Could it be true? Had Viktor seen Meteion, heard her song, and lived? Could the Final Days have really ended?
He remembers reaching into his breast as Zodiark and crushing his heart, the part of him that was still Fandaniel. He, as both the Dark God and as himself, faded. Had that been for nothing? Had his magnum opus failed?
The Ascian draws a breath, prepares to say something, but the words die on his lips, drowned out by an insane cackling he can feel ready to sweep over him. He fights through it by gently straightening out his paper and reading with the air of a man determined to carry out his duty despite having been shot in the chest.]
[ Dreadful, this. Questions seemingly assembled for the express purpose of putting fissures in one or the both of them. Suffice it to say, all the fun's rather been drained from meeting new people, and instead Viktor watches wordless as the architect of his own hollowing loses so much of that trademark clownish lustre.
His gaze dips down to the paper, the next question, "Is it crueler to deprive a child of wings meant to bear it to paradise or to bestow the gift of flight and then refuse to teach it how to walk?"
Viktor's expression darkens, crumpling the paper up and throwing it over his shoulder. Wretched list. Instead of answering this next question, he makes an observation. ]
You are in pain.
[ A pause. His gaze cuts down to the table, to his own fingers, tapping a rhythmless beat now that they have nothing to hold. ]
I do not think it wise to continue with these p-prompts, Fandaniel.
[ Viktor's busy fingers still. It should not hurt this much to hear those words; he'd thought that particular stone well rounded, but it aches just as sharply as the day he'd first heard them. Homesickness, he thinks, surely, and does not examine it further. His voice feels too tight when he tries to speak. ]
Neither one of us is fine.
[ Viktor reaches out across the table to slide fingers across the paper in Fandaniel's hands and stares at him, long ears eased back against curls, expression serious. ]
It knows. H-half of those questions were- were things she said. Things about her.
It always knows. The AI peers into our innermost secrets and delights in dragging them from us at the most inopportune times. All in the name of rehabilitation.
[But that's not important right now.
Visions of black wings and the sound of a heartbreaking song linger over his mind, casting every thought in shadow.
His hands lash out like striking serpents and seize Viktor's wrists.]
But never mind that. You and I clearly have much to discuss, hmm? Would you rather have that conversation at my laboratorium or would the present crowds make you feel safer?
Rehabilitation. [ The word rots upon his tongue. ] 'Tis mapping the sh-shape of our weakness, is what it is.
[ Viktor starts, gaze darting down to the clasped fingers now shackling his wrists. When he looks up again, meeting those familiar silver eyes, there is a flicker of fire in his own. His brows climb up high enough to disappear beneath the mess of his curls, expression caught somewhere between high alert and utterly incredulous. Viktor doesn't quite laugh, but does exhale a soft breath.
Safer. Safer for those assembled, that the two of them should be anywhere else. Easier to do what he'd been made to do without needing to account for a dozen bodies in need of shielding, healing, protection. Should it come to that.
Stars, he hopes it does not come to that. And so, after another stilling pull of air, he agrees. ]
To your laboratory, then. 'Twould be nice to see a more familiar locale.
The Facility it is. A better backdrop for a gruesome slaughter, I agree!
[He sits back in a slow, sinewy motion.]
I'll await you there, when the festivities are over. You'll know the place when you see it. Though it has been lifted from the Flagship of Azys Lla its entrance has changed very little.
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expiationlogs2025-02-10 12:12 pm
cw: suicidal ideation and fantastical reference
Could it be true? Had Viktor seen Meteion, heard her song, and lived? Could the Final Days have really ended?
He remembers reaching into his breast as Zodiark and crushing his heart, the part of him that was still Fandaniel. He, as both the Dark God and as himself, faded. Had that been for nothing? Had his magnum opus failed?
The Ascian draws a breath, prepares to say something, but the words die on his lips, drowned out by an insane cackling he can feel ready to sweep over him. He fights through it by gently straightening out his paper and reading with the air of a man determined to carry out his duty despite having been shot in the chest.]
..."What makes something beautiful?"
[Here he does exhale a sharp, bitter laugh.]
A bit more on theme, I suppose.
no subject
His gaze dips down to the paper, the next question, "Is it crueler to deprive a child of wings meant to bear it to paradise or to bestow the gift of flight and then refuse to teach it how to walk?"
Viktor's expression darkens, crumpling the paper up and throwing it over his shoulder. Wretched list. Instead of answering this next question, he makes an observation. ]
You are in pain.
[ A pause. His gaze cuts down to the table, to his own fingers, tapping a rhythmless beat now that they have nothing to hold. ]
I do not think it wise to continue with these p-prompts, Fandaniel.
no subject
[Annoyance flares in his chest at the sound of pity in Viktor's voice.]
I am fine. Jolly good. My nerves shall not be bested by some piece of paper.
[He raps his fingers against the parchment, looks down, and says.]
If you will not answer that question then here is another:
"Does a smile better suit a hero?"
no subject
Neither one of us is fine.
[ Viktor reaches out across the table to slide fingers across the paper in Fandaniel's hands and stares at him, long ears eased back against curls, expression serious. ]
It knows. H-half of those questions were- were things she said. Things about her.
[ He will not dwell on the other half. ]
no subject
It always knows. The AI peers into our innermost secrets and delights in dragging them from us at the most inopportune times. All in the name of rehabilitation.
[But that's not important right now.
Visions of black wings and the sound of a heartbreaking song linger over his mind, casting every thought in shadow.
His hands lash out like striking serpents and seize Viktor's wrists.]
But never mind that. You and I clearly have much to discuss, hmm? Would you rather have that conversation at my laboratorium or would the present crowds make you feel safer?
no subject
[ Viktor starts, gaze darting down to the clasped fingers now shackling his wrists. When he looks up again, meeting those familiar silver eyes, there is a flicker of fire in his own. His brows climb up high enough to disappear beneath the mess of his curls, expression caught somewhere between high alert and utterly incredulous. Viktor doesn't quite laugh, but does exhale a soft breath.
Safer. Safer for those assembled, that the two of them should be anywhere else. Easier to do what he'd been made to do without needing to account for a dozen bodies in need of shielding, healing, protection. Should it come to that.
Stars, he hopes it does not come to that. And so, after another stilling pull of air, he agrees. ]
To your laboratory, then. 'Twould be nice to see a more familiar locale.
no subject
The Facility it is. A better backdrop for a gruesome slaughter, I agree!
[He sits back in a slow, sinewy motion.]
I'll await you there, when the festivities are over. You'll know the place when you see it. Though it has been lifted from the Flagship of Azys Lla its entrance has changed very little.