aquaveiled | Inbox @ aionlogs

Gods, he really sounds like he means it and that is more disconcerting than the ill-natured jests of a deranged mind. It's much easier to trade minimal banter on the battlefield before coming to blows, but in a battle of wits she finds herself less well-equipped. Unprepared.

There's a reason that despite her propensity for gathering allies, she is not the defacto diplomat of the Scions. (Apparently calling it the "corpse room" was in poor taste, she's found.) Zenos has the advantage here.

Mayhaps she should just say what's on her mind? Provided she doesn't out any of her friends and allies, of course.

Himeka's pause draws out as she licks the salt from the sea air from her lips. Then she exhales.

"Yeah, I do. And you're well-aware of what those are." She had said as much during their recent altercation. "What did they say? What did they tell you about their cause? Helping them try to end everything won't help you."

"You're conflating An End and The End, Beast." He fires back, before he can think better of it (again, caution and prudence tend to somewhat go to the wind where his Greatest Enemy is concerned). "You should know better than that by now."

There's a pause, where he considers her words; outside this strange shared space he shifts, from languid lounge to sat up, on the edge of the bed, thumb running over the edge of the crystal as he holds it.

"... I asked you, when we last faced each other: if there is No End, what then? Do you recall what you told me?"

It's not not an accusation, at least in part, and not not a tiny bit mocking - really, what does she expect him to do here? As well as they know each other, she should know by now he is and always has been slave to his own nature.

Edited 2022-05-06 10:38 (UTC)

Himeka falls quiet again. She does recall what she told him--and she believes it, too. One of her greatest faults is that she has never been much of an explicit planner and prefers to live in the moment, which means that she always hopes they are moments worth living for even if she realizes that is an impossible goal.

Slowly, she repeats her words:

"That there will be an end whether will it or not...and that each moment should count."

So what then...he hopes to find his end before The End? Asking what he will gain from that is pointless, isn't it--because His End is what he will gain. Does he mean, then, to continue to play her antagonist as a means to reach that moment?

"...So you place yourself with the Kenoma with the hope you'll find it in that process."

That cold, heavy laugh again, and again, that sense of a hilt ill-suited to his grip. "Would that it were so simple; did your allies explain to you, about your shard?"

There's a brief pause; the shard sits in his hand, and for the briefest of moments he considers whether he could simply crush it to powder now his strength is returning, and what it would feel like if he did. Would it be like dying again? Or would it be the silence of that void they'd launched themselves into?

(Himeka might well sense some of this, unguarded as his emotions usually are; a sound like splintering glass, maybe? Or she might sense none of it. Communion is an art, and he is gripping the shard much less tightly as he looks at it)

It is, of course, not that simple. If ending were the important part, and not the manner of that ending, he would have done so already. It needs to be a blinding, brilliant inferno that renders him ashes, not a sad little spark alone in a room that he's been told is his, in a city he has not yet had time to hate properly but definitely doesn't like.

He clears his throat. Wraps his fingers back around the shard.

"That you are here gives me some hope this world still has sport to offer. The one that comes next will be better, more worthy, shaped by our hands. And if it is not, we will burn that one too."

She does sense it--she feels it. What would seem like fear and loss from most comes with a strange sense of longing from him. Things she understood about Zenos...they were right, yes, but having his emotions so raw and open to her in this way gives them new weight. An uncomfortable weight. If anything, there has been a sense of strained distance on her end as she tries to maintain her own composure, though there is still something her that resonates with that feeling whether she will or not.

Himeka recalls the First, how painful it had been to contain the Light. How tired she had become, both physically and mentally. How she wished someone else could do the job for once--that she didn't have to try to be the good person and hero that people saw her as. When she took up Emet-Selch's offer to transform at the bottom of the ocean, it was not just to spare her friends the indecency--she had given up. She didn't want to fight anymore.

But as they always have, they pulled her back out of it. Her friends, her dear family. It hadn't been instantaneous, of course. It wasn't until spending time back on the Source that she began to feel more like herself again.

She has to wonder...would such a thing ever be possible for him? (Would he deserve it, after all he's done?)

Himeka looks at her own shard sitting in her palm--a shimmering, brilliant stone. Awash wish shades of pinks and blues not unlike her scales. They were told it's precious, important to protect.

"If I found your shard, I could destroy it."

But as far as if that would permanently destroy him is another case entirely. It sounds like it...yet that wouldn't be the end he'd want. It'd be short, cold. Unfulfilling.

Maybe that's what she should threaten him with.

"Here. In this world."

There's what feels like a sharp intake of breath, a tensing of every available muscle, and that warmth again - except no, not that warmth, different warmth, not that of a fire but of sunlight through trees, of skin flush with blood, branches breaking under foot, a pack of dogs at your heels (are you running with them or from them? Unclear).

And, at the point that becomes something less than completely overwhelming, an almost-growl, with an intensity she'd recognise from the Royal Menagerie and the same timbre as The Final Day. "You are welcome to try."

That--

--was not the response she expected, but mayhaps it should have been. She didn't make it clear...that what she was threatening was not a grand chase and long fight, but a moment cut short.

She's not sure she wants to, though. It is already overwhelming being privy to that sudden rush of what should normally be associated with pleasant things. All his grandiose descriptions really weren't really just for dramatic effect, were they? That's really how he feels.

It's only when she feels a sudden sharp pain in the back of her head that she realizes she's been squeezing her own shard and immediately releases it.

Don't be an idiot, she chastises herself.

Mayhaps the right thing to do is go the other way?

"But I won't."

"No? Then what would you do, Beast, had you my shard in your hand?"

He lets that sit for a moment, before continuing, tone blasé for the most part but with that definite edge to it still lingering (the imagined-forest is dark now, no more sunlight-through-leaves. The air is cold - Garlemald-in-depths-of-winter cold - with a faint smell of copper and ash. The baying hounds, distant now, sound more like wolves)

"Or do you perhaps not meant to claim it at all? I can find other amusement, paltry though it may be by comparison." This part of the dance should be familiar to her, at least. "Legacy by Legacy, perhaps. Should the Innocents be first or last, do you think?"

That is exactly where she expected him to go and also exactly where she didn't want him to. He can feel a wave of palpable frustration roll through the connection and this time she doesn't try to rein it in. She should. It's playing right into what he wants and what he knows always works--

She cannot let this become another's problem. Too many lives have already been lost to that cause. But she also cannot simply let him have what he wants. Entertaining Zenos' nihilism and bloodlust is not her priority.

She'd thought she finally...finished it all. Hells, he'd come to her aid in the end and she had returned that act by finally engaging him on the battlefield as equals. Was it all for naught?

"--This is not a game, Zenos! It never has been!"

"On that we are agreed."

Sorry Himeka, he's started now, is gathering momentum, and woe betide anything that cannot withstand a freight train slamming through it. Her reaction, as ever, only adds more coal to the fire.

"If there were a time for games, my friend," (and still, despite it all, there is no hint of sarcasm or mockery in the word, a genuine affection that sits uncomfortably with the fervor of everything else) "it was in Ala Mhigo. What sport we made there, you and I, and how glad I am I did not kill you when first we met! And yet here we are. Again. Unceasing! Do not deny that you yearn for my blood as much as I do your rancor."

There's a growl on her end this time though she tries to rein it in at the tail end of it. She doesn't want to answer that question because she knows that to some degree his defeat is something that would bring her...not joy, but maybe a sense of satisfaction. That she can finally put that chapter to rest and spare many other innocent bystanders from being caught in the fray.

"If that's what you really believe then you should stop treating others as if they're just...dispensable pieces."

Reason with him? Ha. Is it worth a shot? Who knows. It's not an avenue she's ever tried before. She's never really taken the opportunity.

She is not the only one who has never tried; he is not someone people Reason With. Attempt to mollify, yes. Capitulate to, certainly. But not Reason With.

"I cannot value that which has no worth." he retorts; there is more than a note of defensiveness in his tone, a deep discomfort with how quick she is to dispute those things he considers immutable facts (as he has said, he does hate to disappoint her)."If they would be considered, let them first show us that which merits consideration."

That he sees them as immutable facts is something she has such a hard time with. There is certainly no small amount of hypocrisy in her own outlook, how she values life as something willing to fight for and preserve yet doesn't hesitate to cut down the people that stand in her way. Despite being one of the few White Mages left, she has harmed just as many if not more than she has healed.

"Just because you cannot see their worth doesn't mean they don't have any." It's almost a little snappy. "The food you eat and the clothes you wear--those were made possible by other people. Surely those people don't need to validate themselves to you?"

"Very well, let us humour each other then." She will feel, as much as hear, the change in his stance; it is as if he leans forward, shoulders raised and head lowered, like a cat preparing to pounce. "The person who made your clothes - assuming it is not one of your wretched coterie. Do you know their name? The circumstances of their birth? Their deepest aspirations? Do you lie awake wondering whether they had a good day or bad?"

He looks at the shard much the same way he did her, when they met in that other place, before he hatched here; again, there is that sense of predator circling dangerous prey. "Or did they cease to exist the moment their function - providing you with said clothes - was complete? Do you, in point of fact, think of them less often, and with less fondness, than you do your cane?"

She does feel it--it's as if his gaze is set on her even though he's malms away. She sucks in a sharp breath despite herself.

And yet...it's a valid question, all things considered, and one she is uniquely qualified to answer. Himeka is far from perfect and has moved on from people she met years ago, but if there is one thing she has always been good at, it's getting integrated into the local community from the bottom up.

"...My furs were provided by a man named Harold--he hunts with his daughter and they skin the animals too. She wants to be an archer. The leathers are aged by a pair of siblings who were also taught by their parents. One of them loves spicy food and the other one cannot handle it. It's become a game between them to sneak peppers in to see if the other will notice before they take that fatal bite. My sandals were put together by a woman named Cerna--she wasn't very friendly, but she does good work. When I ran into her later I found out that her grandson was sick so all her concern was spent on him and her family. I offered what I could, though as you know white magicks don't cure illness."

Himeka exhales long and low.

"I won't pretend to know everyone and I may not know every aspect of their life, but I wouldn't have made it as far as I have if hundreds of people hadn't helped me get there."

He listens in silence; his stance shifts again, eyes closed rather than trained on the shard, the hand wrapped around that crystal now pressed to his forehead, elbow propped up upon knee. Sonder is not a word he knows, nor a realisation he is entirely ready to commit to, but perhaps there are the smallest of baby-steps being made in that direction.

There is a long pause (both to be certain she is done speaking, and to gather his own thoughts) before he speaks. In his mind, at least (perhaps not in hers?) they are back, once again, at the edge of the universe and the end of all things, simultaneously mere yalms apart and separated by an eternity, and it is the same weary melancholy which laces his tone.

"I had thought us one and the same, Beast, but that does a disservice to us both, does it not? Your capacity to care for every wretched creature that crosses your path, the affection with which you view their tedious trivialities, is..."

He trails off. Because that's the thing, isn't it? It simply Is, and that is revelation enough, and does not need to be cheapened with a poorly-picked adjective incapable of doing the thing justice.

Another pause. He clears his throat. "There is to be an excursion. Those Aions already ensconced here wish to show we new arrivals all that Achamoth has to offer. I had not intended going..." The but you would if you were here, wouldn't you? hangs unspoken.

She expects some sort of rebuttal. Perhaps a note that it isn't enough, that she will soon forget them when she moves on to her next task. Himeka does not keep contact with all the lives she has come across, nor would she truly be able to, but she does try to hold a piece of them with her.

Himeka is a mosaic of every person she has ever met.

But he...relents. Almost. And it gives Himeka her own pause. Yes, he still calls other people "wretched creatures" but it feels that he had actually listened and considered what she's said.

What he says next is curious too. Is he asking for her...suggestion on the matter? Whether or not he should spend time with his colleagues? Himeka frowns, her own feelings as standoffish as they had been in the beginning, laced in thinly veiled confusion. This conversation has taken turns she couldn't have anticipated and she has to ask herself...would it be...productive? For Zenos to relate to others? Or only drive him further to the Regent's cause?

...No, no she knows there are good people over there. People have only fallen into despair, who have given up. That doesn't mean she or anyone else has to give up on them.

After a long moment, she finally speaks.

"...I hear it's a great city."

It does not strike him as odd he would seek her opinion - that she is his first, best and possibly only friend is a sad indictment of a Garlean childhood, yes, but is also an undeniable fact, and the credence he grants her opinion is fittingly substantial. He may not always agree - indeed, he frequently does not - but understanding how Himeka thinks has been an interest (some would, rightly, say an obsession) for some time now.

Another series of images, very similar to the first though now more definitively Not Garlemald, none of his memories bleeding in around the edges; dark spires reaching upwards, seemingly endless spiral staircases, figures in masks (some throwing gems, or flower petals, other beseeching a blessing), a brief flash of the room he currently occupies. Lavish though this scenery is, this very much does not feel like he is boasting - indeed, there is a weary boredom to it, as if cycling through particularly uninteresting holiday snaps or discussing what he intends to have for dinner that evening.

"Thus far I have seen little to recommend it." A beat. Where previous inquiries have been very obviously fishing for tactical information, this one is... almost conversational? "Where you are is far less tedious, I trust?"

It's information--whether or not it will prove useful is something else entirely, but she makes note of it all the same. Zenos isn't someone she believes would really care much for the opulence that's been bestowed upon him no matter how used to it he is and the feelings that accompany those quick flashes confirm those thoughts. If the Regent can provide him something of interest he could be a powerful and useful tool to that cause, but he won't be bought with satin and silk.

Were it nearly anyone else Himeka would feel the need to offer something in kind. But this is Zenos. No matter how casually he may be taking this exchange, she cannot.

"Mayhaps." It's a non-answer, guarded as she needs to be. He may get an occasional flash of a tree or a hammock despite her best efforts to clear her mind, but nothing particularly telling. "I don't think you'd enjoy it."

"Don't try to visit," is the real meaning there.

"I am certain I could find something to recommend it."

The implication being, of course, that he's already considering how best to track her down.

There's a brief pause before he adds "Your Coerthan companion, for instance." This, more than anything else he's shared so far, feels closer to Intelligence than Chatter, though ultimately the desire not to reveal plans-in-progress to an enemy loses to the much more pressing one to have someone acknowledge quite how gross an injustice it is that Estinien's name has been placed above hers on the Kenoman Kill List. "I understand he is building quite the formidable reputation."

The mention of Estinien gets a reaction--as any of her friends in particular would. Zenos can feel not only her instant attention but a palpable worry. What are they saying about him over there in Achamoth? Nothing good, she can imagine, as 'formidable reputation' speaks for itself.

"He has always been a capable warrior," she says somewhat defensively. As confident as she is in Estinien's ability to take care of himself, the last thing she wants is to sic Zenos on him.

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CW: even more un-aliving related ideation than usual for this trashfire

some cw: for her own thoughts on it

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