08-15-2011, 12:50 AM
[ Thread over AIM with Tammi. Read only. ]
[size=6]A T T I L A ------
Despite all the reasons for returning, the ice-eyed Aston still had little desire to. Was he no more than another pawn, following the curse of the land no one could truly escape? Was it that he was fated to be there, even if he tried so desperately to run? As if choked at the throat by a chain harness, Attila once again moved through all-too-familiar territory, moving from the western French province where he had spent the last several months free, independent, ecstatic -- yet confused. Why? Why were questions of the past so suddenly nagging for answers? Why did he feel so supernaturally inclined to return? Yet, the journey had hardly begun. AniWaya was still days away by foot, and the Aston boy had not yet even reached Inferni territory to pass. Dusk was falling too quickly, he found, and after crossing the Pictou River he dropped his belongings on its eastern shore and collapsed there, exhausted, confused. Waiting, perhaps.
T A Y U I ------
The distant sound of the waterfall could easily tempt her to sleep. She knew this and accepted it and was therefore a little more on edge than she normally would have been. She didn’t want to suddenly keel over and leave herself for any wicked creature passing by. She didn’t trust her own pack and therefore did not think she should trust anyone else.
She was quiet and contemplative, like she had been for months now. She didn’t quite know what to make of anything, and so, she had stolen away to an area just north of her ‘pack’ lands. She had fated herself for solitude until it seemed as though a ghost deigned it time to emerge from the foggy depths of her memory. From her slightly elevated perch atop a rock, Tayui could see who looked to be her son approach the river, drop his belongings on the ground, and then inexplicably stop.
“Attila,” she called out. She would have to find out why.
A T T I L A ------
He readied himself to sleep there, fully prepared to simply drop to his knees and wait out the night; though strange and unfamiliar scents lurked clear in the air, the Aston boy detected no claimed lands in his immediate vacinity. However, at the sound of his name, the boy nearly jumped from his skin, fur prickling with surprise. The sound was recognized rapidly, and with surprise fogging his features, he turned. "Mom?"
He was right, of course, but the odds terrified him. AniWaya was leaps and bounds away, as was Anathema. A smile crept onto his face, but froze in place before joviality secured it; she walked with heaviness in her steps, with weights on her shoulders, with age in her face as if she'd aged a thousand times since he'd seen her last. Joy waned to worry. Wasn't she happy to see him?
"I'm back again," he shrugged, attempting a weak smile that disappeared as quickly as it came. He wanted to ask what had happened, why she looked so damned old, but he could not. Not yet. A moment's peace with his mother, first.
T A Y U I ------
She nodded instinctively at her title, trying to offer her son a smile, but finding it difficult. He’d never needed any coddling or preening like Claudius had, and so, it had become a second nature for her to treat him with more truth and less hesitation. This time, however, she found herself hesitating on what should have been pure instinct. She felt the love for her son in her chest, but could not find a way to express it without it hurting even more.
He spoke again, and again, she nodded. He tried to smile, but even that was fleeting. Maybe he had aged in his absence or maybe he had just followed the same pattern of irresponsibility and constant shirking of duties. She could, however, see something else in her son now: worry. He hadn’t ever looked like this in their years together, so why now?
“I noticed,” she replied, this time with a lopsided smile. “Welcome back,” she added, knowing it was the one thing she truly wanted to say, but took her so long to say it. “I’ve missed you.”
A T T I L A ------
He mistakingly allowed for a brief, uncomfortable pause to span just then, lasting just as long as his puzzled thoughts insisted. Her words, empty; her eyes, pained, weak. Never before had she looked upon him with such resistence in her gaze, as if she wanted so dearly to reach out to him but found herself walled off. Had his absences affected her so deeply? No, that was not the mother he knew. Tayui had always accepted his freedom and embraced his ways, even if he did stray miles from she and his siblings in his mannerisms and tendencies, and for that he was grateful. So why now? When had things changed? When had he become an eyesore?
"You too," he mumbled, making for an embrace awkward only at first, yet heartfelt next. Perhaps it was desperation that held her close, perhaps not, but he could not -- would not -- let this idiocy continue. This was not how he wanted to meet up with his mother again.
After that moment of warmth, he pulled back to arms' length, hands on her shoulders and worry etched in his features. "Something's wrong. You're too far from home."
T A Y U I ------
She was grateful for her optime form, for when her son reached out to her, she was able to respond with warmth, even for a moment. Even though she had many other ways to express her happiness at seeing her son, a strong embrace was the best one she could think of. Of course, it only lasted for a moment before he pulled away. His features were contorted with worry and he regarded her with an almost confused expression. He kept his hands on her shoulders and Tayui made no attempt to shrug them off: she welcomed the contact.
“No,” she replied, “this is my home now. Just south of here,” she replied. She didn’t bother trying to feign her enthusiasm. It was no home to her. “Salsola is the name of the pack,” she added. She didn’t particularly care much for any of it, from the tongue-cutting barbarism to the confusing threats from Sirius. None of it was real.
A T T I L A ------
In a way, he'd expected the response; his mother had relayed her journeys to him in the past. She had been a member of several packs and a leader of others, but Attila had started to regard AniWaya as their true home, as it was the place of his birth, father or not. When he had drifted out the past couple times she had been browsing neighboring packs that were starting to found, like Anathema, but the boy had always expected her to simply give up and return home. It had suited her best, AniWaya. Markku would have agreed.
But where was he...?
"Salsola, huh," he repeated, thinning his eyes and shrugging his shoulders. "Sounds bland." Her enthusiasm didn't exactly make an argument. "And... why, exactly, are you here? Old man Dawali give you a hard time or something?"
T A Y U I ------
His apathetic shrug mirrored her own apathetic thoughts. She wished she could just have an entire conversation solely with shrugs. He would shrug and say, “Salsola, huh,” and she would shrug. He would understand, shrug, and she’d know what he meant. They would continue the process until… until what? She didn’t even know. So she shrugged.
And then Attila made a wildly inaccurate guess. Salsola was not so much bland as it was unpalatable. It was as barbaric as Anathema was fraudulent, full of religious crocks who thought they could change the world. She chuckled and shook her head; no, it was hardly bland. Although she didn’t speak the popular language of the pack, she suspected it was a Spanish word for tongue cutting or ridiculous shows of authority.
Her chuckle subsided quickly when Attila mentioned Dawali. She tilted her head slightly, wondering what he meant.
“No, Attila,” she replied in a curious tone. “You know I left AniWaya about a year ago,” she explained, “to avenge Noir.” That explained why she was here and not in Anathema: because something had happened to make it so Anathema could no longer help her achieve this goal.
A T T I L A ------
A wicked sound came forth from her lips, subtle yet crooked, a bubbling laughter that shook her son more than anticipated. What was that? Never had he heard from her such a skeptical, conniving sound, even if she had not meant it as such. His mother was pure, kind, understanding -- wasn't she? She wasn't this dark, unfeeling thing she was presenting herself to be. Then, just as quickly as it came and troubled him, it vanished and was swept away with words of olden days.
I left a year ago. Attila's brows furrowed, his head tilting. To avenge Noir. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Snow-white curls drifted before his eyes, a tangled mess of hair unrestrained by the indigo headband he typically wore. Sweat had brought it from his face to his neck, where it rested comfortably atop his collarbone. His hair, overgrown and wild in its curls, shadowed his face. "What are you talking about?"
T A Y U I ------
He didn’t deserve this. This was just cruel, and although she knew all of this – every single part of what she said and how she acted – was wrong, she couldn’t make it right. She wanted to hold him for hours and tell him everything, but she was too afraid. She couldn’t explain why, but she knew she couldn’t push herself to do it. But oh, she wanted to.
She nodded quietly when Attila mentioned his departure. Yes, he had left then. They had reunited when Anathema had formed and they had been packmates – mother and son – for a short time again. But since then, her own reality had splintered and she’d found herself travelling a more solitary path.
When he echoed her words, she was struck with a sudden sense of dread. He had to know; didn’t he? She’d told him when they last met up, she was certain of it. But what if she hadn’t? She didn’t want to have to break the news to another son.
She looked down at his hands, still on her shoulders, and took her own to clasp one of his. She kept her gaze low and then looked back up at her son, imploring for him to understand: “honey, Noir… she…” She paused. Had she died, or had she been murdered? “She was killed before you left. I thought I told you already, I’m so sorry.”
At last, she could feel again.
This time, she felt the tears welling up in her eyes, knowing that if she were Attila, she would be the one crying and therefore could not stop herself.
A T T I L A ------
From the second the question left his lips, he'd known the answer for it. Yes, that made much sense -- he'd heard her giggles in his dreams, seen her face always in the corners of his eyes. She'd haunted him with her innocent presence, and all along the Aston had simply thought he might be going mad or suffering from a heavy case of nostalgia and homesickness. No, that explained it. He'd known it would happen. He'd known it all along. Still, his stomach twisted and face bleached. His hands shook, perhaps just a little. He stared at her for hours. Days. Weeks. Eternities.
He'd done his part to prevent it. Yes, he'd tried to get Noir to grow up. Now she was dead. He had failed no one. He'd tried. That was all that mattered, right? She was weak and stupid. Of course she's dead.
Then why was it so difficult to swallow?
No tears sprung. His gaze fell, and in his throat formed an awful lump, but no tears sprung. He would not cry for the stupid. He would not cry for anyone. The last he'd seen her, she'd still clung to her stupid fucking doll and that goddamn duck. God, she was so fucking stupid. His features hardened, his shoulders stiffened. Already, he'd had enough. Already his choke chain had tightened too far around his throat. He wished freedom once more, the rolling hills of green, the evenings with the most beautiful and disposable of women. He yearned it all too suddenly.
"I tried," he mumbled with the stonies of voices, "I tried to harden her up, make her grow up and defend herself." It serves her right. "I tried, mom, I really did." I didn't fail her. I didn't fail anyone!!
He burst suddenly into rage, a snarl escaping jowls as he spun and thrust a fist into the neighboring tree; despite the awful crack sound that resulted and the jolting pain within, he roared words nonetheless: "Why didn't she just grow the fuck up?!"
T A Y U I ------
She saw his tears, but they weren’t like hers. Tayui’s tears made her vision go bleary, made her face hurt, and dampened her fur. Attila blinked his tears away with a show of force. His features hardened and there were no more tears – at least for now. He pulled away and Tayui found herself clutching at the empty air, wishing for things she could not have. She held her hands close to her chest and then them fall uselessly at her sides as he spoke. He moved away and then viciously attacked a tree, his eyes now blinded by rage. Where Tayui still could not see as well as she would have liked, it was from a deep feeling of sadness. For Attila, it seemed as though all he felt was rage.
“Stop that,” she snapped. “She didn’t die because she was… she was childish. She died because someone murdered her.” Already, she knew her words were too harsh, and she regretted them instantly. She stepped forward hesitantly, holding out her right arm toward her son. “You tried, you did, I believe you, I know you did…” she whispered.
A T T I L A ------
"Murdered?!" he exclaimed, whipping back around to gape with frantic eyes. In his palm he clutched his right hand, subtly warped in places and bleeding, but held it hidden from his mother. Now was not the time for pain and booboos. He was not the child his sister had been. He felt no sting any longer -- he felt nothing more than a blinding anger and the force of grinding teeth against teeth. "Who the fuck murdered my sister?!"
He would not accept her embrace, her arm -- no, not with the intensity in his chest. He could not risk hurting his own mother, one way or another, and suddenly a thousand women whispered their complaints again in his ears of his unnecessary roughness. He snarled the thoughts away, the Aston boy ignorant of his own rage. Hands dropped back to his side, forming fists, one leaking blood in rivers between fingers. He felt nothing. Attila needed feel nothing.
"It's not my fucking fault," he hissed, more to himself than she, as if he could not hear her words of agreement. I could have protected her. I didn't want to protect her. She should have protected herself. "This isn't my fucking fault! If she'd just fucking listened to me, she might have been able to see she was in trouble and gotten out of there!" Blaring eyes flashed to her once more, possessed with demons of red and gold. "They're in Salsola, aren't they? I'm going." He reached and started to scoop for his things one-handed, jowls and fur alike bristling without cease, rage built like a monster.
T A Y U I ------
So it took some time. She had thought that ‘murder’ was implicit in ‘killed,’ but that was not always true necessarily. So when he finally responded, he surprised Tayui both with his reaction and intensity. She hadn’t felt anything like that since Noir’s death. For a moment, she wondered if she was doing the right thing; after Noir had died, any emotions like this had become more difficult and she had slowly succumbed to apathy and disinterest. She didn’t want to see the same thing happen to her son. He demanded his questions, and although Tayui had the answers, she didn’t know if he was ready to hear them yet. She pondered this as he rejected her attempt at contact and retracted her arms back into her body. Again, she held them to her chest, waiting for a sign.
“I know it’s not your fault,” she answered. “It wasn’t anyone’s,” she replied. “They’re not in Salsola. The one who murdered her is dead. His name was Haku Soul.” She paused. She couldn’t tell him everything – not yet. She took a step back, wanting to give him more space to pace and shake and reach. She knew he wouldn’t find anything and while these were all empty gestures on his part, she knew they were necessary and did not want to interrupt him. He needed his freedom to understand.
A T T I L A ------
The one who murdered her is dead. The name meant nothing to him. No faces to attach to it, no stories to connect. Some unknown man with some unknown reason to kill his sister. She was undoubtably innocent and unthreatening; most likely she'd been the first to say hello. Most likely she'd been holding her doll and smiling. She wouldn't have known what was happening to her, nor felt such horrible pain tear through her before. She'd barely started to live -- she hadn't even truly been an adult. She'd never loved.
"Let him rot in hell," he said, straightening up with belongings still in hand. He had nowhere to go, no one more to see. He thought briefly of Claudius, how his brother had been just as incapable of about anything. Did he know? Had he changed like his mother? Would he need protection, too? I don't want to protect anyone, he reminded himself. I just want to be free.
But I don't want anyone to die because of it.
Slowly, the male sunk down to the ground, tossing his things aside and dropping his face into his hands. Feeling seeped back into his being as the rage subsided and warped into despair, guilt and confusion; he felt the warmth of blood as it rivered from his hand into his fur and down his chin. The pain of his potentially broken hand hit him all at once, and with a hiss and gritting teeth he drew the hand close, scarlet now staining his perfect white pelt.
He remained there a long while, but after time he sighed and shook his head, eyes on the soil. "What do we do now, mom? Where do we go from here?"
Suddenly, he felt like a child again, ever desperate for his mother's warmth and affection. He could not admit to it, but as he bent over his stinging fingers, he wanted nothing more than his mother's real smile again.
T A Y U I ------
He looked so sad and so numb. Tayui reached out again, slightly, moving her hand out from her body just far enough that it could be considered a movement. Let him rot in hell, he said.
“Yess,” she hissed fiercely. A strange spark was now present in her eyes. She could finally tell him – someone – of what she had needed to do for so long. She needed her vengeance. Gabriel and Kaena knew and understood in their own ways, but Attila too would understand even still in another way. It would be personal because it had been his sister and her daughter. They had loved her.
Attila pushed his belongings away and slowly fell to the ground. Tayui took two quick steps closer and hovered over him for a moment before she plopped herself down, inelegantly but quickly, next to her son. She reached out to touch his hands, which covered his face, imploring him to open his eyes and look at her.
“We avenge her,” she replied. “We can’t kill anyone now. They’re long dead. But we can find others like him and make things right. There are monsters in this world and I will see that they cannot hurt anyone else like Noir.” She leaned in closer. “Please,” she whispered. She reached out farther. She just wanted him to know.
A T T I L A ------
For a long while he simply stared, stunned, paralyzed; had his mother said such things? His mother, Tayui, the pinnacle of his world, the epitome of all that was kind and loving? Had the justice of a mother mourning over her lost daughter taken her so far as to consider vengeance in her own grasp, to consider a life of vigilantism in retribution for Noir's murder? Did she not remember her own age, her frailty, her reputation as a kind and spiritual thing with no business in acts of war and bloodshed?
Yet, pride swelled in his heart. His expression grew firm, contained. Confident. A stiff nod.
"Yes," he said flatly, determinedly. "They will be disposed."
T A Y U I ------
They could be together again. Perhaps not as the most conventional family, but it would be the two of them, doing something right in the world. She knew Claudius could never be included in this sort of family affair, so it was with some sadness that she finally gave her son the real smile he deserved. She wondered how much Attila had changed in this short span of time, from when he had found her until now. She just hoped he would not suffer too much over her dreams: she was to become the monster, not him, so she was ready to do what she needed to preserve his own youth while exacting their revenge. She owed it to him, after all: she had been a horrible mother.
[size=6]A T T I L A ------
Despite all the reasons for returning, the ice-eyed Aston still had little desire to. Was he no more than another pawn, following the curse of the land no one could truly escape? Was it that he was fated to be there, even if he tried so desperately to run? As if choked at the throat by a chain harness, Attila once again moved through all-too-familiar territory, moving from the western French province where he had spent the last several months free, independent, ecstatic -- yet confused. Why? Why were questions of the past so suddenly nagging for answers? Why did he feel so supernaturally inclined to return? Yet, the journey had hardly begun. AniWaya was still days away by foot, and the Aston boy had not yet even reached Inferni territory to pass. Dusk was falling too quickly, he found, and after crossing the Pictou River he dropped his belongings on its eastern shore and collapsed there, exhausted, confused. Waiting, perhaps.
T A Y U I ------
The distant sound of the waterfall could easily tempt her to sleep. She knew this and accepted it and was therefore a little more on edge than she normally would have been. She didn’t want to suddenly keel over and leave herself for any wicked creature passing by. She didn’t trust her own pack and therefore did not think she should trust anyone else.
She was quiet and contemplative, like she had been for months now. She didn’t quite know what to make of anything, and so, she had stolen away to an area just north of her ‘pack’ lands. She had fated herself for solitude until it seemed as though a ghost deigned it time to emerge from the foggy depths of her memory. From her slightly elevated perch atop a rock, Tayui could see who looked to be her son approach the river, drop his belongings on the ground, and then inexplicably stop.
“Attila,” she called out. She would have to find out why.
A T T I L A ------
He readied himself to sleep there, fully prepared to simply drop to his knees and wait out the night; though strange and unfamiliar scents lurked clear in the air, the Aston boy detected no claimed lands in his immediate vacinity. However, at the sound of his name, the boy nearly jumped from his skin, fur prickling with surprise. The sound was recognized rapidly, and with surprise fogging his features, he turned. "Mom?"
He was right, of course, but the odds terrified him. AniWaya was leaps and bounds away, as was Anathema. A smile crept onto his face, but froze in place before joviality secured it; she walked with heaviness in her steps, with weights on her shoulders, with age in her face as if she'd aged a thousand times since he'd seen her last. Joy waned to worry. Wasn't she happy to see him?
"I'm back again," he shrugged, attempting a weak smile that disappeared as quickly as it came. He wanted to ask what had happened, why she looked so damned old, but he could not. Not yet. A moment's peace with his mother, first.
T A Y U I ------
She nodded instinctively at her title, trying to offer her son a smile, but finding it difficult. He’d never needed any coddling or preening like Claudius had, and so, it had become a second nature for her to treat him with more truth and less hesitation. This time, however, she found herself hesitating on what should have been pure instinct. She felt the love for her son in her chest, but could not find a way to express it without it hurting even more.
He spoke again, and again, she nodded. He tried to smile, but even that was fleeting. Maybe he had aged in his absence or maybe he had just followed the same pattern of irresponsibility and constant shirking of duties. She could, however, see something else in her son now: worry. He hadn’t ever looked like this in their years together, so why now?
“I noticed,” she replied, this time with a lopsided smile. “Welcome back,” she added, knowing it was the one thing she truly wanted to say, but took her so long to say it. “I’ve missed you.”
A T T I L A ------
He mistakingly allowed for a brief, uncomfortable pause to span just then, lasting just as long as his puzzled thoughts insisted. Her words, empty; her eyes, pained, weak. Never before had she looked upon him with such resistence in her gaze, as if she wanted so dearly to reach out to him but found herself walled off. Had his absences affected her so deeply? No, that was not the mother he knew. Tayui had always accepted his freedom and embraced his ways, even if he did stray miles from she and his siblings in his mannerisms and tendencies, and for that he was grateful. So why now? When had things changed? When had he become an eyesore?
"You too," he mumbled, making for an embrace awkward only at first, yet heartfelt next. Perhaps it was desperation that held her close, perhaps not, but he could not -- would not -- let this idiocy continue. This was not how he wanted to meet up with his mother again.
After that moment of warmth, he pulled back to arms' length, hands on her shoulders and worry etched in his features. "Something's wrong. You're too far from home."
T A Y U I ------
She was grateful for her optime form, for when her son reached out to her, she was able to respond with warmth, even for a moment. Even though she had many other ways to express her happiness at seeing her son, a strong embrace was the best one she could think of. Of course, it only lasted for a moment before he pulled away. His features were contorted with worry and he regarded her with an almost confused expression. He kept his hands on her shoulders and Tayui made no attempt to shrug them off: she welcomed the contact.
“No,” she replied, “this is my home now. Just south of here,” she replied. She didn’t bother trying to feign her enthusiasm. It was no home to her. “Salsola is the name of the pack,” she added. She didn’t particularly care much for any of it, from the tongue-cutting barbarism to the confusing threats from Sirius. None of it was real.
A T T I L A ------
In a way, he'd expected the response; his mother had relayed her journeys to him in the past. She had been a member of several packs and a leader of others, but Attila had started to regard AniWaya as their true home, as it was the place of his birth, father or not. When he had drifted out the past couple times she had been browsing neighboring packs that were starting to found, like Anathema, but the boy had always expected her to simply give up and return home. It had suited her best, AniWaya. Markku would have agreed.
But where was he...?
"Salsola, huh," he repeated, thinning his eyes and shrugging his shoulders. "Sounds bland." Her enthusiasm didn't exactly make an argument. "And... why, exactly, are you here? Old man Dawali give you a hard time or something?"
T A Y U I ------
His apathetic shrug mirrored her own apathetic thoughts. She wished she could just have an entire conversation solely with shrugs. He would shrug and say, “Salsola, huh,” and she would shrug. He would understand, shrug, and she’d know what he meant. They would continue the process until… until what? She didn’t even know. So she shrugged.
And then Attila made a wildly inaccurate guess. Salsola was not so much bland as it was unpalatable. It was as barbaric as Anathema was fraudulent, full of religious crocks who thought they could change the world. She chuckled and shook her head; no, it was hardly bland. Although she didn’t speak the popular language of the pack, she suspected it was a Spanish word for tongue cutting or ridiculous shows of authority.
Her chuckle subsided quickly when Attila mentioned Dawali. She tilted her head slightly, wondering what he meant.
“No, Attila,” she replied in a curious tone. “You know I left AniWaya about a year ago,” she explained, “to avenge Noir.” That explained why she was here and not in Anathema: because something had happened to make it so Anathema could no longer help her achieve this goal.
A T T I L A ------
A wicked sound came forth from her lips, subtle yet crooked, a bubbling laughter that shook her son more than anticipated. What was that? Never had he heard from her such a skeptical, conniving sound, even if she had not meant it as such. His mother was pure, kind, understanding -- wasn't she? She wasn't this dark, unfeeling thing she was presenting herself to be. Then, just as quickly as it came and troubled him, it vanished and was swept away with words of olden days.
I left a year ago. Attila's brows furrowed, his head tilting. To avenge Noir. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Snow-white curls drifted before his eyes, a tangled mess of hair unrestrained by the indigo headband he typically wore. Sweat had brought it from his face to his neck, where it rested comfortably atop his collarbone. His hair, overgrown and wild in its curls, shadowed his face. "What are you talking about?"
T A Y U I ------
He didn’t deserve this. This was just cruel, and although she knew all of this – every single part of what she said and how she acted – was wrong, she couldn’t make it right. She wanted to hold him for hours and tell him everything, but she was too afraid. She couldn’t explain why, but she knew she couldn’t push herself to do it. But oh, she wanted to.
She nodded quietly when Attila mentioned his departure. Yes, he had left then. They had reunited when Anathema had formed and they had been packmates – mother and son – for a short time again. But since then, her own reality had splintered and she’d found herself travelling a more solitary path.
When he echoed her words, she was struck with a sudden sense of dread. He had to know; didn’t he? She’d told him when they last met up, she was certain of it. But what if she hadn’t? She didn’t want to have to break the news to another son.
She looked down at his hands, still on her shoulders, and took her own to clasp one of his. She kept her gaze low and then looked back up at her son, imploring for him to understand: “honey, Noir… she…” She paused. Had she died, or had she been murdered? “She was killed before you left. I thought I told you already, I’m so sorry.”
At last, she could feel again.
This time, she felt the tears welling up in her eyes, knowing that if she were Attila, she would be the one crying and therefore could not stop herself.
A T T I L A ------
From the second the question left his lips, he'd known the answer for it. Yes, that made much sense -- he'd heard her giggles in his dreams, seen her face always in the corners of his eyes. She'd haunted him with her innocent presence, and all along the Aston had simply thought he might be going mad or suffering from a heavy case of nostalgia and homesickness. No, that explained it. He'd known it would happen. He'd known it all along. Still, his stomach twisted and face bleached. His hands shook, perhaps just a little. He stared at her for hours. Days. Weeks. Eternities.
He'd done his part to prevent it. Yes, he'd tried to get Noir to grow up. Now she was dead. He had failed no one. He'd tried. That was all that mattered, right? She was weak and stupid. Of course she's dead.
Then why was it so difficult to swallow?
No tears sprung. His gaze fell, and in his throat formed an awful lump, but no tears sprung. He would not cry for the stupid. He would not cry for anyone. The last he'd seen her, she'd still clung to her stupid fucking doll and that goddamn duck. God, she was so fucking stupid. His features hardened, his shoulders stiffened. Already, he'd had enough. Already his choke chain had tightened too far around his throat. He wished freedom once more, the rolling hills of green, the evenings with the most beautiful and disposable of women. He yearned it all too suddenly.
"I tried," he mumbled with the stonies of voices, "I tried to harden her up, make her grow up and defend herself." It serves her right. "I tried, mom, I really did." I didn't fail her. I didn't fail anyone!!
He burst suddenly into rage, a snarl escaping jowls as he spun and thrust a fist into the neighboring tree; despite the awful crack sound that resulted and the jolting pain within, he roared words nonetheless: "Why didn't she just grow the fuck up?!"
T A Y U I ------
She saw his tears, but they weren’t like hers. Tayui’s tears made her vision go bleary, made her face hurt, and dampened her fur. Attila blinked his tears away with a show of force. His features hardened and there were no more tears – at least for now. He pulled away and Tayui found herself clutching at the empty air, wishing for things she could not have. She held her hands close to her chest and then them fall uselessly at her sides as he spoke. He moved away and then viciously attacked a tree, his eyes now blinded by rage. Where Tayui still could not see as well as she would have liked, it was from a deep feeling of sadness. For Attila, it seemed as though all he felt was rage.
“Stop that,” she snapped. “She didn’t die because she was… she was childish. She died because someone murdered her.” Already, she knew her words were too harsh, and she regretted them instantly. She stepped forward hesitantly, holding out her right arm toward her son. “You tried, you did, I believe you, I know you did…” she whispered.
A T T I L A ------
"Murdered?!" he exclaimed, whipping back around to gape with frantic eyes. In his palm he clutched his right hand, subtly warped in places and bleeding, but held it hidden from his mother. Now was not the time for pain and booboos. He was not the child his sister had been. He felt no sting any longer -- he felt nothing more than a blinding anger and the force of grinding teeth against teeth. "Who the fuck murdered my sister?!"
He would not accept her embrace, her arm -- no, not with the intensity in his chest. He could not risk hurting his own mother, one way or another, and suddenly a thousand women whispered their complaints again in his ears of his unnecessary roughness. He snarled the thoughts away, the Aston boy ignorant of his own rage. Hands dropped back to his side, forming fists, one leaking blood in rivers between fingers. He felt nothing. Attila needed feel nothing.
"It's not my fucking fault," he hissed, more to himself than she, as if he could not hear her words of agreement. I could have protected her. I didn't want to protect her. She should have protected herself. "This isn't my fucking fault! If she'd just fucking listened to me, she might have been able to see she was in trouble and gotten out of there!" Blaring eyes flashed to her once more, possessed with demons of red and gold. "They're in Salsola, aren't they? I'm going." He reached and started to scoop for his things one-handed, jowls and fur alike bristling without cease, rage built like a monster.
T A Y U I ------
So it took some time. She had thought that ‘murder’ was implicit in ‘killed,’ but that was not always true necessarily. So when he finally responded, he surprised Tayui both with his reaction and intensity. She hadn’t felt anything like that since Noir’s death. For a moment, she wondered if she was doing the right thing; after Noir had died, any emotions like this had become more difficult and she had slowly succumbed to apathy and disinterest. She didn’t want to see the same thing happen to her son. He demanded his questions, and although Tayui had the answers, she didn’t know if he was ready to hear them yet. She pondered this as he rejected her attempt at contact and retracted her arms back into her body. Again, she held them to her chest, waiting for a sign.
“I know it’s not your fault,” she answered. “It wasn’t anyone’s,” she replied. “They’re not in Salsola. The one who murdered her is dead. His name was Haku Soul.” She paused. She couldn’t tell him everything – not yet. She took a step back, wanting to give him more space to pace and shake and reach. She knew he wouldn’t find anything and while these were all empty gestures on his part, she knew they were necessary and did not want to interrupt him. He needed his freedom to understand.
A T T I L A ------
The one who murdered her is dead. The name meant nothing to him. No faces to attach to it, no stories to connect. Some unknown man with some unknown reason to kill his sister. She was undoubtably innocent and unthreatening; most likely she'd been the first to say hello. Most likely she'd been holding her doll and smiling. She wouldn't have known what was happening to her, nor felt such horrible pain tear through her before. She'd barely started to live -- she hadn't even truly been an adult. She'd never loved.
"Let him rot in hell," he said, straightening up with belongings still in hand. He had nowhere to go, no one more to see. He thought briefly of Claudius, how his brother had been just as incapable of about anything. Did he know? Had he changed like his mother? Would he need protection, too? I don't want to protect anyone, he reminded himself. I just want to be free.
But I don't want anyone to die because of it.
Slowly, the male sunk down to the ground, tossing his things aside and dropping his face into his hands. Feeling seeped back into his being as the rage subsided and warped into despair, guilt and confusion; he felt the warmth of blood as it rivered from his hand into his fur and down his chin. The pain of his potentially broken hand hit him all at once, and with a hiss and gritting teeth he drew the hand close, scarlet now staining his perfect white pelt.
He remained there a long while, but after time he sighed and shook his head, eyes on the soil. "What do we do now, mom? Where do we go from here?"
Suddenly, he felt like a child again, ever desperate for his mother's warmth and affection. He could not admit to it, but as he bent over his stinging fingers, he wanted nothing more than his mother's real smile again.
T A Y U I ------
He looked so sad and so numb. Tayui reached out again, slightly, moving her hand out from her body just far enough that it could be considered a movement. Let him rot in hell, he said.
“Yess,” she hissed fiercely. A strange spark was now present in her eyes. She could finally tell him – someone – of what she had needed to do for so long. She needed her vengeance. Gabriel and Kaena knew and understood in their own ways, but Attila too would understand even still in another way. It would be personal because it had been his sister and her daughter. They had loved her.
Attila pushed his belongings away and slowly fell to the ground. Tayui took two quick steps closer and hovered over him for a moment before she plopped herself down, inelegantly but quickly, next to her son. She reached out to touch his hands, which covered his face, imploring him to open his eyes and look at her.
“We avenge her,” she replied. “We can’t kill anyone now. They’re long dead. But we can find others like him and make things right. There are monsters in this world and I will see that they cannot hurt anyone else like Noir.” She leaned in closer. “Please,” she whispered. She reached out farther. She just wanted him to know.
A T T I L A ------
For a long while he simply stared, stunned, paralyzed; had his mother said such things? His mother, Tayui, the pinnacle of his world, the epitome of all that was kind and loving? Had the justice of a mother mourning over her lost daughter taken her so far as to consider vengeance in her own grasp, to consider a life of vigilantism in retribution for Noir's murder? Did she not remember her own age, her frailty, her reputation as a kind and spiritual thing with no business in acts of war and bloodshed?
Yet, pride swelled in his heart. His expression grew firm, contained. Confident. A stiff nod.
"Yes," he said flatly, determinedly. "They will be disposed."
T A Y U I ------
They could be together again. Perhaps not as the most conventional family, but it would be the two of them, doing something right in the world. She knew Claudius could never be included in this sort of family affair, so it was with some sadness that she finally gave her son the real smile he deserved. She wondered how much Attila had changed in this short span of time, from when he had found her until now. She just hoped he would not suffer too much over her dreams: she was to become the monster, not him, so she was ready to do what she needed to preserve his own youth while exacting their revenge. She owed it to him, after all: she had been a horrible mother.