middaeg | February Fallout + March Catchall

Entry tags:

February Fallout + March Catchall

Who: Soren & OTA
When: March (some late February)
Where: Your Heart's Desire (or wherever designated)
What: Various. Soren is suffering from difficulties with his memory and bouts of disorientation after being brainwashed.
Warnings: Mentions of past event (blood/violence; brainwashing)

i. nameless faces
Maybe you're passing by the dragon on the streets of the Haven, or down in the Harbor District, or perhaps the Coven grounds. Maybe you know him and decide to greet him. Maybe you don't and do it anyway. Or maybe you're not the type to exchange pleasantries and instead offer him a passing glance of acknowledgment.

Or maybe you did none of these things, and Soren should still be able to recognize you. Maybe he doesn't, but thinks he should anyway. For some reason, he's offering a blank, nonplussed stare, long and hard like you're wearing someone else's skin. Realizing this faux pas, Soren snaps out of his brief trance and mumbles an apology.

"Oh... Excuse me." The way he shifts, he looks like he might just be thinking about evacuating the unintended social situation.

ii. lunatic (foeuveur 28th)
The Looking-Glass House was once devoid of a single soul besides the Dragon. Moonlight streams through the windows, full and bright. It's the witching hour. He cannot sleep.

He holds his horned head pressed to the surface of one of the many mirrors lining the walls as if in deep contemplation or to nurse a migraine. The charged and eerie silence echoes in mantras on his soft voice. If one treads closer, they will begin to hear snippets of what he murmurs to himself:

"He is not here. He never was. Don't let this infernal world get to your head..."

iii. fall back
Navigating the crush and flow of traffic in the Shopping District today is no mean task. Bypassing the crowd by taking to the air should come naturally to any Monster equipped with wings, but for whatever reason, this simple, frequently employed solution appears to have eluded the tactician.

It may not even cross anyone else's mind to begin with, being as there are plenty of shops packed together and stalls set up for the purpose of meandering through to browse. Soren pushes though as if on a mission to get out, but in the bustle and confusion, someone wheels around and clumsily smacks Soren in the back of his head hard enough to rob him of his footing.

The Dragon takes a skidding tumble into the streets, dropping bags and books. He gets trampled and tripped over a couple of times before passersby begin to notice, then throng him in a cluster of concern and curiosity. Soren blinks up at them in a daze, but then he blanches with fear. The crowd murmurs and shouts various questions and remarks, mostly whether he hurt himself or why he won't say or do anything, but it's difficult to parse among the cacophonous backdrop. His mouth hangs open and he tries to make himself smaller. One person reaches out, but he withdraws even harder, flinching as though they mean to strike rather than lend a hand. This show forces some of the people to shake their heads at his refusal of help and move on with their day, while the few who remain offer each other questioning glances as if asking each other what to do if he's going to act like this.

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"... he never was."

Those words, softly repeated, from somewhere over Soren's shoulder. The cat laguz had followed his partner away from their home. To see him return to the Looking-Glass House isn't surprising. Neither is him speaking to no one in particular, except for himself--- to try to remind himself that missing hole in their hearts is still quite whole and hadn't been truly filled.

"And if he does appear here one day, we'll be there for him. Like you were for me."

Ranulf doesn't reach out. He stays an arms length or two away, just in case. Just in case... well. He doesn't know. It's not fear that stays his desire to embrace Soren, but the common sense approach of not wanting to crowd the dragon whose emotions may still be volatile. Just like his own. Except, not with the fragmented and scrambled memories.

Ranulf's presence draws him out of his meditative but troubled focus. Soren is not exactly surprised to hear him there, for a part of him sensed that he wasn't alone, even if he'd been more distracted by the scatter of his disconnected thoughts to the point where he would notice the feeling and forget about it shortly after. The cat is right, though. No matter how hard Soren tries to impress upon himself a level of composure, his nerves are quite tangled beneath his attempts to set his head on straight. He'd even traveled to the aristocratic district thinking he would be returning home to see Ike before correcting himself, remembering with shame and misery that his loyalty had been tampered with, and rerouted course to the house of mirrors, the closest link he has to what he has left behind.

But it's just a mirror right now. The only thing he gets is his own reflection, distorted from what it used to be almost two years ago. He slowly lifts his head to see Ranulf's silhouette cast in moonbeams. Ranulf can sense it when the dragon's heart finds solace in him here, reinforcing what he needs to understand.

"One day..."

One day. Soren is far from an optimist, but if he doesn't believe in this one day, whether it be here or on Tellius or some other far-flung land, he might just fall to pieces or go numb and lose all hope. He clings to it like to prayer beads. The spines that line his back and tail on this full moon relax just a little.

"... I'm not doing well," he admits with a quick sigh and a shake of his head, freely and without concern for guarding his vulnerability. "I'm having an even more difficult time separating fiction from reality tonight. What's worse, I..." A pause. Tension fills the air, flows between them. "...keep getting confused about Ike. Things I used to remember, I'm... drawing blanks. I'm not even sure if I'm remembering the sound of his voice correctly."

That he's been trying to work through it as hard as he can... with whatever strength he can draw from, is a testament to Soren's resilience. Whatever techniques that the cult employed on him had to have been powerful, and Ranulf isn't surprised that his Bonded is still feeling the effects to this day. But that's why he's here--- to ground him as best as possible, to keep him from losing himself again. Even if it means he has to act as some kind of sobering truth to what is happening and what has happened, and what might need to happen.

"Honestly, I struggle to remember what he sounds like as well." The cat leans back on his heels, raising his head and closing his eyes. What can he remember, other than a face and body? Other than an expression that never really changed, though when it did--- it always delivered directly to his heart. "But those days, I don't think about that. I think about what he's said, what he's meant to others."

A scene in his head, in his heart: Ike asking the goddess Ashera for a final chance, to allow them to make amends. He remembers that day perfectly--- how couldn't he? A fight to save their world is hardly forgotten. But words that he said still rang true to that day, and to this day.

"'We’re not perfect. Sometimes our brains tell us one thing, while our emotions tell us another'. And you're not perfect, Soren. You're fighting to keep yourself whole. But don't forget I'm here, too. I won't lead you astray."

Then Ranulf smiles sheepishly, truly channeling his inner Ike.

"I'm not going to be able to replace your brain or your emotions, but... I promise your well-being has always been a priority to me."

His grip tightens over the frame as his personal concern is cheapened by some universal product of how the passage of time is meant to erode a normal memory, as Ranulf embitters him with the notion that even one facet of Ike isn't important enough to remember. He is. And that's where you and I differ, he stews with a flick of his tail. I still think about that. I always will. Who cares what he means to others right now; what about what he means to me?

Not perfect? Absolutely. Soren's soured mood quells by the time he recognizes he's drawing on Ike's words, and then his own offering for support and guidance, and at last he renounces the reflection of Ranulf for the real thing with a turn of his head. He relinquishes his hold on the mirror and empties himself of a sigh with all the breath he had been holding.

Those eyes of the dragon burn red as ever, though that hue has drowned out his sclerae and pupils entirely, just like when they first crossed paths in the Wilde. It serves as a minor frustration to Soren that everything at once is in focus, for he doesn't care about anything else detailed in his vision but his Bonded.

"Actually, I'm quite grateful that you can't replace either of them," he remarks. "Ranulf... It was Ike who said that, wasn't it?" A tinge of hopefulness colors his tone. "Do you mind if you... tell me a little more about that time? I want to hear it."

He loves Ike, but to cling onto those memories of him... sometimes it's a little much. Equally in his heart is Soren, and that yearning to have what they did prior to what he would consider a pretty traumatizing event is important. He misses Soren; it's like there's been a wall built and taking every brick down seems arduous. To help unscramble what those monsters did to Soren, but not necessarily rebuild: patchwork, mortar, and time. Time that he doesn't know if he has, and he is one impatient cat.

"I'll do my best."

Ranulf closes his eyes. What he remembers...

"... you weren't there for it, but we found the man who experimented on the laguz. Do you remember Gritnea Tower?"

The memory makes his chest burn. Even now, he'll never get over it. The sight and scent of bodies, the pain that Izuka inflicted? No amount of revenge would ever wipe away those memories. It only served to motivate Ranulf further, to ensure that nothing like that would ever happen again.

"We found him, and my claws found his throat."

A calming exhale, and Ranulf shudders.

"But we found our way to the Tower, just like you did. I remember seeing the Black Knight again a little ways up. I'll never forget him, either."

He watches Soren, wondering what's going on in his mind.

The dragon listens attentively the whole way through. Gritnea Tower... yes! He does. That was only recent, wasn't it? No... He frowns in response as he racks his brain, for it's just within reach, dancing wildly amongst other associations. All of them give him a bad feeling made worse by what emanates from Ranulf's heart.

The man who experimented on the laguz... It's as though the cavity of his chest freezes into a cavern of ice. Who was he? He recalls his muttering, rambling voice, of all things, haunting the sepulchral depths of his mind where older memories should rest unturned. It creeps him out the same way watching a rat scuttle across the floor where he's sleeping would. Perhaps that is why, when Ranulf proclaims his victory over him, a strange relief settles in.

Oddly enough, Soren recognizes that the two towers Ranulf mentions are quite different: one was spooky and tainted with a warped energy, while the other was vast, consecrated, but neither... ah! Neither holy nor base. Ashera. Yune. Order. Chaos. The Tower of Guidance.

"The... The Black Knight," repeats Soren, solemn. "I remember him, too. He killed Commander... ... ...Commander Greil, and as such became Ike's enemy. And therefore, mine." His gaze drifts to the stretch of floor between them as he tries again to draw his own memories up. "...Ike finished him off once and for all, then. His true identity was..." His eyes fall shut. "General Zelgius."

"I couldn't reach that man through his armor. I don't think I would've been able to." Ranulf lets out a mix between a huff and a sigh, folding his arms and rolling his eyes. "There are a lot of things that I can do, but... I'm not strong enough. I wasn't strong enough back then, either."

He could remember gliding off the armor, claws not catching, and his reaction thereafter: a numbing feeling that maybe, just maybe--- that was it. The sword of the knight would run him through, and he would be gone. No more. A part of a tale that would be written without him, and without getting to know any of the mercenaries. No Ike, no Soren. He wouldn't be here, of all things. And maybe that's... that's more than just sobering to Ranulf now.

"But Ike did. He won. Zelgius was Ike's final teacher. I remember watching him and wishing I could've stepped in. The Hawk King tried to as well. Tibarn... I hope he's doing well."

After all, he owes him.

"We fought Ashera. Ike did his best. Again. He tried to explain, but I guess it was inevitable that we'd have to show our convictions through battle. That's how it always is, isn't it Soren? We have to fight. Even when we don't want to."

He reaches out, grabs Soren's hands. Squeezes them tight, holds them between his own.

It does Soren well to have Ranulf recount events with him, tell him old names and mention old battles. Ranulf alone can give him excerpts of the way his life was before he'd entered through the same spot he now stands by. He listens attentively, receptively, and their fingers link up: the laguz's human ones, the dragon's scaled digits and the charms dangling from his wrist. The wish to have his own hands be human again plunges into him with the force of a shooting star. Where did it come from? A wish to go home. To take their travels on their own terms, in a world that wasn't all but dying.

It's exactly as he says it is. Soren looks up at him mournfully, lip jutting in a more pronounced pout.

"...It is. We're always fighting. No matter where we go. But I've learned by now that life itself is just one battle after the next."

His feelings continue to fall down pathways. He recalls with harsh clarity how Ranulf's flesh ripped through his nails and his fury had sizzled in such a way so counter to how he presently feels for him. Ranulf's pink eye... Just seeing it jabs thousands of needles into him. It draws compunction onto his features. He squeezes onto his hands gently but with feeling.

"I didn't want to fight you like I wanted you dead. I don't feel that way at all. I'm certain that I don't. If I lost you that night because of me, I..."

Ever since recovering from the brunt of the mind control, Soren's memories and state of being have been an ever-shifting pastiche of borrowed and owned, past and present, real and imagined. Most of the time, he presents stability, if not an uncharacteristic forgetfulness and absentmindedness, a level of uptightness more characteristic of Soren in the earlier years Ranulf had met him in. His feelings toward Ranulf also run mercurially hot and cold and temperatures in between as a result of this confusion, confusion that can be sorted out quickly with a good talking-to from his long-suffering partner. But in this moment, he glows with how much Ranulf means to him with the poignance of regrets for actions that were his, guided by motivations that weren't. Their contact fortifies their Bond and Soren takes solace in the connection. It feels like it's all he has. All he wants. He doesn't question it, even if the target of these feelings he is used to is aimed at someone different.

"I don't really want to think of that."

"You wouldn't have lost me."

There are multiple meanings. No matter what Soren did, Ranulf didn't lose hope. He didn't lose faith in that Soren would find himself again, even if he wasn't there to witness it. And he didn't think that he would die there, either. Ranulf would've held himself together as long as he could, with whatever magic he had to use, even if it meant trying to heal himself while simultaneously being hurt. It would have been risky and painful and dangerous but it would've been his only chance. If anything, he was fortunate... fortunate that Soren was strong enough to finally shake those illusions, even if it was painful.

And it's still painful. Still sore, still an open wound. It's mending, but it'll still take time. Closure, in a way, towards reality.

"So you don't have to think about it," he says with a smile. "I'm here."

Looking past Soren, he stares at the mirror. One that doesn't look like it's been taken care of in forever. His own is certainly in one of these halls. He can still remember the decorations, of little paw prints and weapons of various kinds. Of whiskers and pieces of fur that couldn't have come from a laguz, and of boat. A boat that they would've taken toward unknown lands.

"If anything... I was more afraid of losing you. To a version of Ike that couldn't ever exist, one that would put the safety of others over himself. He'd never jeopardize another life, not after that. He'd find another way. That's what Ike would do."

His Ike. Their Ike. A paragon.

"Whoever used him deserves death. If I ever get the chance, I will show them what a laguz can do."

Abrupt pain splits across Soren's features as he recalls dark but recent memories with the force of a migraine. The cultists responsible for his abduction and his "operation" had tried to wipe these memories to cover up the elaborate lies they wrote in his brain, but along with everything else they'd modified or deleted, he would eventually remember. Just thinking of it makes him glower at a middle distance representing the past.

"They tried everything they could to bend my loyalty the wrong direction," he growls. "Over and over again. I was forced to endure their mind-warping magic over and over again. I lost count. They couldn't quite penetrate. I wouldn't accept that fraud no matter what they did to me because no matter how they twisted my memories this way and that, I would never forget that Ike means more than anything else to me." Bated pain pinches at the back of his throat. "Even if I... can't recall everything right this moment. But after all of that, I would have preferred that they turned me into a mindless vegetable instead of... instead of..."

Bitter rage returns to override the pain, and his jaw clenches over his words while his eyes flash like fire burns in those sockets.

"What they made me believe was an utter affront to everything that I am... Everything that Ike is! I will never forgive his damned soul for violating me that way!"

There's catharsis in revealing these sore and tender wounds to another person he has found it possible to trust enough to do it. It reminds him of the tower again, somehow. The same one Ike killed the Black Knight in. That was... What did... Horror floods in now. He's finding trouble recalling something he would have never wanted to forget. Whatever it was, he'd exchanged an outpouring of pent-up sorrows for an exquisite sense of satisfaction, of bliss... How could he misplace one of his most precious memories this way? He shakes his head and tries to focus on their current subject matter, not the past. Not his precious past, maybe not just that. Ranulf's pain matters, too, and he knows their anger is one in the same. His shoulders sink as he releases some of the tension he'd worked up.

"Be glad with me that he's gotten what he deserves, Ranulf. I know because he..." Soren lets go of one of Ranulf's hands to press against his own chest where the agony had once been. "He made me feel that, too. Like my heart had been ripped out of my chest..."

And then he'd been forced to feel his true Bond with Ranulf, strained against all it had been through. How worried he'd been for his broken, bleeding companion amid delirium. How he tore down walls and ceilings in his fury and did everything he could to ensure that he didn't have to "lose" someone else that night. None of those memories were quite clear, and they probably never will be. But the emotions of it? He'll remember that for the rest of his life.

Edited 2021-03-19 01:29 (UTC)

Anger. It burns, sears their bond. Ignites it with a heat that makes his tail curl and his ears fold. It's the kind of anger that Ranulf can embrace, the kind that he understands the best. Of being scorned, of mistrust, of being deceived--- naturally or otherwise. It makes his fur itch and he likes it. It makes his blood boil, bringing him back to something more comfortable and familiar. Just like Soren. He too doesn't remember that night very well, of where the scent of blood and death and decay still sits on his senses as a reminder to what must've happened when everything went dark.

What he does remember... is the warmth. The feeling of being held. Protected. He wouldn't have been able to rest if he wasn't absolutely sure that he was safe. The roars were softer, the sounds of walls being smashed and doors being broken down. But he knew... he knew in his heart that he wouldn't see any further injuries. No further pain.

That brought him sleep. Not good sleep, but sleep nonetheless.

Ranulf leans forward now, closes that distance again. Their hips bump as he reaches to place his hand over Soren's. How much he wants to continue that touch, continue to reinforce those feelings... to make sure they're still there. To make sure that they haven't gone anywhere and are still valid. Physical gestures that enable them both, to give them strength.

To feel that heartbeat beat with his own.

"... let's make sure we never forget what happened here. Let's come here... maybe once every couple of weeks. Not for long, but so that we can walk around and make sure... together."

Their anger drowns in Soren's heart and love in all its strength resurfaces as Ranulf tends to him with affection. So sublime and straightforward is the sentiment that Soren wants nothing to do with anything else, any other memory he possesses or anyone else he may have known. Fighting through the jungle of tangled memories has been so exhausting, so stressful. This? This is effortless. There's too much familiar comfort in surrendering and leaning all meaning in one direction for him to resist doing it now. He nods in agreement to follow him and this resolve without questioning it and gazes up at him as soulfully as he can look while the moons have molded a more monstrous appearance out of him.

Now that they're so close, he doesn't have to worry about being unable to focus on his partner alone. His pulse quickens. He wants something more.

"Ranulf... will you...?" He stops in embarrassment and tries again, on a voice so thin it might break. "I want you to..."

He wants to be held. The desire may be simple, but asking for it has always been a difficult matter.

He doesn't have to ask. This is why he's already so close. Healing... this is what healing is. For them right now, this is what they need. This is why he closed the distance just seconds ago; he's been missing Soren's touch. His Soren's touch. How his presence alone, despite one of the most painful experiences in his life still fresh and raw, provides the succor that he needs. That when he wraps his arms around him, tugs him close to his body, that the tears start to form. That his heart feels like it's alive and not fractured in multiple places.

Oh, how much Ranulf loves Soren. How that will never change. Wherever they go, they will be there together. He wakes up with that thought, sleeps with that thought. A prayer that will keep them close.

"This will be the worst of it. We'll make sure of it... nothing ever this bad will come to us."

And he will make sure that's the case.

"I want to believe that..." he murmurs against him. It feels nice to try, and he desperately needs to feel nice right now. That's not difficult now that he's gathered up against one of his only sources of happiness. He's warm, his scent wonderful to bathe his senses in, and he buries his face in the crook of his neck, wraps his own arms around his middle while his wings subconsciously tilt forward as if wanting to embrace him, too.

"You've become so important to me. What shall I do if I manage to retain my memories of this place and find myself back where I belong? What if you don't remember it at all?"

There are many what-ifs to be entertained, some of them a little too dark for him to wonder aloud while he's in such a sensitive mindset. In the end, if he has Ike, he's sure he'll cope with the absence of Ranulf, the feeling as though this had all been a dream... but it would certainly be strange if... no, when they next crossed paths.

His question might've sent Ranulf emotionally reeling at one point, but perhaps the time spent recovering has brought him the same scenarios? Curiosities turning into possible futures, ones where they may not remember these times or perhaps where one might and one might not. But in this case for some reason, Ranulf is prepared to answer. There's a smile on his face, a slight twinkle in his eye... perhaps there's a little sadness that lingers about him. Nothing that overwhelms him or makes him second guess the present, or...

"It'll be the same if it's the other way around," he says with a gentle snort. "I'll never shut up about what happened, nothing left unsaid... and I mean nothing."

If Ranulf has to, he'll repeat the same stories. Every last one until the day he takes his final breath, until he goes blue in the face (to match his hair).

"Because we'll still follow the same path. We'll get there in time, just like we did here."

He reaches down, gently raises Soren's head by the chin with one finger, then takes his lips with his own. Softly, gently. Not a farewell kiss, but a 'happy to see you' one. Always happy.

After he relishes his kiss with subdued zeal, Soren snorts in wry mirth and finds the inner strength to take the bittersweet subject in stride. "I would think you suffered a head injury," he remarks, leaning his cheek into his lover's hand. "And good luck telling me everything without getting me to give you a real one. But over time, I..."

At some point, he would be hard-pressed to dismiss Ranulf's tales as lunacy or pranks. Knowing himself, he would resist him for some time. Years, potentially. But what does he know of himself anymore? If it's possible to open his heart to him here, it must be possible elsewhere.

"I'll have to come around eventually. It would be the truth, after all."

He laughs, a bright sound that bounces off of each mirror, though he's quick to cover his mouth once he realizes how loud it is--- how somber the situation was, what it's like now. That it's felt like an eternity plus a day or two since he's had a reason to, and now that he's done it... he feels immense relief. The touch helps too, feeling the warmth of Soren's cheek in his hand, their bond bringing him the kind of peace he's been needing for some time.

"If and when you do, I give you permission to give me a few raps on the head. But not the ears."

With a toothy grin plastered on his face, the laguz gestures towards the exit of the house.

"I'm not sure if you're feeling hungry or not, but I was able to snag a dessert for us to share."

And it's not him! This time, at least.

Dessert? Soren's eyebrows lift at the change in topic, and then the soft smile returns as his thawed heart warms a degree further. It's not the idea of eating a sugary treat that he's hungry for, but the gesture itself and the company who wants to share in it.

"How sweet of you." He disconnects from his partner and partially faces the exit with his intent to leave. "When you say you 'snagged' them, you make yourself sound like a thief."

If a hapless patisserie is missing a few pastries from their window, Soren couldn't care less. All that would matter is that Ranulf didn't get caught. He doubts he actually stole anything, but it's still worth picturing the cat swiping sweets for the fleeting amusement of it. At any rate, he came here distressed, but it's certainly nice to leave it a little cheered up.

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February Fallout + March Catchall

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