For all his teasing, he listens quietly and looks thoughtful. Not much shock or horror, but no scoffing either. Everyone, filled with rage and stripped of inhibitions in a go? Yeah, he can imagine what that looks like.
Making it happen to only one and changing that every day is both sick and an interesting psychological play. The solution is one to give thought to as well. As much as he'd never admit it, it occurs that if uniting the masses is what it takes, Ichigo probably could have had them out of here in a day.
He turns to that workshop, but he can imagine a burned down heap. When he turns back though, this of all things has his brow lifted.
"I can't say I like being interrupted either, even if it were a friend, but I've gotta wonder what a sloth managed to do to you. And how someone who apparently resented this place turned around to being town guard." Not that he's judging, but he is curious.
"The sloth didn't do anything. She was just a part of all this." She gestures around to the village, then drops her hand back down to her hand. One finger taps against the white dragon head. She chews on her lip as she thinks. She could probably make a joke about all of it--dismiss it without too much thought. But it's a hard thing to joke about for her with so many feelings attached to it all.
"I can't say it made a lot of sense. I went back and forth on it a lot. When it started, I was just trying to keep a friend company. She'd promised some asshole to make patrols around the village, and it seemed shitty and boring for her to do that alone. When she disappeared, I kept it going. Because it was needed. People live here, and I wanted to give them a safe place to live." Or a safe place to rest, in some cases. After hearing all the crazy places out there, it made this place seem all the more unique.
"But I still wanted to go back to the place I came from. There were people trapped back there, being put through the same hell I escaped from, and I couldn't just leave them there. I had to go back and save them." Her frown deepens, and the words get stuck in her throat. She licks her lips, then inhales a deep breath, trying to loosen them. The pressure in her chest doesn't ease, but the words do, quiet though they may be.
"About a year and a half ago, I realized that was never going to happen. They were already dead, and there wasn't anything I could do about it. People had been trying to tell me that since I got here, but I didn't want to believe them. So when it finally sank in, I realized this is the only home I have left. So I don't want anything happening to it."
Her justification is enough for him. It still leaves the question of what changed with all that anger, but he can wait for that, and in short time, she delivers her answer.
It starts pretty straight forward. He can't even say he questions her choice to keep the habit going, even if he knows he wouldn't do the same. She's a hero type. He's not even sure he's surprised. So many he knew before... but it doesn't change anything. It's all just a ploy, an act, some thing they fool themselves into. The knowledge doesn't sting, it's scalded over to uncomfortable numbness.
And they believe it. He's sure she does too. It's the latter bit that unsettles more.
"So, you were angry at this place because you thought it kept you from them." Probably easier than being angry at herself. He could see Ichigo thinking the same way, that there had to be a way...
He doesn't want to ask, but he doesn't think he can leave it unsaid either. "... What made you realize?"
She shrugs a little at his conclusion. He's not wrong. Angry, resentful--it's the same emotion, and in the end she hated being here because it wasn't where she was needed. Or where she thought she was needed.
"...We had something like that memory tree before. It was these frogs that appeared one day. Touching them would trigger remembering things... I touched one, and I remembered something that I couldn't remember before. A memory that I didn't have."
She exhales a breath, that tension still present in her shoulders and her chest. She might be blind, but her attention shifts from the ground to the village around them--anywhere but on him. "See, I knew what happened. The place where I was before... It was a space station, and it crashed into a planet. I was told there were no survivors. But I thought because I was taken from a time long before that, I could go back to when I came from. I thought I could change the future--or at least make a new future where everyone didn't die." She snorts a bit, and there's a hint of bitterness in her expression for just a moment. But it's gone again as she continues. She picks up the cane, twirling it idly in her hand just to fidget with something.
"That's... not really how time works. I should have known that. But when I got that new memory, I realized something was wrong. My memories were jumbled together--I thought I had skipped around in time already, so going back would be just more of the same. So when I got those sorted out... I realized I had already lived and died on that space station. So there wasn't anything to go back to."
He knows what that's like. Learning about White hadn't been enjoyable and that hadn't had any magic frogs involved. He can't tell where her attention is now, but he wouldn't want it on him if he could.
There was another thing that learning about White had shown him. It was that there'd never been any hope at all of going home.
"But there was still something worth fighting for. Even if you thought you lost it all." The word come out quiet, his eyes boring through the earth.
And then, suddenly, he's shaking himself out. "Well, I don't know anything about time either but it sounds like you've gotten smarter for all that, so at least there's that. Plenty of fools who'd just keep beating their head against a wall and calling it progress."
He turns his knife over and flips it in his hands. It's an obvious topic change but better than an apology. "You mentioned a sword before. Does that mean you know where there's just some laying around?"
While her attention hadn't been on him to start, she does sniff his way when he responds in that quiet voice. There's something more to that. She can tell. It strikes a chord in her, and it's another brief moment of feeling like they're closer to the same wavelength than she previously thought.
But he acts like he didn't want her to hear that... so she pretends that she didn't.
"Yeah, there's people like that living here," she mutters. People that she sees herself in and wishes she didn't. John and Stephen mostly. It's not fun, knowing they're probably going to crash and burn like she did, and there's nothing she can do to stop it.
The abrupt topic change isn't quite what she expects, but it's better than lingering on this topic. It reminds her that they were talking about something a bit less heavy a few minutes ago.
"Some? No. I know where one is. Mine, to be precise."
He doesn't know who exactly she's thinking of as she mutters, but he smirks anyway, a laugh behind his teeth. It's the general feeling he understands.
"Way to let me down. A sword pile is what this place really needs," He jokes. Even if the idea of using a sword that's not him and his makes his guts roil.
And with that, his arms fold and his head tilts. He looks at her close, up and down. "So you're a sword person. Really?"
"I don't think a sword pile would solve anyone's problems." Except maybe his. He seems to really be gunning for one.
But when he turns his skepticism on her, she can't help but laugh. He's eying her up like that, and she just leans on her cane again, angling herself forward and grinning. "What's so unbelievable about that?"
"If done right, a sword pile could solve everyone's problems," he says, snickering.
His grin does not diminish as she leers back. Not this time.
"Mmm, I didn't say unbelievable but even aside the rope thing there's a certain sort of people with... greater proclivity. I'm not sure if you seem like one of them yet. Maybe you should show me you're made of."
Her laugh is more like a guffaw, loud and abrupt. "Maybe if you get a sword, Cocoberry. As it stands, you're kinda lacking..."
She stands up straight again, lifting the cane to twirl it nimbly in her hand. Once it makes a full cycle, she grabs just below the dragon's head with her left hand, holding the cane horizontal--and unsheathes a portion of the blade hidden within. "I'm already ready. Any time, any place."
His temporary mirth is indeed temporary. It evaporates in an instant as she reminds him of the central problem, bringing him to make a face, one of deep unhappiness.
Then suddenly, the cane is spinning. It takes him a second to guess what's about to happen, but it's overridden by the sudden rush, the adrenaline over the possibility of a real fight mixing and entangling with that choking sense of jealousy. The cut of the blade through the air, the weight of it in hand, the feeling of swinging out... There is, he thinks, one single thing he hungers for more than those around him.
And then he shakes himself of that, ridding that longing look for one of firm resolve. "I can still take you with a knife. Lets do this."
One thing she can tell, just from the smell of his face, is that he really wants a sword. She almost feels bad, like he's an addict and she's holding his personal drug over his head and taunting him with it. On the other hand, it's her sword, and she's not giving it up for anything. So it's a good thing he doesn't ask.
"Are you sure? I'm going to have a hell of a longer reach than you." She looks a little concerned about that, but if he insists, she'll pull the sword out the rest of the way.
"That just means I'll have to fight smart then, doesn't it?" He says, matching her concern with a complete lack of it. His eyes are fixed on her blade. Give him a fight, give him a real fight, blade clashing and the slice of flesh, he doesn't give a damn if the injury is his.
He falls into a ready stance. "You said any time. Now's as good a time as any."
If he's going to call her bluff, then she's going to give him what he wants. There's really no reason not to. The way she figures: He can't hurt her, and she's skilled enough to avoid murdering him.
He falls back into a ready stance, and she takes a step back to drop the sword's sheath where it won't be in the way.
And then she's whirling around to slash out at him with her sword, aiming high to give him the chance to duck. Hit or miss, she follows through with a stab towards his middle, ready to stop short if he doesn't move. It's a bit of an easy start, but despite seeing his target practice, she doesn't actually know how well he fights. If he matches her opening swings, she'll take it up a notch.
He doesn't have the power anymore to simply leap up over a sword swing so a duck will have to do. She knows what she's doing with her sword, but she lacks something and he thinks he knows what it is. Funny, people don't tend to do that with him.
He moves quick bring that knife to block the force of her sword and it's then she'll find his face lit up with the thrill of this. He pushes her blade up, making it swing high and then spinning, blade switching hands, to get a shot in closer at her.
He meets her swings with more finesse than she really expects. It's pretty clear that he wasn't joking about being good, and there's a part of her that's a little delighted by that. She hasn't had a real match in ages...
Her sword gets forced up and he moves in, but she spins the blade down again, grasping it with both hands, and turns her body to the side, making herself a smaller target. It becomes abundantly clear that he's going to have the upper hand power-wise if she loses that distance advantage--so she kicks out at his gut, using that force and momentum if she can to flip herself back a number of feet. When she lands, she readies herself again, blade held across her body and ready to strike, but not advancing this time.
He can't say he likes being the one to take the first hit, but these things happen and in his spin he's lost that time to avoid her using him as a spring board. His hand snaps out, trying to at least interrupt her flip and landing but it's too little too late.
So she's going on the defensive is she? Well that's just fine with him. He charges forward with wild abandon and the moment he's close enough he starts to slash. He blocks and turns away what swing he can, trying to move in faster and push into the metaphorical corner. The more he swings, the more giddy he becomes, laughter bubbling over and going shrill.
Up until that point, she'd been focused on the fight, her expression all but stoic while his lights right up. But the sound of his laughter seems to snap her out of it a little, and she can't help the grin that finds its way onto her lips.
She meets his swings with her sword, blocking the blows with clashes of metal on metal, trying to knock his weapon aside to give her enough room to swipe back at him. Where she doesn't manage to block his knife, the blade cuts into flesh, drawing teal blood--for a moment, at least. Just enough to linger on the metal but not long enough to leave a mark behind.
As the fight continues on, her empty right hand remains clasped near her side, as if something should be held there. It leaves her feeling off-balanced, and more than once there's a stutter in her reaction time, where she moves instinctively to block with her right--only to realize in that fraction of a second that she needs her other hand.
His reach is short, far too short, and every now and again his attempts to push back her blade end with a faint cut upon his arm, bubbling up red. But he hardly notices it, too focused on the fight. Even the marks he makes, drawing up a curious color, aren't enough to make him pause.
It's her faltering that catches him, and this time he brings the knife in a wide cut upwards, a joyous cry to go with it.
"You're not used to this!" He laughs. "Let me guess! Dual-wielding?"
She ducks to the side to avoid getting a slash up the side of her face, folding into a roll that puts her a few feet away. It gives her a chance to catch a breath, sweat beading on her skin. It's been a while since she's had a fight like this. He really doesn't hold back...
"Good guess," she shoots back at him, a rueful smile on her face. "I lied a bit. Not actually my sword--but close enough to it." At least enough for her to be able to use it, just not as well as her own. Privately, she thinks she can probably use it well enough to beat him, but she's not actually trying to kill him, so the point is moot.
She holds up a hand, though her guard is still up. "Break?"
Damn. He missed. That would have been a good hit. Oh well,
"A sorry replacement or a recent upgrade?" He asks, because that makes all the difference. Seems they've both got something of a handicap even of he's certain he more than makes up for it.
He doesn't get an answer before she's calling time though and he smirks wryly. "Depends. Is this a break to let you catch your breath or a breaking of the sucker that lets his guard down too early?"
She laughs. "I'm not that underhanded." And as a show of good faith, she'll straighten out of her defensive stance, letting her sword relax down to her side. "I just don't want to do too much fighting out here. The mirror dimension's a better place for that. Just in case." In case of accidents or in case of passer-bys.
If he doesn't look likely to reignite their match, she'll look around for where she left the other half of her cane, going over to pick it up. "And this isn't really either thing. It was a gift from my ancestor. There's only one like it. This sword's just about as iconic as she was."
He shrugs, because you never can tell. For now he'll take her word and fall into something more casual. Save of course for the still giddy grin.
"Famous ancestor? Lucky you," he says neither caring about ancestry nor acknowledging his possible own. "You sure it's worth the difference in not being yours?"
"It's the most important thing I own," she says with conviction. "And it's close enough to mine. She's not around anymore, so it might as well be." She wipes the bit of blood off the blade and sheathes it back into the cane properly--then she gestures down at it.
"It feels almost identical like this. But on the one I'm used to, the top and bottom are red--and it separates near the middle instead of near the head. The blades are shorter and slightly smaller, enough to fit side by side inside the cane.
He puts his hands up in surrender, fingers still locked around a knife. If it's hers it's hers now.
His hands drop as he listens to her explanation of the blades. He imagines it, head bobbing a little.
Then assessment made, he asks, "Is it a lighter blade? Looks like one. You dual weild so you're ambidextrous. Could learn to swap hands mid-battle. Or carry a second piece. Otherwise you've got to recorrect your thinking patterns."
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pythianjudgment) wrote2013-11-02 10:30 pm
no subject
Making it happen to only one and changing that every day is both sick and an interesting psychological play. The solution is one to give thought to as well. As much as he'd never admit it, it occurs that if uniting the masses is what it takes, Ichigo probably could have had them out of here in a day.
He turns to that workshop, but he can imagine a burned down heap. When he turns back though, this of all things has his brow lifted.
"I can't say I like being interrupted either, even if it were a friend, but I've gotta wonder what a sloth managed to do to you. And how someone who apparently resented this place turned around to being town guard." Not that he's judging, but he is curious.
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"I can't say it made a lot of sense. I went back and forth on it a lot. When it started, I was just trying to keep a friend company. She'd promised some asshole to make patrols around the village, and it seemed shitty and boring for her to do that alone. When she disappeared, I kept it going. Because it was needed. People live here, and I wanted to give them a safe place to live." Or a safe place to rest, in some cases. After hearing all the crazy places out there, it made this place seem all the more unique.
"But I still wanted to go back to the place I came from. There were people trapped back there, being put through the same hell I escaped from, and I couldn't just leave them there. I had to go back and save them." Her frown deepens, and the words get stuck in her throat. She licks her lips, then inhales a deep breath, trying to loosen them. The pressure in her chest doesn't ease, but the words do, quiet though they may be.
"About a year and a half ago, I realized that was never going to happen. They were already dead, and there wasn't anything I could do about it. People had been trying to tell me that since I got here, but I didn't want to believe them. So when it finally sank in, I realized this is the only home I have left. So I don't want anything happening to it."
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It starts pretty straight forward. He can't even say he questions her choice to keep the habit going, even if he knows he wouldn't do the same. She's a hero type. He's not even sure he's surprised. So many he knew before... but it doesn't change anything. It's all just a ploy, an act, some thing they fool themselves into. The knowledge doesn't sting, it's scalded over to uncomfortable numbness.
And they believe it. He's sure she does too. It's the latter bit that unsettles more.
"So, you were angry at this place because you thought it kept you from them." Probably easier than being angry at herself. He could see Ichigo thinking the same way, that there had to be a way...
He doesn't want to ask, but he doesn't think he can leave it unsaid either. "... What made you realize?"
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"...We had something like that memory tree before. It was these frogs that appeared one day. Touching them would trigger remembering things... I touched one, and I remembered something that I couldn't remember before. A memory that I didn't have."
She exhales a breath, that tension still present in her shoulders and her chest. She might be blind, but her attention shifts from the ground to the village around them--anywhere but on him. "See, I knew what happened. The place where I was before... It was a space station, and it crashed into a planet. I was told there were no survivors. But I thought because I was taken from a time long before that, I could go back to when I came from. I thought I could change the future--or at least make a new future where everyone didn't die." She snorts a bit, and there's a hint of bitterness in her expression for just a moment. But it's gone again as she continues. She picks up the cane, twirling it idly in her hand just to fidget with something.
"That's... not really how time works. I should have known that. But when I got that new memory, I realized something was wrong. My memories were jumbled together--I thought I had skipped around in time already, so going back would be just more of the same. So when I got those sorted out... I realized I had already lived and died on that space station. So there wasn't anything to go back to."
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There was another thing that learning about White had shown him. It was that there'd never been any hope at all of going home.
"But there was still something worth fighting for. Even if you thought you lost it all." The word come out quiet, his eyes boring through the earth.
And then, suddenly, he's shaking himself out. "Well, I don't know anything about time either but it sounds like you've gotten smarter for all that, so at least there's that. Plenty of fools who'd just keep beating their head against a wall and calling it progress."
He turns his knife over and flips it in his hands. It's an obvious topic change but better than an apology. "You mentioned a sword before. Does that mean you know where there's just some laying around?"
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But he acts like he didn't want her to hear that... so she pretends that she didn't.
"Yeah, there's people like that living here," she mutters. People that she sees herself in and wishes she didn't. John and Stephen mostly. It's not fun, knowing they're probably going to crash and burn like she did, and there's nothing she can do to stop it.
The abrupt topic change isn't quite what she expects, but it's better than lingering on this topic. It reminds her that they were talking about something a bit less heavy a few minutes ago.
"Some? No. I know where one is. Mine, to be precise."
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"Way to let me down. A sword pile is what this place really needs," He jokes. Even if the idea of using a sword that's not him and his makes his guts roil.
And with that, his arms fold and his head tilts. He looks at her close, up and down. "So you're a sword person. Really?"
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But when he turns his skepticism on her, she can't help but laugh. He's eying her up like that, and she just leans on her cane again, angling herself forward and grinning. "What's so unbelievable about that?"
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His grin does not diminish as she leers back. Not this time.
"Mmm, I didn't say unbelievable but even aside the rope thing there's a certain sort of people with... greater proclivity. I'm not sure if you seem like one of them yet. Maybe you should show me you're made of."
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She stands up straight again, lifting the cane to twirl it nimbly in her hand. Once it makes a full cycle, she grabs just below the dragon's head with her left hand, holding the cane horizontal--and unsheathes a portion of the blade hidden within. "I'm already ready. Any time, any place."
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Then suddenly, the cane is spinning. It takes him a second to guess what's about to happen, but it's overridden by the sudden rush, the adrenaline over the possibility of a real fight mixing and entangling with that choking sense of jealousy. The cut of the blade through the air, the weight of it in hand, the feeling of swinging out... There is, he thinks, one single thing he hungers for more than those around him.
And then he shakes himself of that, ridding that longing look for one of firm resolve. "I can still take you with a knife. Lets do this."
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"Are you sure? I'm going to have a hell of a longer reach than you." She looks a little concerned about that, but if he insists, she'll pull the sword out the rest of the way.
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He falls into a ready stance. "You said any time. Now's as good a time as any."
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If he's going to call her bluff, then she's going to give him what he wants. There's really no reason not to. The way she figures: He can't hurt her, and she's skilled enough to avoid murdering him.
He falls back into a ready stance, and she takes a step back to drop the sword's sheath where it won't be in the way.
And then she's whirling around to slash out at him with her sword, aiming high to give him the chance to duck. Hit or miss, she follows through with a stab towards his middle, ready to stop short if he doesn't move. It's a bit of an easy start, but despite seeing his target practice, she doesn't actually know how well he fights. If he matches her opening swings, she'll take it up a notch.
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He moves quick bring that knife to block the force of her sword and it's then she'll find his face lit up with the thrill of this. He pushes her blade up, making it swing high and then spinning, blade switching hands, to get a shot in closer at her.
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Her sword gets forced up and he moves in, but she spins the blade down again, grasping it with both hands, and turns her body to the side, making herself a smaller target. It becomes abundantly clear that he's going to have the upper hand power-wise if she loses that distance advantage--so she kicks out at his gut, using that force and momentum if she can to flip herself back a number of feet. When she lands, she readies herself again, blade held across her body and ready to strike, but not advancing this time.
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So she's going on the defensive is she? Well that's just fine with him. He charges forward with wild abandon and the moment he's close enough he starts to slash. He blocks and turns away what swing he can, trying to move in faster and push into the metaphorical corner. The more he swings, the more giddy he becomes, laughter bubbling over and going shrill.
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She meets his swings with her sword, blocking the blows with clashes of metal on metal, trying to knock his weapon aside to give her enough room to swipe back at him. Where she doesn't manage to block his knife, the blade cuts into flesh, drawing teal blood--for a moment, at least. Just enough to linger on the metal but not long enough to leave a mark behind.
As the fight continues on, her empty right hand remains clasped near her side, as if something should be held there. It leaves her feeling off-balanced, and more than once there's a stutter in her reaction time, where she moves instinctively to block with her right--only to realize in that fraction of a second that she needs her other hand.
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It's her faltering that catches him, and this time he brings the knife in a wide cut upwards, a joyous cry to go with it.
"You're not used to this!" He laughs. "Let me guess! Dual-wielding?"
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"Good guess," she shoots back at him, a rueful smile on her face. "I lied a bit. Not actually my sword--but close enough to it." At least enough for her to be able to use it, just not as well as her own. Privately, she thinks she can probably use it well enough to beat him, but she's not actually trying to kill him, so the point is moot.
She holds up a hand, though her guard is still up. "Break?"
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"A sorry replacement or a recent upgrade?" He asks, because that makes all the difference. Seems they've both got something of a handicap even of he's certain he more than makes up for it.
He doesn't get an answer before she's calling time though and he smirks wryly. "Depends. Is this a break to let you catch your breath or a breaking of the sucker that lets his guard down too early?"
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If he doesn't look likely to reignite their match, she'll look around for where she left the other half of her cane, going over to pick it up. "And this isn't really either thing. It was a gift from my ancestor. There's only one like it. This sword's just about as iconic as she was."
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"Famous ancestor? Lucky you," he says neither caring about ancestry nor acknowledging his possible own. "You sure it's worth the difference in not being yours?"
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"It feels almost identical like this. But on the one I'm used to, the top and bottom are red--and it separates near the middle instead of near the head. The blades are shorter and slightly smaller, enough to fit side by side inside the cane.
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His hands drop as he listens to her explanation of the blades. He imagines it, head bobbing a little.
Then assessment made, he asks, "Is it a lighter blade? Looks like one. You dual weild so you're ambidextrous. Could learn to swap hands mid-battle. Or carry a second piece. Otherwise you've got to recorrect your thinking patterns."
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