Asch the Bloody (
dissonates) wrote2012-05-22 01:04 am
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[Written...? / Action, May 20th and beyond]
[It starts with a hum.
It's quiet, barely perceptible, like a fruit fry buzzing away in someone's ear. Across the village, it starts flickering to life in the mind of one Luke fon Fabre, miles away, awake and unaware and waiting for it.
The hum becomes a whisper. Wordless noise. An echo of something that used to be alive and loud and binding. Intrusive, almost, and yet not- because something missed, needed, eagerly and anxiously awaited is rarely unwanted.
The whisper becomes words, messy and jumbled and confused, a thought process born of desperation, fear, pain, loneliness. The words of the dead, or the dying, or the living. Of all three at once.
I'm here.
imhereimhereimherereplicaimherewhereareyou
help me
Alive. Alive.
And calling for him.]
[It's much later - after he's found, after he's awake and aware of his new situation - that Asch finally touches the journal. He toys with the controls, flips through the pages quietly, listening to everything that's open to hear. It feels... startlingly normal. Just your average day in Luceti. Life does go on without you- but then, he knew that long ago. This is nothing new.
...Well, almost nothing. It's hard to do much of anything when you can't see the world you're used to seeing around you. Not for the first little while, anyway. By touch and trial-and-error he finds the camera eventually, and he scribbles out a bit of nonsense in what he thinks is the entry area that almost looks like words, he sends out a few misfired comments to complete strangers, and in the end he thinks the entire journal system isn't nearly user-friendly enough. Eventually he gives up and sets it aside, leaving it open. Just. Listens.
It's not much. But for the moment, it'll do.]
((ooc: okay so here's the deal- Asch is back from the dead and blind. He'll be in the clinic for a while while he gets used to it, so feel free to use this post as a catch-all in case people want to visit/stumble upon him for the entire week. His scribble entry is also sort-of posted with a slightly-obscured picture, so if you'd rather use the voice function to bug him, feel free |D Word will probably get around that he's back one way or another.
Luke may or may not be with him depending on the time of visit; more often than not, he will be
[Action] /prepares for feels
Tsuae meows quietly and abandons the game, padding over to the edge of the bed and leaning towards Guy in an attempt to bump up against him. Tsuae is usually fairly shy, so for him to greet the newcomer, it must be someone he's familiar with. Someone from the apartment. The cat's reaction basically cements it: he's here. Guy. The one who'd killed him, given the latest fatal scar on his torso. The one who'd caused his blindness.
The one who still hated him. No, who'd always hated him. Still did, presumably. It's not like he'd done anything to dispel that.
"I said that... it didn't look like this made it any better. I think I was right."
Not very reassuring, replica.
Pursing his lips, Asch turns his head in the direction of the noise he'd heard - a sliding chair, the quiet squeak of someone sitting down - and gives his visitor a chance to get a good look. His eyes are still empty, unfocused, not meeting Guy's because he can't see them. Might as well be up front about it- it's not a guilt trip, because doing that would be pointless. But he would like, if nothing else, an acknowledgement.
Actually, truth be told, he isn't sure what he wants from this. Fairly certain he isn't getting it regardless.
He gives it a moment, for Guy to notice and for his condition to sink in, and then speaks up at last.]
I didn't think you'd come.
[His voice is calm, surprising even himself. He's not angry. He wants to be angry, and he knows he should be. He just... isn't. In all this time, Guy has never made him angry - not back home, not this Guy here. It's ironic, really, that the only times that Guy made him angry is when they'd been closer. Maybe that's telling him something.
Heh. Pathetic as always.]
[Action] Nik's mental process: /constant stream of expletives
At first, he wonders if that's something he caused. If the result of the fight somehow damaged Asch in this way... but no, no, the injury that he'd caused wouldn't have tampered with a person's eyesight, especially not so drastically. Which meant that the more likely culprit were the damn scientists that decided to revive the redhead. However the hell that worked.
Great.
The knowledge that it probably isn't entirely his fault makes a wave of relief pass over him... as incredibly short-lived as it is. He clings to it for as long as he can, even as he feels it slipping through his grasp. Nngh. That knawing feeling sitting heavily in his stomach isn't quite going away, and it bothers him. The exhausted and frighteningly calm expression on Asch's face, coupled with those hollow seagreen eyes, is, in fact, making it just a little worse. He really does want to leave. Get up now, without a word.
He doesn't want to admit that the pit eating away at him is guilt.
Not for Asch.
So he just won't for right now. Denial. Swallowing it back. He's here to just... touch base. Somehow.
That's all.
Hngh.
The blonde lets out a long breathe when Asch finally speaks - in the nose, out the mouth, as a hand tensely runs through his hair.
Didn't think he would come, huh?
Hah.
I didn't think I would, either.
But he swallows that bitter temptation of a response, letting his voice smooth over in a low, neutral tone that was more than comfortable. A nice, solid mask to hide the discomfort he was under, at least.]
Surprises happen.
[A short pause. He outstretches his hand, letting the cat rub against it with his muzzle as he looks up again at those clouded eyes...]
I take it you can't see me right now, then?
[No need to pull the punch with that - the question is very blunt, very direct. He might as well hear the answer from Asch's own mouth, rather than walk on even more eggshells that really didn't need to be there.]
[Action] I am in perpetual lurkerface mode right now I can't even
Actually, not being able to see Guy's expression, merely guessing at it, is... easier. He can fake it, pretend that there's no hate to be found between them. Like a weight's been lifted.
Huh.]
Is it so obvious?
[Tsuae trills pleasantly at Guy's attention, and Asch's pointless gaze is drawn in the cat's direction. Traitor.
He doesn't say anything more than that, though- not for the moment. Guy came to see him. He has nothing to apologize, no reason to speak, no deep-rooted confessions to share. Guy has been in denial of the relationship he and Luke have developed ever since his arrival, so it's not any pretty words are going to magically make him understand. And while he seriously doubts he'll get much out of Guy, something needs to be said here.
So he waits.]
[Action] And with this tag I start realizing how possibly screwed up Guy is now. Oh. my. god.
More like an educated guess, actually.
[He stays silent once more, withdrawing his hand from the range of the cat even as it let out a soft sound in response.
Slipping back into that confusion. That frustrating little limbo of not knowing what to say or what to do. He wasn't here for an explanation. He wasn't here to hear anything from the redhead - god, he was honestly surprised that he'd been acknowledged at all.
So why the hell was he here, then...
...
Mmm.
He'd say it was for Luke, but... that wasn't even right.
...
It was just...
Questions.
Questions he never bothered to answer. Questions about so many things that he really hadn't given a damn about before that suddenly were working their way up.
His rage had finally had its way, whether he liked it or not... and he was left at the end, not satisfied as he had thought... but horrified.
Left with a emptiness that begged to be filled with something.
Anything.
Questions or answers or reactions. Anything that wasn't his own unfathomable feelings. Anything that wasn't that gnawing rage that he knew was sitting there, silently controlling him and mocking him, fueled by something he refused to regret but morphing into something he was suddenly frightened to address.
A somber kind of curiosity now ate at him. No, not quite curiosity... a hunger. Something that ate away at him like an insatiable thirst, aching and begging for some new way to push down these ridiculous feelings towards this ridiculous man in front him. Towards Luke. Towards himself.
Towards everything he thought he had some sort of control over that now felt like it was teetering on the verge of complete and utter loss.
Just...
Just spit it out.
Just spit SOMETHING out, get that obnoxious feeling out of your chest, get control back, get something back...
...
He straightens himself, lifting his head and looking as Asch as directly as possible.]
So.
Do you hate me for everything that happened?
[No bitterness. No anger.
Just another seemingly straightforward question. As lightly spoken as if they were discussing the weather.
But he stays silent, waiting for an answer or a reaction in lieu of one.
Time to quench that curiosity.]
[Action] well hey they're all hopelessly screwed up anyway so...
Well, almost. It's a short, stifled sound, more of a scoff buried behind a twisted ironic smirk, because Guy has no idea, no idea. And it should be funny, but none of this is funny, it shouldn't be funny, and he just doesn't laugh, ever. It feels wrong to do, so even now, with the sound hanging in the air between them, he clamps his mouth shut, lips pursing tightly, and lowers his head. He can't see Guy's expression with his eyes, but he can take a guess at it. It wasn't what anyone could consider a pleasant sound, but then, whatever comes out of his mouth so rarely is.
"Do you hate me-"
No idea. No. Idea.
He lets Guy wait for a while, mulling over his answer. Not because it's difficult - it isn't, it honestly isn't, even after all the hate, the anger, the suspicion, the murder, he could never hate Guy - but because he is honestly puzzled as to why Guy is even asking. Guy shouldn't ask him that. Guy shouldn't care. Guy should be with Luke, because he's always with Luke, and they've obviously made up with one another or he wouldn't even be here, he'd be there, and why the hell couldn't Guy just leave him alone?
He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to be questioned, or accused, or- or hated. He never wanted to be hated. Not by Guy.
Always has been, though. Somehow. Always, always, always.
His chest is burning again, like that day in the apartment, when Guy had twisted his arm behind his back, pulled him away from Luke, held him to hurt him. A tremor passes through his body, and he grips the material of his bedsheets tightly until it stops.
He's been very nearly cleaved in two by the man sitting beside him now. He's been stabbed three times in Auldrant, each a mortal blow. He's felt his body fade into nothing, fonons weakening, slowly tearing his body apart until his life escaped it. Three times now he's died.
Even with all that, he's never felt as vulnerable as he feels right now. Or as alone. Fleetingly, he wishes that Luke could be here, surprising himself by his own thought, but at the same time he knows why Luke can't be.
He needs honesty. From himself, from Guy. They won't get that with Luke here. His replica... taints things between them. It's what it always comes back to, really- Luke. It's where things changed. It's when Guy became someone's best friend, and when Asch realized he'd never had that, only wanted it.
Always, always, always.
But.]
...I don't hate you.
[It's quiet, spoken in a voice that is surprisingly raw, for someone who normally guards his emotion so carefully. There's sincerity in his voice, caution, reluctance. Maybe even a little pain, because there's a wall between them that for a long time didn't exist, and that wall feels so immobile, more so now than ever. He doesn't say everything he could say- that he hadn't hated Guy from the very beginning, that he wishes it had helped, that he'd wanted things to be different between them. He won't give the other man a greater opening to mock. He won't.
He can't say that his answer to Guy's always is never, never, never.
What he does say, instead, is this:]
Would it change anything, if I did?
[Action] Oh this fandom. Oh my heart.
Something was eating away at the man on the bed. Something more than a simple discomfort with the situation.
Why?
...
Pick up on that, dig a little.
Let the curiosity fuel you.
Something that isn't anger.
Something that you
can
control.
...
Lips press together in a thin, somber smile, never taking his eyes off of Asch's face. Actively watching his reactions, now.
Observing in a way he knew would make the other highly uncomfortable otherwise. Sitting this close to a man he had felt such hate for. Always. And yet seeing him breaking down a corner of a wall that Guy had never really seen before.
Why?
...
It was a little cruel. To be taking advantage like this. But... he had a freedom here. And with as confused as he was feeling, it seemed a rather peculiar means of personal comfort.
The raw quality of Asch's answer is enough to force Guy's voice into a softer range. Still light, but with a tinge of something a little more... pitying?
No, not pity. It was a bit too heavy to be pity.
...
g..uilt...]
Heh.
Depends on what you really think it would be changing, I guess.
[God knows he hardly has a clue himself.
Did his feelings really take a turn one way or the other, knowing that Asch didn't hate him? Wouldn't it just be easier for Asch to hold it against him? For them to have equal reasons to despise one another?
Equal... hah.
Could it be considered equal, in the end?
Hatred for one's family and home destroyed by the commands of one's father. Hatred for one's own life destroyed by the hand of the other.
...
Was it really the same?
Was it horrible of him to think that it was stupid and naive of Asch to say he didn't hate? He had to be mistaken or just not thinking clearly, when the man who murdered him could easily try again at a moment's notice. Wasn't he aware that the blonde could very well take up this moment of quiet and vulnerability and try again?
...
...
Mm.
But back then.
He hadn't pursued Asch, had he?
Not until...
...not until Asch had jumped into the way.
It was his choice.
His choice to take that blow.
His choice to mindlessly die for the replica he so often seemed to treat like scum.
To take the hatred.
...
Why.
Why.
To try and throw off the banner of resentment towards the redhead - to try and, for once, take a glimpse at understanding him... he finds that he can't. He cannot wrap his mind around what exactly has changed with this sullen, closed, bitter, stubborn man in front of him.
And for once, it frustrates him.
guilt
Frustrates him in a way he doesn't want to place. In a way that can't be thrown into the mere hatred that seemed so comfortable before.
guilt
I don't know.
I don't know I don't know I don't know.
I don't know why I can't just hate you and let it be enough.
...
When Guy speaks again, his voice is just a little darker. Still carrying that uncomfortable heaviness that he can't quite shake.]
...Why did you do it, Asch?
You're not quite the type for heroics involving your replica, last I remember.
[But you're nothing like I remember in the end. Are you?]
[Action] how many hearts have we ruined for each other now
It bothers him, knowing what Asch did, not knowing why. Not understanding. That surprises Asch a little. He'd wondered if that would matter.
Guy had always been the one who'd thought that he had understood Asch. It's somewhat satisfying now to have caught him unawares.
On the other hand, he can't give an honest answer- not truly honest, not really. Not when it carries so much with it, just as much as the question, just as much as that knife, still twisting, always twisting.
Because if I had let you kill him, it would have changed everything for you, but nothing at all for me. Because I'd still be on the outside looking in on everything I want and everything I can't have.
Because it could have destroyed you, knowing that you killed him. Because I couldn't stand to watch that happen. Because I've never wanted you to suffer. Because letting you kill me was the best way to cause the least amount of suffering for all of us. Because he doesn't deserve it. Because I don't hate him anymore.
Because he's mine.
Because I couldn't watch him die.
Because he's already dying.
Because I'm already dead.
But the words are too precious, too close for him to just share them with Guy. With this Guy, the one who doesn't know him, who'd never wanted to. He won't say the words aloud because they might be met with mockery, or disdain, or simple ignorance.
Because they won't matter, in the end. They won't change anything.
Why?
Why not?
He smiles more obviously now, the expression a little dark, and lifts his shoulders in a small shrug. His voice is suddenly more casual, dismissive, almost careless. Almost. He's willing it to be, forcing it, clutching the sheets so hard his knuckles are going red. Just say it. Say it, get it out there, let him hear it. Let him here what he wants to hear - the cold, arrogant, selfish reason, the one that will let him keep believing what Guy has surely always believed.
That he's just like his father.]
The fonic link is stronger here- closer than it ever was in Auldrant. Breaking it now is painful; you must have seen the state Luke was in last week. You can't possibly-
[He halts there- it's getting too personal, too close, too painful, and he can't let it show in his voice. Not in the middle of that. He swallows and tries again.]
On the other hand, death here is temporary, and the penalty for it isn't permanent either. It was just a matter of weighing out the pros and cons. Let the replica suffer my death, while I return in a week's time with some minor setback. It was the logical choice.
[It's a fairly obvious lie with only a smattering of truth, even if he's trying his best to make it seem convincing; obvious, at least, if Guy wants to think about it, wants to take it at anything but face value. It's an offering more than anything: an escape, a chance to shrug this whole incident off as one more lash at his replica, one more slight, one more way to hurt the one he's supposed to hate. Guy can believe him. He can get angry for intentionally hurting Luke and go back to hating Asch and everything will be the same as it was before.
It's why he did it. Not to save anyone. Asch the Bloody doesn't help people. Asch the Bloody doesn't do anything for anyone but himself. Asch the Bloody is the son of Duke Fabre and he deserved to die. It's better this way.
He took the hit for Luke because, if this confrontation happened, if Guy came to see him and to ask him why, there was always a chance that it could result in nothing changing at all. And if nothing changes, then it's fine, it's fine, because he'd never hoped for anymore more than that anyway.
No.
Because...
Because I wanted to see if you'd care.]
[Action] seven hundred and sixty five
A death meant for the man Guy had assumed he despised.
But there was a sense of insincerity about the way he spoke. An unnatural contrast between the tone of his voice and tension of his body, showing a conflict that wasn't wanting to come out to the surface.
The way his voice holds that familiar arrogance, and yet... breaks as he strays with his words a bit farther than he had intended.
This wasn't the Asch he quite remembered in the end. Sickeningly cruel or remarkably vulnerable - both were shocking enough. But it was still Asch.
This was the Asch that Luke actively pursued on a daily basis for more personal reasons than he could ever properly explain to Guy. It was the Asch that continued to cast the most mixed of emotional glances at him, while they seemed to be something completely foreign to the "replica" he claimed to had wanted to hurt.
Something didn't match up.
And this was hardly the behavior that portrayed honest intentions.
Guy bristles slightly, arms wrapped against the back of the chair and glancing at the floor for a long moment.]
Nice story. Wonderfully cruel twist for you. I'll give you a point for creativity.
Too bad there's not an ounce of logic in that kind of choice.
[He leans up slightly, looking back up at the redhead with narrowed eyes.]
I really doubt you think that, either.
[If you're going that far to keep from telling me the truth, then--
...
--maybe it was just to get him to react poorly. To intentionally anger him.
Maybe it was just to get him out of the room a little bit faster. But he could have easily done that with cold turns of the shoulder. Of straight up ignorance.
So...
...
He props one arm up against the back of the chair, letting his head rest against his knuckles.]
...
Are you really that set on having me hate you?
[Action] all those hearts and we've barely started
He doesn't laugh this time, anyway. Truth be told, he's surprised Guy didn't go for it, didn't latch onto that escape and march off to seek out better company. No one would blame him for doing so, after all, and it's not like he'd need the truth from someone he despised in order to go on living his life. He could disappear from Luceti right now, go home and die and be forgotten and it wouldn't matter. Right?
But he stayed. He stayed, called out the bullshit. Asked for more. For- not the truth, but something. And that means...
....
He doesn't know what it means. He's well past the point of clinging to a desperate hope that there's a way to turn this around.]
You seem like you're determined to hate me no matter what I do. Killing me hasn't changed anything, has it? Is it because it wasn't permanent? Would you have been satisfied if I never came back? That's why you-
[His breath catches a little, just enough to make him stop himself, his eyes widening as something seems to dawn in his expression. Throat dry, he swallows hard.
Is that why? Is that what had satisfied that desire for death at last? Guy, he'd... he'd been well beyond Eldrant last time, well beyond everything that he and Luke could remember. He'd wished death upon the children of Duke Fabre and the children of Duke Fabre had been gone. Two years gone, almost.
Gone forever. It must have seemed that way. Maybe, in a way, it had been a relief. No more quiet glares from the background, no more insincere smiles, no more passively critical remarks on every decision made. No more anger. No more hate. The target of that hate had been gone. And in that kind of situation, one has a lot of time to think about that hate, the reasons for it, the logic of it, with a much clearer head.
Is that why?
It doesn't hurt, realizing this. Acknowledging it. He tells himself this, knuckles going white at his sides, hoping against hope that the words will somehow become true. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt it doesn't hurt it doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt, the way this sudden, drastic leap of logic brings into question every exchange he'd ever had with Guy during his stay in Luceti. The looks and the words and the encouragement and the smiles and the laugh, he'd made Guy laugh, and there'd been no mockery to it, and they'd been so close and all that time is that why?
He feels sick. Swallows again, because words have to come again eventually, and he's not sure how much longer he can pretend that this isn't affecting him in some way. It's too much. Too much and too soon. He wishes, suddenly and sincerely with every fibre in him that Guy would leave.]
It's easier- [He stops again, his voice heavy, somewhat weak in his own ears. Curses quietly, under his breath. Stop it, stop it. It shouldn't be this hard.] It's easier if you do.
[It's easier to forget that we used to share a house without constant fighting.
It's easier to forget that you wanted to be my friend.
It's easier to forget that you understood me because you wanted to.
It's easier to forget that you wanted to bring me home with you.
Because you wanted me to live.
It's easier to forget everything.]
[Action] WOW I'm failing left and right let's try this again
[The answer comes immediately. Sharply.
What exactly it's an answer to isn't clear... because, in a way, that was his answer for everything.
Well. Almost everything.
He would take hate over confusion any day. He really would. He wanted to say it would be easier.
But he couldn't. He couldn't. Damn it, he tried. If he let it churn too long, the discomfort became a gnawing desperation - a realization that, despite wanting something to change, wanting anything to change with the slash of a blade... nothing would change at this point.
Whether he killed Asch once or a dozen times or a hundred times... nothing would help.
Nothing would be enough.
No satisfaction.
Nothing that he could do with his hands. No words that he could say. No glares he could cast.
It would simply be hate for hate's sake. An aching urge for that momentary loss of self-control, just for something that extended beyond the memory of his family and home.
It was a fuel that.... well, he felt lost without, yes.
It was why he wanted to hate this man.
But it seemed that something else had slipped alongside those tendrils of anger. Something that he had never felt for Asch in particular. Something he honestly had never expected to feel for Asch.
But as Asch's words had slipped out, he'd felt it ball up in a familiar fashion. He nearly laughed at the feel of it.
Almost.
His voice stays quiet as he rises from the chair, his tone low. Not out of anger... but of something else.]
I don't know what the hell has happened to you since you've been here or what you remember me as. I'm not going to pretend to know. [I'm not going to pretend I care.]
But what does it matter to you?
You're alive. And yet you're sitting here asking me if your permanent death was something better? Like you think my answer will give you some sort of justification?
[Like you think you know what he's thinking? What he's going through?
He scoffs - a harsh, cold sound that barely resonated at all as he slides the chair back against the wall, staying silent until he reaches the doorway. Lips press together as he speaks over his shoulder, his voice tight.]
Dig into that little, self-absorbed head of yours and find some goddamn worth in yourself.
You at least had a little of that when I last saw you.
[Pity.
Disgust.
He didn't care for the reasons anymore. Self-sacrifice out of an apathy for the value of his life in the eyes of another?
Tch.
How absolutely pathetic.
Even the vulnerability and openness of this moment - the chance to learn and ask questions - is hardly enough to keep him around.
And so... he's gone. Not about to wait for an answer he knows will probably be bundled in emotions he just doesn't have the patience to understand.
This was a different Asch. He realized that, now more than ever. And more importantly? This was an Asch that he now despised for a completely different reason than personal revenge.
But he doubted that he'd ever be able to get that through. And frankly, he was too confused and too exhausted to care.]
[Action] I think this thread successfully achieved some feels
You happened.
Asch doesn't respond; he knows there's no point. He listens to Guy's words, his head bowed - not in shame, not in misery, not in anything but a lack of will to raise it - and then, after, listens for the footsteps of the other man's retreat. It's cold, it's abrupt, it's almost heartless, really. The words of someone who has no sympathy or understanding for what he's experienced. No desire to care. No desire to listen. He'd heard something else in Guy's voice then, something he'd never heard before. Something he couldn't explain or give a name to.
He considers it for a moment, then dismisses it. Maybe he'll think about it later. Right now? He can't do it. He's glad, actually, to hear those footsteps, and he waits until he can't hear them anymore before he slumps back against the pillows of his bed, finally releasing his grip of death on the blankets.
Self-worth? That's laughable. So laughable it hurts. To believe that he'd had any, to believe that all his pomp and arrogance and talking-down to the replica had meant a damn thing, in the end. Apparently he is a better actor than he'd originally figured.
What does it matter. What does it matter to you, too.
Nothing. Nothing at all.
The worst of it, the absolute worst, most painful part of that exchange, the way Guy lashed out at the end with his final, dismissive accusation...
It's almost the same as what he might have said before, more than a year ago, his Guy. Almost like they'd been having another one of their fights, like it was normal, like something was there, something he could reach out and touch and not get burned by that ever-present hatred. Something that was equal parts affection. Something that made them allies, friends. Something that made him a person Guy didn't want to lose.
Because dying for someone else isn't the answer.
Because there's nothing more important than living.
Because too many people in the world have already died.
"Because we're friends."
Because I never wanted to die.
But Guy is already gone (and it wasn't that Guy, that Guy had been gone a long time ago, and he knows it, he knows it even if he can't stop the memories from invading this moment). And Asch is grateful for it, and for a long time he lies in his bed and trembles silently and he can't figure out whether he's laughing or crying until he feels something wet on his cheek and a part of him is quietly scolding finally, finally, and the voice that he hears in his mind is Guy's.]