wipesfaith | 05 [written/action]

Entry tags:

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Feeling awkward under both her thanks and her apology, he shifts his weight to favor one leg and his hand jerks up to rake through his hair at the back of his head out of reflexive need for something to do. There's something of a laugh here, contained to a single dry breath.]

You give me too much credit, you know. I'm just speaking my mind is all.

[He can't help but remember giving the same "advice" to Marco months ago, except it involved more raised tempers, raised voices, and raised fists.]

I guess... but maybe you speaking your mind is what I need right now.

[She unscrews the bottled water's cap, but it's still obvious that her mind is elsewhere.]

[He doesn't know what to say to that, so he jumps back to his previous thread of thought.]

...Being prepared doesn't guarantee a thing anyway. [You can train as hard as anyone else, graduate in the top ten, and still end up dead on the side of the street like none of it mattered.] A real battle isn't gonna be as predictable as those simulations.

A real battle...

[She puts the bottle to her mouth, drinking a little. Her hand is trembling--she doesn't even want to think about real battles. About battles like the one they were involved in. She had been drafted before, but it was nowhere near as bad as the recent horror they had gone through...]

[He watches her hand tremble, and his eyes drop away.]

...It's not like I'd forgotten what it's like [there's no way he could ever forget what real battle is like; the tension is woven into his muscles' memory, the fear that gets swallowed back by the necessity of the moment is carved into his brain], but I still...wasn't expecting that.

[She pulls the drink away from her mouth.]

How could anyone have expected that?!

[She realizes how loud she just was, and she quiets down, allowing the awkward silence to loom over them. She sighs.]

The more you do something, the easier it's supposed to get. [There's an iron edge to his voice, but iron is not as durable as it makes out to be. It rusts, it becomes weathered, and his words carry these inflections of weakness.]

I'd already seen hell before, and I thought, "This is it. No matter what, nothing I face can be worse than this." [Short of meeting his own death, and that probability was always there, stuck on him like his shadow.] But... What I'm finding out is there are all different kinds of hell. An infinite number of them, maybe.

Don't say that.

[Her hand tightens around the bottle. Water threatens to spill over onto her hand, since she didn't put the lid back on.]

Don't say that! [As if it will become untrue if Jean doesn't speak of it.]

[When he looks at her, his eyes are not quiet set in a glare, but they're steeled, set in a reality she wants to ignore. But closing your eyes isn't how you stay alive.]

What the hell do you want me to say?

It's not going to stop being shitty, this war none of us want to be a part of... We'll keep seeing things we don't want to see, and keep doing things we don't want to do, and maybe we'll never get used to it, we'll never be prepared for it, because that's just how it is. The second you think you're fully prepared, something new will come along to prove you wrong.

[Even though it feels so slow to her, like eternity (no such thing, no such thing, no such thing--), in reality it happens in an instant. Her hand squeezes around the bottle too tightly, causing the water to escape and cover her hand. Next, she drops the bottle, the remaining water spilling onto the floor.

Then she falls to her knees, holding herself and just trying to block everything out. The bodies that had surrounded them, the deaths she caused... and then, less recent things. Her parents dying, her waiting for death in a coffin next to theirs, a prince--one she thought was an angel of death--enticing her curiosity and causing her to leave the coffin to follow him. The poor girl before her, so many swords, the rose bride, no, it can't be, Himemiya--?!

She doesn't scream or cry. All she can manage is a whimper, weakly raising her head to look at Jean. This is so embarrassing. This is weak. She shouldn't be doing this. She wants... she wants to be a prince... she wants to be a prince, so she can save her. So she can save Himemiya... but--!]

[He watches the water slosh unevenly from the bottle as it rolls across the floor, rather than stare at her huddled shape. Situations like this are the ones in which he has no idea what he's supposed to do. He still suspects he's about as comforting as a blanket woven from sandpaper - and he remembers sitting with Marco that night he came back shackled to a death penalty, resenting the feeling of uselessness that floundered inside him like it is now.

He starts with what is easiest, which is stooping to pick the nearly empty bottle up. He throws his eyes around the room for a spare towel to mop up the mess with, but he hesitates in actually going to fetch one when his eyes land on her again. He extends a hand to her. She's strong. She should be standing up.]

Can you get up? [His voice is now softened by both awkwardness and necessity.]

I'm... not sure.

[Which is true. She appreciates Jean's concern, but she really doesn't know. She's being bombarded with so many things right now and it's all just too much. She reaches for Jean's hand with a shaky one of her own.]

Sorry. Sorry... that you have to see me like this. I shouldn't be acting like this... [But remembering so many repressed memories will do that, won't it?]

[He clasps his hand around hers to smother the trembling, and he pulls her back up to her feet. His hand doesn't drop away once she's up, in case she still needs help keeping steady. His eyes will find hers, whether she wants to look at him or not.]

I don't take back any of what I said. Even if you don't want to listen, that doesn't make reality just go away.

Who said I wanted you to take any of it back?

[She knows Jean is right. She knows. But on top of the horrors she had seen back on the battle field. Everything is unraveling, all the lies and fabrications of her memories are falling apart. It's like a foundation, and it's being torn apart brick by brick. She's beginning to realize that Mikage was right about something after all--there were memories she didn't want to have touched, memories she wanted to make eternal (but eternity doesn't exist anyway.)

Those memories were lies. She feels ashamed over it, too. How could she forget the promise she made so long ago? To save that girl--to save Himemiya?

She sighs, shaking her head.]

...you're right. It won't go away. [She keeps a grip on his hand, because even she's not sure she'll be able to stay steady. She looks to the spilled water.] Sorry... about dropping the water, I mean. You were nice enough to get it for me, even though I...

It's nothing.

[As usual, she gives him too much credit. He simply wasn't made for this. His idea of support is finding someone to blame and decking them in the face, but there isn't a singular culprit to raise a fist to. The Malnosso had thrown them onto the battlefield, and the Cultists had brought the war, and they had carved their own choices out of all of it.

Even if he could narrow the blame down to one person, his fist wouldn't be able to reach.

He retracts his hand from hers, and it finds its usual awkward perch on the back of his neck.]

Yeah, I guess not.

[She keeps looking at the water, unable to look at him.]

You're right. Reality won't go away, and I need to push past that. If I don't, I'll never be able to save anyone. I won't be able to save... [Save Himemiya. But when she leaves this place, she'll forget again... won't she? And being here is no help to Himemiya, either.]

[He doesn't know who she's so intent on saving. Maybe everybody, and that idea is so foolish, because loss is so inevitable. That sort of solid conviction is something he lacks, something he can't quite grasp - it's too big.]

Being ignorant won't help anybody. It's shitty, but you gotta accept it and do what you can with it.

I'll tell you now that you can't save everyone. You'll be a lot better off if you don't hold yourself responsible for that. It's... It's hard. I've led people to their deaths before, but...I've also saved people on those same orders. [He can still remember Marco thanking him, when he wasn't sure if he'd done the right thing.] That's what I try to remember.

You've had a really tough time here, haven't you? [Sigh.] I'm sorry... for being selfish, I mean. You've gone through so much, more than I can possibly imagine, even with... you know.

[She shakes her head.]

But I won't stop trying to save as many people as I can, even if I have to push my limits a little. I've already decided--I'm going to become a prince. I'm going to become a prince and save who I can. Then, when I get home, I'm going to keep my promise. I'll become Himemiya's prince and save her!

[She doesn't mean to say that last part, but it doesn't mean that her words aren't any less true. She never realized how much Himemiya was suffering. But now that she remembers how that night really went down, who Himemiya truly is, she wishes she could apologize. She wishes she could have remembered sooner.]

Heh. That last part... wasn't something I should have said, I don't think. Still, I'll try to keep parts of what you've said in mind. But there are some things I can't let go of, no matter what.

If all that makes you selfish, then I don't know what selfish means anymore. [After the nightmare she'd lived through, she still wants to keep fighting - not because she feels obligated, but because she wants to protect others. He knows the weight of that feeling and the shaking fear entwined with it. He knows how hard it is to stand up straight underneath it. But you do it anyway, because folding in is not an option.]

You're too nice. And too naive. You care too much about everyone else. [But he probably does too. He never asked to grow attached to the people he fights beside, and he never intended to grow attached to the people here too. He hates wondering which line will be severed next.]

But you're stubborn...really damn stubborn. Don't fool yourself into thinking that will be enough. [He thinks of Eren, and he grimaces at the comparison.] I guess...you wouldn't get anywhere if you weren't at least a little stubborn, though.

You really have a way with words, don't you? [She's joking, for the most part.] But I get it. You're really concerned that I'll push myself too far, aren't you?

[She smiles to herself.]

Thank you, Jean. I mean it, for everything you've said. You're a good friend. Maybe I'm too nice, and too stubborn too. But you're right--I wouldn't get anywhere if I weren't a little stubborn. I'll try not to push myself too hard from now on.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

05 [written/action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]