me think that the things I detest were no longer so despicable. I lost control of my impulses . . . [he gestures to the cell around him] and this is the result of my thoughtless actions.
[ HI HELLO I WAS GETTING CONFIRMATION ON THINGS AND FORGOT TO COME BACK HERE... but yes, hi, welcome again! as usual, hope is here, surrounded by books, papers... and a tupperware full of soup. aw. ]
I have. [ he gestures to the food next to him! there's no librarian to tell him not to eat in here, it's fine. but, also... he pushes a few of the assorted papers toward sieg. sieg may recognize the words written on it as the contents of the starred record. ] Did you place this in your grave yourself?
I see... in any case, I put it back as soon as I finished transcribing the recording. [ another nod toward the papers he pushed sieg's way ] That way, we won't have to dig it up every time someone wants a refresher.
Would you like a copy of your own? I was planning on keeping this one on my person, but I wouldn't mind making a few more for everyone to reference at their own leisure.
the scene opens in a dark room, with the only source of light being the screen of the smartphone in what is presumably a much younger hope's hand. the following conversation takes place in one of fall dorm's suites, with hope's entire body shaking as he reads ichiro's texts and sends back his replies. when there are lulls in either side of the conversation, hope sniffles, bites his lip, hugs his free hand closer to his body...
until ichiro texts him those four words: "i love you, man." after reading the message, hope throws his phone away and pulls his sheets over his head, trying to keep his sobs quiet so as to not disturb his dormmates and making them deal with a snotty-faced little baby of a kid. ]
[Hope's sobbing leaves Sieghart with a lump in his throat once the memory fades. It's a grief he's seldom had to endure in all the times he's been at school and here, given how quickly he passed in both. They spoke of Denji, so placing the memory isn't too difficult when he thinks of what he's witnessed—though he could still be wrong.
Still, declarations of love are always powerful.
And now here they are, back at it on the other side with a much older Hope. With the faintest smile ghosting his lips, Sieghart's eyes him for a reaction, if any.]
[ whew. if there's any reaction on hope's end, it doesn't show on his face. his expression is calm, almost serenely stoic, which is considerable given how much emotion he had shown in that flashback. ]
...aha. It's strange to reexperience something like that.
Exactly. If something's happened once, it can happen again.
[He grins. Stardust falls then, but he's resigned to them at this point that his expression doesn't falter, come what may:]
Some may call it arrogance, what Lucretia did. And perhaps it is. What she's done is chilling and difficult to justify.
Even so, you can't fault her for thinking this way—not when, during your own arrogant youth, you'd elected to set aside your fellow knights and complete missions alone for similar reasons. But there's a difference between a lone wolf and a wolf who's lost her pack; the former doesn't know loneliness the way the latter does. You were once a lone wolf, but that wasn't the case for Lucretia.
You lay your hand over hers and say, not unkindly, "Lucretia. That's enough."
"Well, good thing that was more or less all of it," she replies, exhaling. "But I thought you should know. We've had—a lot of missed time."
"Thanks for sharing. But Lucretia . . . I don't think of you as an unkind person."
She cut an imperious figure when you first met her, to be sure. But you've never thought of her as cold, not when she's poured heart and tears into righting the wrongs at the cost of losing her loved ones; not when she's been doing everything she can to protect the children since the deaths started; and certainly not when you've seen her powering through the struggle of safeguarding a dwindling dormitory with more people dying and leaving her side—a fact that makes your heart ache, because you were one of those people.
Lucretia smiles. Although this bloody ordeal isn't yet over, it makes for a heartening sight. "And I couldn't think that of you, either."
A kind person? You're just a monster.
Keeping such thoughts to yourself, you lean back, effectively withdrawing into yourself as you spout off some casual remark about her talent for fixing things. It almost sounds insincere to your own ears, but you know the truth. It really is enviable: Try as you might, you've never been able to fix any of your mistakes.
But Lucretia's face falls as she watches you. "Sieghart. I do appreciate that, but—of course I see you as a person."
Your smile falters. Damn this place; she heard your thoughts just now. You try again. "Of course. Even though I'm a Highlander, I'm still human."
"But you don't think of yourself as one."
Dio's words ring in your mind unbidden: "Humans are an insignificant existence—and you are lower than them. How does a half-baked immortal monster like you still call yourself a human?"
You chuckle. "I thought that, but it's not me who has that problem."
"You're sure?" This time, you hear Lucretia's thought in your own head: I heard it just a minute ago, Sieghart . . . What a mess.
"Don't worry. I still think of myself as a human. I just also happen to think otherwise, is all."
She puzzles over this. She wants to know why, and you fire back that she already does. Lucretia is clever; surely she can connect the dots from when you shared your deepest regret with her before your death.
" . . . I thought that might be the case, but—Sieghart, you aren't."
It's as you've thought. Lucretia really is kind—so much so that it almost hurts.
Your expression darkens as you think back to that fateful day and the roaring flames, consuming your beloved family while your guilt threatened to eat you alive. How you stared out across the horizon in rumination and crumbling denial, overcome with the desire to undo everything.
"I was meant to die centuries ago. I stole their future when they gave me one by saving my life . . . What else can I be?" you ask.
"Someone who made mistakes. Who has regrets. That's—one of the most human things that there is, Sieghart."
"No . . . " She's correct, but you can't accept that it's so black and white. That would mean that their deaths were . . . "I don't believe in legends or destiny."
The legendary gladiator of Kanavan and the greatest swordsman to have graced House Sieghart, Ercnard, beloved by many and mourned by all once thought lost. What does any of that matter? That was who you were when you were mortal—the you who perished more than six hundred years ago when you'd foolishly embarked on a journey to cleanse the world of monsters on your lonesome. You're no legend now, but the last Highlander. You're immortal. Destiny doesn't apply to you; it can't.
"Then don't," says Lucretia. "Legends and destiny don't dictate your own humanity. I've seen the kind of person you can be, and you've given me your regrets—I can't agree with you. I'm not going to. You aren't monstrous."
Something inside you trembles. You can't accept that.
" . . . Mortals are tied to destiny. That's why I . . ."
If you accept that you're just human, it means that you were born to kill your brothers. Destiny led you to deliver a terrible fate to your Highlander brethren. No. You can't accept that. You refuse. There's no way their pogrom was predetermined to be carried out by your foolish hands.
Lucretia continues to grace you with her kindness.
"Even the gods of fate don't always know how things will turn out until they happen. It doesn't mean that was what you were born for—or that it was the only thing you were born for," she says. "There are—so many ways for things to go wrong in the world. So many small things that could go just that little bit differently. And there's more to your life than that one point in time, Sieghart. There's your time here, and the good that you've tried to do in this place—there's anything good you've ever tried to do with your skills and with the time you've been given."
She reaches up and rests a hand against the side of your face. It's a tender gesture that opens up the yawning loneliness and grief tucked away in your heart.
"That doesn't have to define you."
The tension in your arms unravels at her touch, and they unwind to rest your hands on your lap. Your eyes meet hers briefly, but they, too, fall despondently.
They were so many of them, and all of them unbelievably kind. Your brothers' only wish was to continue protecting the world after they'd lost their kingdom to the demons . . . If there are truly so many ways for things to go wrong; if a small difference is all it takes to change the course; if you could turn back time—you'd save them, even if it would mean dying and returning the life they gifted you.
[ jae this memshare was so much i needed like 48 hours to process it (no)
but there's a very poignant silence from hope as sieghart's encounter with lucretia back into stardust, leaving the two of them here in its wake. he hadn't gotten to know lucretia all that much back at wiwaldi, but he knows she was very important to several people—ichiro comes to mind immediately, of course—so getting to see her being so frank yet gentle... it's a lot. and yet— ]
. . . I know that we don't have any say in what ends up being shared, but... I still feel as though I've violated your privacy after seeing such a personal moment between the two of you.
[The memory doesn't give him anything he hasn't felt recently. It washes over him, and he sits with the words and feelings for but a moment, letting them go once Hope speaks as he looks Hope's way.]
Mm, yes.
[She's very kind. He folds his arms across his chest.]
In this case, it's fine as long as the violation was an accident.
[After all, as Hope has said, they don't get a say. Sieghart himself intruded earlier on that memory with Ichiro. The two of them just have to take the memories as they come.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
week 0: saturday
...This might be nice if it wasn't for the jail cell.
no subject
You think so? It's not much to my taste.
no subject
[ he crosses his arms more to just move them than because he's feeling annoyed at sieghart. he can't bring himself to look at sieghart just yet. ]
...I suppose I was more right than I knew, when I said I'd learn more about you here than I ever did at Wiwaldi.
no subject
You didn't see much of me there. Here . . . you might have seen more than even some of my companions back on Aernas.
no subject
[ his gaze still fixed on the ground, he brings one of his hands up to place over his heart. ]
How long have you been holding onto it?
no subject
Hmm . . . If we're talking about that one, it's been about three hundred years.
no subject
no subject
[He thought there was something about bottling up in Hope's younger data. Ah, well.]
I'm just an excitable guy. Anger and excitement go hand in hand for me. Besides . . . the source of that fury is supposed to be gone now.
[Only for this place to reignite it. Against his better judgment, he aches deeply.]
no subject
[ and he'd made peace with that anger, used the thirteen years since then to forgive and grow. it doesn't sound like sieghart had had that same opportunity, though.
...that wording catches his attention. ]
"Supposed to be"?
no subject
Yet . . . fourteen years are nothing compared to three hundred, but isn't that the tragedy of it? Fourteen is far too young. Sieghart sighs silently.]
My anger was also born from hatred. For three hundred years, I wandered in search of him . . . and now he's finally gone.
[However, he does not relish this victory. All that transmits through their connection is that sense of emptiness, just like the one back at the butterfly garden when they met again. At the end of the day, Sieghart feels as though he's achieved nothing.]
no subject
I see.
[ again, on a much smaller scale, hope can relate. it's what he felt when he came to terms with the fact that he never really wanted to kill snow; he simply wanted someone, something to blame for the loss of his mother. all his anger was gone, but that void never really filled. what he sends back is a signal of understanding.
a longer pause. ]
Who is your hostage?
no subject
The mention of the hostage draws in another feeling—one that's almost paternal.]
Her name is Mari. She's a kid I've been looking after in my late immortal brothers' stead.
no subject
[ the emotion this time is purposely obfuscated; almost like changing the channel and being met with a channel of static. ]
no subject
. . . I thought I wouldn't, but it looks like I was wrong.
no subject
Was it an assignment, or something you actively chose to do?
no subject
[As uncertain as that sounds, it's his honest answer.]
A shadow took hold of my body, but I was its host.
no subject
no subject
[He'll never foist that onto others.]
As far as I can tell, all the shadow did was muddle my judgment. It made me think that the things I detest were no longer so despicable. I lost control of my impulses . . . [he gestures to the cell around him] and this is the result of my thoughtless actions.
no subject
[ ...there's still a sort of silence from hope's end of the connection, but the smallest amount of something resembling pity filters through. ]
And what about your attempt on Mikazuki's life?
no subject
That? . . . That was my thoughtlessly misplaced anger.
Week 3: Sunday
Have you eaten?
no subject
I have. [ he gestures to the food next to him! there's no librarian to tell him not to eat in here, it's fine. but, also... he pushes a few of the assorted papers toward sieg. sieg may recognize the words written on it as the contents of the starred record. ] Did you place this in your grave yourself?
no subject
Sieghart glances down at the paper before looking up at Hope.]
I did. So you're the one who took it?
no subject
[ also, when you're in a murdergame, you take everything you find... ]
Were you planning on sharing that with the rest of us?
no subject
Yeah. We share it with everyone who arrives.
no subject
Would you like a copy of your own? I was planning on keeping this one on my person, but I wouldn't mind making a few more for everyone to reference at their own leisure.
no subject
I've heard it enough times to know the contents by now.
[Transcribing it was a good idea, though. It saves unnecessary walking.]
You can move the record where it suits you. It's better off in your hands than mine.
no subject
wow, what a surprise, a memshare!
the scene opens in a dark room, with the only source of light being the screen of the smartphone in what is presumably a much younger hope's hand. the following conversation takes place in one of fall dorm's suites, with hope's entire body shaking as he reads ichiro's texts and sends back his replies. when there are lulls in either side of the conversation, hope sniffles, bites his lip, hugs his free hand closer to his body...
until ichiro texts him those four words: "i love you, man." after reading the message, hope throws his phone away and pulls his sheets over his head, trying to keep his sobs quiet so as to not disturb his dormmates and making them deal with a snotty-faced little baby of a kid. ]
no subject
Still, declarations of love are always powerful.
And now here they are, back at it on the other side with a much older Hope. With the faintest smile ghosting his lips, Sieghart's eyes him for a reaction, if any.]
no subject
...aha. It's strange to reexperience something like that.
no subject
[Hope. Denji. Ichiro. Lucretia. What a time that was. How Hope has grown since.]
Did you keep in touch afterward?
no subject
No. I lost all contact with anyone from Wiwaldi shortly after I returned to my world.
no subject
no subject
[ it's a little hard to not be disheartened when you're dead. ]
no subject
[He drops down onto the nearest seat—might as well make himself comfortable while he's here.]
I won't stop until we find a way out.
no subject
no subject
[He grins. Stardust falls then, but he's resigned to them at this point that his expression doesn't falter, come what may:]
Some may call it arrogance, what Lucretia did. And perhaps it is. What she's done is chilling and difficult to justify.
Even so, you can't fault her for thinking this way—not when, during your own arrogant youth, you'd elected to set aside your fellow knights and complete missions alone for similar reasons. But there's a difference between a lone wolf and a wolf who's lost her pack; the former doesn't know loneliness the way the latter does. You were once a lone wolf, but that wasn't the case for Lucretia.
You lay your hand over hers and say, not unkindly, "Lucretia. That's enough."
"Well, good thing that was more or less all of it," she replies, exhaling. "But I thought you should know. We've had—a lot of missed time."
"Thanks for sharing. But Lucretia . . . I don't think of you as an unkind person."
She cut an imperious figure when you first met her, to be sure. But you've never thought of her as cold, not when she's poured heart and tears into righting the wrongs at the cost of losing her loved ones; not when she's been doing everything she can to protect the children since the deaths started; and certainly not when you've seen her powering through the struggle of safeguarding a dwindling dormitory with more people dying and leaving her side—a fact that makes your heart ache, because you were one of those people.
Lucretia smiles. Although this bloody ordeal isn't yet over, it makes for a heartening sight. "And I couldn't think that of you, either."
A kind person? You're just a monster.
Keeping such thoughts to yourself, you lean back, effectively withdrawing into yourself as you spout off some casual remark about her talent for fixing things. It almost sounds insincere to your own ears, but you know the truth. It really is enviable: Try as you might, you've never been able to fix any of your mistakes.
But Lucretia's face falls as she watches you. "Sieghart. I do appreciate that, but—of course I see you as a person."
Your smile falters. Damn this place; she heard your thoughts just now. You try again. "Of course. Even though I'm a Highlander, I'm still human."
"But you don't think of yourself as one."
Dio's words ring in your mind unbidden: "Humans are an insignificant existence—and you are lower than them. How does a half-baked immortal monster like you still call yourself a human?"
You chuckle. "I thought that, but it's not me who has that problem."
"You're sure?" This time, you hear Lucretia's thought in your own head: I heard it just a minute ago, Sieghart . . . What a mess.
"Don't worry. I still think of myself as a human. I just also happen to think otherwise, is all."
She puzzles over this. She wants to know why, and you fire back that she already does. Lucretia is clever; surely she can connect the dots from when you shared your deepest regret with her before your death.
" . . . I thought that might be the case, but—Sieghart, you aren't."
It's as you've thought. Lucretia really is kind—so much so that it almost hurts.
Your expression darkens as you think back to that fateful day and the roaring flames, consuming your beloved family while your guilt threatened to eat you alive. How you stared out across the horizon in rumination and crumbling denial, overcome with the desire to undo everything.
"I was meant to die centuries ago. I stole their future when they gave me one by saving my life . . . What else can I be?" you ask.
"Someone who made mistakes. Who has regrets. That's—one of the most human things that there is, Sieghart."
"No . . . " She's correct, but you can't accept that it's so black and white. That would mean that their deaths were . . . "I don't believe in legends or destiny."
The legendary gladiator of Kanavan and the greatest swordsman to have graced House Sieghart, Ercnard, beloved by many and mourned by all once thought lost. What does any of that matter? That was who you were when you were mortal—the you who perished more than six hundred years ago when you'd foolishly embarked on a journey to cleanse the world of monsters on your lonesome. You're no legend now, but the last Highlander. You're immortal. Destiny doesn't apply to you; it can't.
"Then don't," says Lucretia. "Legends and destiny don't dictate your own humanity. I've seen the kind of person you can be, and you've given me your regrets—I can't agree with you. I'm not going to. You aren't monstrous."
Something inside you trembles. You can't accept that.
" . . . Mortals are tied to destiny. That's why I . . ."
If you accept that you're just human, it means that you were born to kill your brothers. Destiny led you to deliver a terrible fate to your Highlander brethren. No. You can't accept that. You refuse. There's no way their pogrom was predetermined to be carried out by your foolish hands.
Lucretia continues to grace you with her kindness.
"Even the gods of fate don't always know how things will turn out until they happen. It doesn't mean that was what you were born for—or that it was the only thing you were born for," she says. "There are—so many ways for things to go wrong in the world. So many small things that could go just that little bit differently. And there's more to your life than that one point in time, Sieghart. There's your time here, and the good that you've tried to do in this place—there's anything good you've ever tried to do with your skills and with the time you've been given."
She reaches up and rests a hand against the side of your face. It's a tender gesture that opens up the yawning loneliness and grief tucked away in your heart.
"That doesn't have to define you."
The tension in your arms unravels at her touch, and they unwind to rest your hands on your lap. Your eyes meet hers briefly, but they, too, fall despondently.
They were so many of them, and all of them unbelievably kind. Your brothers' only wish was to continue protecting the world after they'd lost their kingdom to the demons . . . If there are truly so many ways for things to go wrong; if a small difference is all it takes to change the course; if you could turn back time—you'd save them, even if it would mean dying and returning the life they gifted you.
no subject
but there's a very poignant silence from hope as sieghart's encounter with lucretia back into stardust, leaving the two of them here in its wake. he hadn't gotten to know lucretia all that much back at wiwaldi, but he knows she was very important to several people—ichiro comes to mind immediately, of course—so getting to see her being so frank yet gentle... it's a lot. and yet— ]
. . . I know that we don't have any say in what ends up being shared, but... I still feel as though I've violated your privacy after seeing such a personal moment between the two of you.
[ beat ]
Miss Lucretia is truly a kind person.
no subject
Mm, yes.
[She's very kind. He folds his arms across his chest.]
In this case, it's fine as long as the violation was an accident.
[After all, as Hope has said, they don't get a say. Sieghart himself intruded earlier on that memory with Ichiro. The two of them just have to take the memories as they come.]