middaeg | (open | february log)

Entry tags:

(open | february log)

Who: Ozymandias + you!
When: All month!
Where: Lots of places!
What: Open prompts for speed-dating quest/general + closed starters. Feel free to message me at

rebreather or this journal if you'd like a closed starter!
Warnings: nsfw in caren's thread

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[With how Fang was laying, brushing her feet off the couch leaves her uncomfortably half-on, half-off the furniture. She laughs again, a little louder, and tiredly pushed herself up to a sitting position as if her limbs weighed like lead. ]

Aww, he's avoidin' the subject. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. Frettin' can be endearing.

[Although Ozymandias casts her a look, even going so far as to fold his arms, it's still not altogether a terrible thing to hear her laugh. Fang was managing herself well enough if she was capable of giving him as difficult a time as this, and there truly was very little for him to worry about.]

[But she is still being absurdly impossible.]

I'm not-- [He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath, folding his arms even tighter. No, that's only going to encourage her. Better to stop there.] All I am doing is looking out for a friend as I would expect the same in kind.

[There is an alligator brains muttered just under his breath as he stands up to start cleaning up the ridiculous amount of paper all over his floor.]

[Ah, but little did he know, he was staring one of her coping mechanisms in the face.]

[It's... almost precious, the way he crosses his arms like that, like it would shield him from her words.]

Sure, sure. If you're ever laid out for a while, I'll go find a buncha cats for you to watch.

[The jest in her tone is softer this time—half-hearted, really. Fang scrubs at her face while her jaw tightens to stifle a yawn, then sets about crumpling another paper ball. There were just two sheets left, after all, and the cubs were starting to scatter to their own devices again after being preyless for too long.]

I appreciate you tryin', anyway.

[As he's gathering up the paper, the crinkling appears to draw attention from a few of the kittens still lingering about. One eventually gets bold enough to pounce, trying to put a stop to the clearly still "alive" paper. Ozymandias is quick enough to remove his hand so that the cub ends up just...somewhat sliding across the floor with the paper. Its "siblings" are quick to follow it and pounce. He straightens with a sighs as his efforts at cleaning up are clearly going to have to wait until the kittens start to run out of some energy and settle.]

[Especially now that the kitten who initially pounced has plenty of paper clinging to it that it has become the new paper monster and there's a game of chase afoot. He's going to be finding this paper for a while longer after he thinks it's been all picked up.]

...I'm not sure that I do in retrospect...

[He does not actually mean that at all seriously. Ozymandias crumples up the shredded paper in his hands.]

But just so we're clear, I trust that you will do everything the healers tell you to do, Fang. You're too sensible to do otherwise. That's not why I want to check on you.

I don't expect you to confide in me at all. [It's not as though she's really ever confided in him with anything important before, so he holds no such expectations with any of this.] But it would be my preference that you care for yourself in all ways, not just physically.

[He doesn't patronize or condescend by pointing out that stewing in such things as what happened isn't any healthier for her than neglecting the advice of the Coven healers to work on her hands. Ozymandias has only the barest sense of what has happened to Fang in her long life, but he knows enough that she likely already knows that without having to be told. It's for that reason he also won't dictate to her how exactly she should move forward either. She's capable of figuring out how to take those first few steps on her own or making use of people close to her. But capability and doing are ultimately two separate things, and while many of the people Ozymandias knows are capable, many remain stuck.]

[And so because he does care about Fang, Ozymandias would rather know she's stuck than make blind assumptions. Even if it's frustratingly not within his capability to get her unstuck, he'd rather know so that whatever little power he might over, he can make use of for her sake.]

[Fang glances up, observing as he huffs at the cubs and their new mess-making game. Her expression grows into something between neutral and distant, though the ghost of a smile never leaves her face.]

[Her attention drops back to the paper ball still in her hands, idly toying with it with still-clumsy fingers. For as open and casual about many things as Fang was, she really didn't do much confiding, did she? Then again, she got the impression that Ozymandias was like that, too.]

[What would confiding do? It wasn't for a lack of trust—confiding wouldn't make the nightmares go away, or keep the memories from sticking to her like tar, would it? Besides, Ozy wouldn't hear an admission of guilt any more than Chariot would. Fang tenses one hand, the fingers of that hand melting into the shape of real jaguar's claws as they extended, picking mindlessly at the crumpled paper.]

Take care of myself, huh? Guess I do the best I can. I always get back up, sooner or later.

[The scars she didn't mind so much. Physical, emotional, it didn't matter; they were just another part of her, proof of her choices and survival, once the wound healed. Healing was always the tricky part, physical and emotional both.]

[Healing was getting harder since the death of time—since Vanille fell in with the Order of Salvation. What would happen, Fang wondered, if there was ever a time she (or her heart) couldn't be seen underneath all the scars?]

I was a lot better at shruggin' everything off, thousand years ago. Just takin' a little longer this time, that's all. For better or worse, I don't know how to quit.

[That's all.]

[With the kittens fully occupying themselves, Ozymandias' attention moves back to Fang. The shifts in her expression are hardly subtle. Fang would probably abhor being described in such a way, but Ozymandias thinks of her as vibrant. No matter what emotion appears to cross her face, it full in its force and strength. But there are times when it seems to...dissipate, and it becomes obvious that whatever expression on her face is a placeholder. Something to hide whatever else is going on in her mind.]

[He looks after the last of the kittens instead of asking. That she's even said as much as she has is surprising and more would simply be unreasonable to expect.]

In my experience, it's not always possible to shrug everything off. There are some things we have to learn to carry instead. [Confronting it rather than burying it somewhere else, or learning to consistently and constantly set it aside whenever it appears to rear its ugly head.] It can take a while though to figure out which it is though. That is perhaps the most difficult part of the process.

[It's a slow motion, the way the corner of her mouth turns up wryly. Vibrant was an apt word; even her bitter depreciation comes out in force.]

Haven't met somethin' I can't shrug off yet. The past is the past; no point in holdin' on to it. Life's never gonna stop while you're lookin' back.

[That was the philosophy, anyway. She'd let so much roll off her like water, but that one week... it stuck like tar, like oil, unwanted and staining, no matter how hard she tried to clean it off.]

[But she wouldn't stop trying. Her oversized claws make quick shreds of the paper ball, and it's hardly satisfying. Ripping into something more substantial might be nice, if her wrists had the strength for it. Amazing how she could be so exhausted and restless at the same time.]

Don't sweat it, sunshine. I'll manage to look after myself if you look after everyone else. [Great job she's done of that, anyway.] Real thoughtful of you, though.

[It would be equally possible and not for Fang to recognize the look in Ozymandias' eyes when he looks in her direction again. It tends to not last very long when it does make its appearance as it's the look he gets whenever there is something he wishes to say. But rather than it dissipating as he begins to speak, Ozymandias says nothing and the look lingers.]

[Her words... They are clearly a philosophy. A mantra that's been repeated so many times that there's hardly any thought put into them anymore. It's rote memorization of a will onto the machinations of life. Probably something she's supplied to others, too, when they appear to be struggling to overcome something terrible. And the sentiment is not terrible, it's just...]

[Ozymandias sighs quietly.]

[It's probably the difference between the two of them because all Ozymandias has is the past. His life on Earth has long-since been over and it seems unlikely that he should ever be rewarded with the afterlife that was promised to him as pharaoh. He shall spend eternity -- or at the very least, as long as humanity continues -- being brought back into consciousness again and again with perhaps some recollection of the previous time if he is fortunate. And when his time has come to an end because he chose not to serve the Master who summoned him or he falls in battle, he shall return to the Throne unchanged, simply exactly as he was only to start the process anew.]

[Beyond his life that created his legacy, there is simply nothing else for Ozymandias. And so, of course, it means so much to him. He thinks of his wife, of his brother, so very often. He thinks of his triumphs and his regrets. They are all things that he carries forward with him after each summoning, with all of his decisions once he has agreed to fight alongside a Master.]

[Is any of that really something Fang can understand? Ozymandias has doubts. Despite her age, despite her experience and all the various violations upon her freedom and ability to live, she is still alive. Physically, Ozymandias appears young, but he still carries with him the fullness of his life, while her story has not yet reached its conclusion. It is difficult then to see why a past should matter when there was still yet a future. Even if the future did not seem particularly hopeful or bright, it was still a future. It is far easier to continue forging ahead towards that than to stop and consider the past.]

Spare me. I am still your elder, Fang, and your friend. [And he knows that eventually, the past will catch up to her. She may be able to push it aside again and again, but it's not something she can do forever. Ignoring it doesn't make it matter less. He has no real control over what she does, but he will not turn a blind eye.] Praise me when I do something worthy of it, not something that is predictable and expected.

[So, no amount of discouragement from her will get Ozymandias to leave her to it.]

Will you be available tomorrow? I won't be at Parliament, but I do need to return some texts to the library.

[Who's to say it hasn't already found her with its claws, swallowing those dearest to her whole and leaving her to wallow powerlessly in a glorified graveyard for ten years?]

[A look she would've recognized if Fang were watching. Her hands close around the paper shreds in her hand, clench into a feeble fist. He means well. It's a departure of their usual conventions, even if it's nowhere near confiding, it's still more honest than they typically are with one another. Ozymandias means well, but something about his sigh, about his words, that scrap unpleasantly across her tired nerves. Her brow and the edges of her mouth twitch downward at her fist, and she plows forward as if he'd never asked a question.]

Spare you? What, you want me to say I'm fallin' apart at the seams? Should I swoon and go, [her voice pitches falsely upwards,] "oh wise elder, solve all my problems!"

[Fang leans back against the couch, arms spreading along the back, finally turning her gaze back to him. She was a proud woman, but it was a comfortable and malleable sort of pride, not the brittle kind that cracked against every offense. A part of her knew she wasn't at her best, snapping and prickling like this.]

I'm not gonna pretend I'm not a right mess, but it's not lip-service when I say I'll get a handle on it.

[Ozymandias' posture straightens as she snaps at him, likely making it clear he anticipated more a response to his question and sweeping this aside and letting the topic drop than anything else. But it's not a look of a surprise that flickers ever so briefly in Ozymandias' expression. It's more akin to what might happen if one were to place a hand unwittingly upon a hot surface, in that fraction of a second before reflex sharply withdrawing the now injured hand. But he straightens and the look is gone just as quickly as it appeared, replaced by something far more measured and contained.]

[He opens his mouth about to say...only gods know what. There seems to be many things he could say to any of this. Some of it perhaps reflect too much of that expression. There are probably also words that probably are more offensive and angrier than is really warranted or helpful. But what point is there in telling her that he'd rather the truth than listening to her try to convince herself that after enough time it won't matter when it so clearly will? She's made it clear where the line is, and he has overstepped it already. Ozymandias closes his mouth, jaw clenching for a moment as his gaze drops to the floor near Fang's feet. With the next breath, the tension is released.]

Very well. [His voice is quiet, even. Ozymandias lifts his gaze back to her, his expression now neutral. He might as well be looking at a stranger.] If that is your wish, then I shall leave you to it.

[He doesn't revisit his question. He doesn't issue command or permission to leave. He doesn't say goodbye. Ozymandias takes a few steps back towards the doorway before turning to leave the room. With as sensitive as Fang's hearing is, she'll no doubt recognize the sound of his steps ascending the stairs after he's out of sight.]

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