Intro Overflow: May

[moustre]

Intro Log: May, Overflow

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[fordeath]

[ there's a retort on his lips, looking to swiftly douse the flames of salieri's heated words because still, none of that is helping (though really, he understands that anything he would say would only be as assuaging as a bucket of oil). not a word of salieri's makes sense yet, but, it doesn't matter, does it?

like a wildfire, the avenger will scorch the unassuming — blindly — until he's snatched up the vague target of his visage. until his rage is sated.

so he keeps his mouth shut, allows salieri to get it all out, and despite the hard flinch of his shoulder when he reaches out and captures his wrist, amadeus waits. ]

...

[ just until it's sated, right?

... but still. ] You used to be a better diplomat than this, Kapellmeister. You'd have a better chance asking that tree what it remembers. [ underneath the sharp biting layer of sarcasm, his voice has lowered, trailed off like he's listening — punctuated and expectant. despite the risk, despite the emotion threatening to boil over in salieri, he'll hear him out. simply because he has something to say, where the innocent monster would have uttered a nonsense prayer, madly echoed the words of the decades-long curse embedded in his soul. where the man in grey would have stabbed him and been done with it. ]

[amurder]

[At least with the Man in Grey his intentions would have been made quick and clear. Here in this state... Salieri feels himself floundering. Barely struggling to keep his composure above the surface.

Stifling frustration clogs his next words. The grip on Amadeus's wrist doesn't relent in the slightest... no, Salieri cannot afford to release him just yet. He feels the healthy life thrumming under that pulse and forces himself to breathe once again— his hurt, his anger pulsing deep in his chest.]

—you were dying.

[The words flow out suddenly, nonsense notes spilling from the rim of a horn.] Yes, you were a shell. For two months in a frozen landscape you played for a slumbering brute— for a terror so great it would have destroyed everything in its path if it woke from its sleep. That is where I found you...

... [The hand squeezes tighter.] And where you told me I hated you. Have always hated you.

[The words— the memories of that encounter are etched deep into the lines and crevices in his face. They stand out now more than ever as Salieri steps closer, his narrowed gaze reflecting more pain than he means to expose.] What do you say to that... ?

[fordeath]

[ the grip on his wrist is like a vise, stunting his pulse and squeezing it to a stutter like a fighting flame; trapped but still burning. the temptation to pull away is there, but —

"you were dying."

— he remains. no, he's still here. and at last, salieri allows him to understand.

anastasia, kadoc, ivan, the frozen tundra — he knows them all, but only by proxy, only by what ritsuka and mash and the staff divulged to him and what he overhead from the command room (and much of it, as it turns out, couldn't escape his gifted ears). but he still wasn't there, that wasn't him that played for two, glorious months, or spoke those icy words.

one thing is clear. ] So you remember.

[ he had no way of knowing, as with all servants he's encountered so far, whether or not they were newly summoned, hailed from chaldea as he does, remembered their history with his master — any of it. being a servant is such a fickle, fleeting thing, like writing countless renditions of a piece and burning each finished score, there is nothing to build on. nothing ever learned but to go back to the base. but salieri remembers.

that's significant, but those blazing red eyes demand a response that isn't another question.

... he can't give him the answer his other self would have given, if his terribly occupied existence had the opportunity. he doesn't know the extent of their conversation, all the heard but unseen actors offstage that could alter its direction ... but as a maestro, salieri has illustrated the scene well enough.

and he knows himself better than anyone.

better than anyone. ]

... I'd have to say not to get too hung up about it, Salieri. [ he keeps the string of his words low and measured – meeting the avenger halfway, at least, between the undeterred clarity of his current self, and the dead silence of the other. ]

You know me. I'm not above saying what I need to to get what I want. [ he should cooperate, he really should. especially for the fact that he knows, deep down, that salieri already understands.

(he was dying.)

but everything. everything with this man always seems to follow him around, doesn't it? death twice over still isn't enough. he supposes absolution for him is a long-gone dream; the price of admission for an eternal spot against the backdrop of humanity's history. ]

[amurder]

[Air is sucked swiftly back into his chest at those words.] What—

[—to get what he wants? And exactly what was that? Is that he would say, what he means to say as his expression eases into something like disbelief.

What did Amadeus gain from such a miserable end? To say such things without a hint of remorse—! A quick, painless death? Delaying what was indisputably inevitable? Salvation from the task he had painstakingly taken upon himself to see through?

—to see Salieri suffer?

The grip on his wrist goes slack, digit by digit he feels himself slipping away— ready to release him finally. If that was his answer, his true answer—] ...

That... it's not enough.

[He nearly mutters this under his breath, until he looks up again— and promptly pulls his hand away.] If you think I would be satisfied with such an answer then prepare yourself for something very unfortunate. Such a weak measure will not reach even my ears.

[There's contempt in those red eyes, yes— righteous anger reflecting like sparks from the glow of the fire too far off to see.] Let me rephrase.

[A quiet breath.] ... Did you mean it, Amadeus?

[fordeath]

[ right. and he's persistent, persistent as always.

that ensnaring hand may have removed itself from his wrist but he knows that the kapellmeister intends to keep him there regardless. amadeus massages where salieri had practically clung to him, though it doesn't really hurt, merely scratching the itch to keep his hands moving while he's grilled into this spot on the grass.

this time he's back to the frown, like he's disappointed in salieri when he sighs and gives a great big shake of his head. ]

You realize that I'm not the one who said it, don't you? I'm from Chaldea. Chaldea. I was never summoned to that Lostbelt. That version of me died, and we never saw him on our end. Only you.

[ only amadeus alter. and that's significant– not whatever stupid thing his other self had said between them. ]

Why is that what matters to you, anyway, Salieri? Don't you feel as though you're missing something important here? [ like precisely the fact that he's from the lostbelt, or that he's trying to talk with him and not kill him. ]

[amurder]

[Salieri pauses, and then shuts his eyes.]

It matters.

[No, he's attempting to separate the realities— to separate himself from the Amadeus he saw. He knows, he knows they aren't the same— any fool could plainly realize they are not speaking of the same events, not on even on the same pitch that would resonate and speak clearly to the listener.

But Salieri cannot let go of the visage. He only remembers an Amadeus that had played until his fingertips broke skin and bled upon the keys, an Amadeus hollowed out and left cold and empty. That is who he demands an answer from— that same man, that genius, and he— is standing before him.]

It matters because despite where an instrument has played, it is still the same. If you place a commoner on center stage he will remain a commoner—

—and a genius is still a genius! Every part of him! [Regardless of where he's been, where he's from. Salieri clenches his fists, forces himself to breath steadily through his teeth.] ...That man may have died, but you carry everything he carries.

Why do you keep it from me? [His voice drops to a whisper— he knows Amadeus will hear him.] Haven't you held onto your answer long enough, Amadeus?