(Closed) Event & Aftermath Catch All

[mirshikar]

Who: Asura + Plotted CR
When: Late January - Early February
Where: Rescue basecamp, Asura's shared home, and likely the steps of Parliament.
What: Wrath, dumb jokes, politics, and a lot of h/c.
Warnings: Strong descriptions of injury, mentions of torture (re: event) and slavery.

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[mirshikar]

[ Rest. It is only to be expected that someone like Asura would spurn that notion. For six days, he has enjoyed nothing of the sort— now, when all is in a state of tumult, and the King has yet to reunite with and learn for himself the status of so very many, is hardly the time to lie idle. What is a few hours more of enduring old pains (hollowness and cold, but not of flesh), and new ones (parting gifts from captors made sloppy by desperation: a litany of contusions and impact-split skin) after running the gamut of strange human tortures? Asura is not without will enough to remain a solid fixture of the present, straining the ear of all his would-be listeners with shallow, rasping breaths and stilted pauses denoted by one too many ellipses. And yet...

Eren offers to him a gift of something precious (as all memories are), though this time Asura has no need to extend his hand (show me?, he'd bid of Eren once before a bonfire), for theirs are already clasped together. And so they shall remain for a little while longer. ]

I will witness it. [ Because Eren is human, beautifully so, beneath his draconic spines and ebon scales, and the King wishes to be reminded of the reason why he chose to walk alongside mortals all those years ago. Unfailing is his certainty that, in the depths of the recollection Eren chooses to relay through their still-open link, there will be a testament to an ineffable something beyond the grim human history which has repeated itself here today. ] Just... as I asked you... to show me your strength, show me you.

[ The Eren who is unfettered. The emotions which were beyond all Changelings. The perspective which Asura lacked. The mortal experience of aging and growing into oneself as the years passed. All and any of it would serve as meal for someone so removed from the human condition, and between them, Asura's magic twists and twines, enveloping Eren with a ghost of a caress which implicitly states: it's time. ]

[usurpers]

[ not long after, vision warps, a deep color of red and pink bleed into the ceiling and allow walls to drown in purple clouds and orange beams of light from a falling sun. the heat in the air is humid, almost uncomfortable if not for the waves of wind tickling the face of who sat and faced forward in a steam-drawn carriage— there’s no denying the fact that it’s summer, smoldering even when dusk crept along the horizon line and waited for explosive, stubborn lights to darken. it would still take a while . . .

a handful of young ones no older than eren sit with him in a circle as an open train cart pulled them, tested the tracks they had only today managed to complete with hard work. faces shine with sweat and dirt, on all of them— and eren speaks, low, contemplative and almost grim: “we need to decide who’s going to inherit my titan”. words that perhaps won’t make sense without context, but there is no need. one by one, each friend argues a point. it’ll be me because . . . followed by another interrupting, then another: no, it’s me. i’m the best option.

listening to them all give their reasons, eren only observes, quietly, neck snapping left and right to settle on them, but . . . none of it sits right. his brows furrow with worry and his stomach knots, rising when each one is denied being a rightful owner but then flipping uncomfortably again. the more he imagined it, the more eren’s heart sunk from his chest to his gut. inheritance was not a worthy issue. it was littered with responsibility, with unbearable weight to carry and a shortened lifespan in exchange for great power. it didn’t feel right, he didn’t want this—

and it’s then, when eren suddenly realizes, and voices begin to drown out from his thoughts. he’s seen his future. he’s seen the scenery, he’s seen everything he wants, and he knows . . . he can choose. there is no such thing as having no choice, and when he speaks up— his voice is stern, decided and resolved: “I’m not planning on handing it down to any of you.”

incredulously, they all gawk at him. there’s shock and uncertainty in each of their features, some even feeling shot down from the looks. this group of five was something far more than passing figures. they made his core swell, made his heartbeat rise as his head did with steadfastness and enough objective in his words that when one would hear it, it felt as if stating an absolute fact. it felt like he could convince a stranger.

“you’re all important to me. all of you, more than anyone. so . . . i want you all to live long lives.”

silence falls over them, and each begin to carefully stare off elsewhere, being cut off and having nothing to say. but, the burning sensation on eren’s cheek intensify even after the discussion has ended, trying to look at them and deciding he couldn’t. his vision is cast to the ground when suddenly— one of the young men yell. wh— why’re you all red—?! as if contagious, and after realizing, the rest of their cheeks all begin to deepen in color. sorry, eren mutters, flustered beyond belief and fidgeting his fingers into the pants fabric around his ankles.

jean, it’s the sunset, a blond speaks with a grin spreading across his face. it’s making everyone red. some laugh at each other, some are equally embarrassed to do anything anymore and hide under their hats. there is one, though, one that seems to be staring at eren. their eyes meet, ice blue with dark obsidian. the girl, who asura has seen before, is older in this memory, hair pulled back as eren’s grows out to the length we see today. she smiles at him, something soft, sweet, and all eren could do is frown in turn as he feels his nose, his face, his ears and his neck possibly turn eggplant purple. his heart pounds in his ears and skips for each moment he can’t bring his glance to pry off her. she clutches the hat in her lap, and then . . . the emotion of this memory is clear here.

it’s only been a year, but it felt like yesterday. eren has passion, eren fought like no other, but for what? what made him so ferocious, what saddened him so? what drove him to keep going? the extravagant colors begin to seep and pool around blackness until it all begins to fade, into the very colors of the sunset so strong that marked eren that day, and what he now carries on his body in the form of scales. deep orange, blood red, a shine of pink and sheens of indigo.

eren’s grip never falters. his scales burn as brightly colored as that day, like fire, the same fire that kindles in his eyes and gives him life and makes his chest pump. it was them. it was her. it was love. this was part of him, underneath all his dangerous flaws and blunders. ]