wipesfaith | 05 [written/action]

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05 [written/action]

[He doesn't know what time it is when he startles awake, just that it's still dark and the sensations pressing into him - his flesh pulling apart as he sinks deeper into water or blood or rock so hot it's liquid fire he doesn't know what but he can't breathe anymore - are more like memories, and they linger in his waking more sharply than any nightmare. Propping himself up on his elbow, trying to steady his breath, he looks across the gap between his bed and Marco's.

Pale moonlight reflects off the white of the bare mattress.]

Marco...? Hey...

[He already knows no one is there to hear him. It sinks in him like a rock dropped in a pond, with little ripples expanding to ones that reach much farther. Looks like that's all the borrowed time he'll get.

He switches on the light as he reaches for his journal, like it might prove him wrong. It doesn't. He sinks back down into the pillow. Weakly punches the mattress. Runs his hands through his sleep-disheveled hair. Squeezes his eyes shut. Turns the light off again, eventually. But he doesn't sleep much.]

[Then, at a more reasonable hour...]

[Written - Locked to Erwin and Levi]

I have a report to make, sirs. I discovered Marco Bott of the 104th training class to be missing early this morning. His things are gone too and his name isn't registered on the journal network anymore, leading me to conclude that he's returned home.

There's nothing else out of the ordinary to report at this time.

[This is so much easier to get out in writing. Immediately after, he'll make a more casual public announcement, because he probably ought to.]

[Written]

Marco Bott went home.

[Where he will die, and no one will see, and no one will take the time to give him a proper burial because in the end, there is nothing to distinguish him from the scores of corpses that will be reduced to little but bone fragments and ashes and lingering memories. There's a long pause that won't be reflected in the written message, as he tries to think of something worthwhile to add and fails.]

Just thought people should know.

[But some time later, an addendum will appear at the bottom of the message:]

Anyone know anything about raising sheep?

[Action]

[When he's not training at the Battle Dome or caring for his horse at the stables (recently, he's been going out for longer leisure rides, and today won't break the habit), Jean can be found at the small pen erected outside the Flame Building, where he wonders what the hell to do with the now morbidly fluffy lamb it houses. Aside from slaughtering it and eating like a king, because Marco would've gotten all offended at the suggestion. Speaking of Jean's distasteful, overdone jokes, the lamb in question probably looks a bit miffed that he's here instead of its proper owner.]

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[Having replenished Mario's feed supply, Jean watches him eat from the other side of the fence, where the little shit can't butt its head against his legs. At the sharp whistle, he turns his head. The surprise falls from his expression, adopting neutrality (which he wears as something of a scowl) edged with what could be uncertainty. It's not that he'd been avoiding her since the draft; he just doesn't know how to approach her now.

But she must have seen the message he'd left.]

So am I.

[Apologies don't amount to much with something like this, but what else is there to say?]

[Ginia knew Jean wasn't quite avoiding her, but he wasn't seeking her out either. Things were different now, expected. He's seen her as she is and she doesn't judge him for it. They'll have to address things at some point, but now isn't the time. Not with Marco gone. It's sad how many people from his world disappeared.]

/If there's anything you need, feel free to ask./

[That hasn't changed, though she doesn't expect him to take up the offer. Besides, what could she do? She can't bring Marco back, can't turn back time.]

[His knuckles turn white around the wooden railing of the pen.]

I'll be fine.

[Because that's all he can do. He's done it before, mourned and straightened up and pressed forward. But it's impossible not to look back over your shoulder every once in a while.]

[As fine as everyone else, no doubt. The nightmares, the lingering memories, the feeling of being watched, the memories from the battlefield, they're all sharing them in various forms. That on top of Marco leaving... she doubts he's fine. One day maybe, but not now.

But she doesn't press. Not her place to presume how he's feeling. But she can still give advice.]

/Don't bottle things up. Find someone to talk to./

[He just nods at her advice. Up until a few weeks ago, he might have talked to her about it, but uncertainty (unfair as it may be on his part, he knows) has erected something of a wall between them. He has friends here, but no one who he feels like he can just dump everything on. No one who would understand the weight of what it meant for Marco to go back without him having to explain. But there's Mikasa, the only other remaining member of his class.

Then he gestures into the pen, where the lamb is still chewing away.]

Now I'm stuck taking care of this. Horses, I know what to do, but sheep... [He shrugs.]

/Luke runs the farm and there are some animals up there, he might know something. Otherwise you'll have to check the library for books./

[No doubt advice he's already received and Ginia hates parroting things, but she's in the same boat; horses no problem, who knows with sheep.]

/Though since there aren't any other sheep around to breed, I would consider C-A-S-T-R-A-T-I-O-N. It'll improve his temperament./

[From his corner of the pen, Mario looks over at them and snorts before he returns to eating.]

[He snorts out a laugh, throwing a look over to the lamb.] Hear that, you poor bastard? Not like you're gonna find a little sheep girlfriend around here anyway.

[The only response he gets is an unimpressed bleat as Mario prances around the feeding trough to eat from a different spot. Jean shifts his attention back to Ginia.]

Luke who?

/S-K-Y-W-A-L-K-E-R. He also works at the clinic in town. It's probably easier finding him there then heading up to the farm./

[He nods, in understanding and possibly thanks. Then he doesn't know what else to say to her, about what had happened in Zompania, about Marco. He watches the lamb without really watching it. He's not usually this quiet, but she doesn't usually stand that far away either.]

It's his birthday, week after next. He would've been seventeen.

[He doesn't know why he says this, of all things. It just needed to be said. It demanded to be felt.]

This week, he could've gotten that penalty taken care of.

[Jesus. A year older than he could have ever been. Ginia feels the sting there because she was in the same situation last month. A chance to grow, a chance to live, a chance to see much more than life afforded. And this week... she'd grown used to his silence, but it wasn't his natural state. She would have been glad to see his penalty removed, to hear his voice again (all the same, she couldn't quite remember what it sounded like either).

What do you say to any of that?

Nothing really.

So Ginia steps in and gives Jean a light hug. Far lighter than she would have given him before the draft, there's plenty of space for him to get away, but the sentiment is still there.]

[His shoulders draw up, the action of her arms closing around him coming as unexpected and unfamiliar, before relaxing a little. He doesn't let go of the wooden railing, but he raises his other hand, left dangling awkwardly at his side, to pat her on the back below her wings. Whatever else he doesn't know about her anymore, at least her sympathy is genuine - he can feel it in the silence of her hands, in the lightness of her arms. No well-intended filler, nothing that's trying too hard.

He steps back, shuffling along the fence, creating distance again.]

I knew this would come sooner or later, but... [He shakes his head. A pause in which everything Marco would never get to do, see, feel dies in his throat, and even though this isn't the first time he's turned over these could'ves in his head, they don't ever get any lighter. A sad sort of ha that's desperately trying to be otherwise.] It just really sucks.

[Of course that's all he can think to say. He can't even explain to Ginia why his mourning isn't all selfish, isn't just childish unwillingness to be left behind by a friend - he doesn't know that she already knows.]

[Sooner or later they all have to go. Some will go back to their families and homes, some will go back to worlds no one should live in, and some will stop existing again. None of this will matter any more and it's the worst part. So she can't blame Jean for mourning over Marco. It's not just missing a friend again, but knowing a friend's life was cut short again.

Ginia leans back on the fence, looks up at the sky. It's unfair it's such a nice day, sunny and hot, the perfect day to relax. The two of them should be out riding horses or goofing off at the beach or something.]

/...He told me about being dead./

Edited 2014-06-23 21:50 (UTC)

[His eyebrows unfurrow in a pinprick of surprise. He says nothing for a moment, just watches her, finds himself wondering up at the sky too - he doesn't believe in heaven or angels or any of the stuff that's supposed to make you feel better - until he comes back down. Something compels him to switch to his hands, the language that can't be overheard.]

/I didn't realize anyone here knew./

/I don't know if he told anyone else, but it was something we talked about early on./

[After her arrival, while she was trying to come to terms with being alive herself. It took much longer before she knew the words were his, but they had been a comfort at the time. In some ways, knowing it was him made it harder though. He was young, so much to look forward to, enraptured by music...

Ginia knows she never asked how he died. Never seemed appropriate and given the world situation it was an easy guess. Now she wonders if Jean was there but that's not something to ask either.]

[He wonders how that ever came up, and for an instant he's rattled with the idea that she too-- No, he can't assume.]

/It's not really easy to talk about./

[They had both acknowledged what the reality was - it's not like they could pretend otherwise - but there was hardly ever a need to direct their attention to it with words. Enough reminders of the impermanence of Marco's situation crept in silently.]

/A lot of subjects aren't./

[Death and dying especially. Something now more than a good chunk of the enclosure has experienced. But dying and having time reversed and given a second chance is very different than dying and getting a second chance in a village.

Still not pleasant either way.]

/Like I said earlier, find someone to talk to. Don't bottle things up./

['Don't be like me.' Always the unspoken line. 'Please don't end up like me.']

I don't bottle things up.

[Words snapped out like reflex, no time to think through the proper gestures with his hands. But it's true, at least he thinks it is. He can't keep much bottled up if he tries - it will spill out eventually, or leak out gradually and color his every action.

He'll train a little harder. Go out on longer rides with Benoit. Learn more, even if he'll forget it all one day when he too leaves. Minutes to make up for the ones Marco doesn't have. Live the weight of more than just one life.]

[It's good someone doesn't. All the same, Ginia's expression is still a little scrutinizing. No matter the gulf between them now, she can't still help but worry about him.]

/Take care then./

[There's nothing left to say so why take up more of his time?]

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