[html]
For Laruku, and then Rachias. Dated August 23.
indent His father had been aware of his presence, but spoke to him as if he was Kaena. That, Gabriel supposed, was due to his eyes. Still, it was all right—Ahren listened to his troubles and told him things that didn’t always make sense. Still, the message was clear enough; he had to do what was right by him and bring ruin onto those who opposed him. Even Ahren, half mad (fully mad, perhaps), knew this. His laughing, and his all too clear eyes had told him this was truth.
indent As he left the building, he heard coughing from the next room over. Curious, and recalling the information about his half-brother, Gabriel made his way in. It smelled like death, like sickness and disease. Numerous odds and ends were strewn in the room, all around the two bodies. One was Jasper, whom Gabriel could recall vaguely, and the other he knew all too well. Recalling his father’s voice and the weight in his heart, he smiled thinly and advanced towards the coyote-like hybrid. “And how are we feeling?”
[/html]
[html]
Everything he knew was a cage. Memories, knowledge, guilt, dreams, his mind. It was a battlefield he walked through endlessly, blind but seeing everything that no one ever wanted to see. Death, decay, destruction, deterioration. A world, a mind, a soul. He flinched horribly at the sound of the voice. It was unfamiliar and harsher than it probably actually was. It was not the girl's voice he had become accustomed to. I didn't mean to kill him, he breathed anxiously, a frantic sort of reply to an accusation that had never come. The air smelled like sand and the ocean, the beach, a place he should have never spent so much time. The sea was not his neighbor to keep, but the sunset had been most beautiful there.
It wasn't my fault, he added, opening his eyes to nothingness. The presence was there. He could feel it like he could smell the salt and invisible breeze. He stared at the wall in front of him. It wasn't. It was, though, he knew. Accident or not, it had been entirely his fault.
[/html]
[html]
indent The squirrel cage of self was a terrible prison. Gabriel had known it in his time, and suffered through it. Baring his teeth in a vicious grin, the hybrid lowered his head. The long hair, hair he had not tended to in months, spilled into his face and over his shoulder. He was above the sick man now, the sick man whose eyes did not see him. This, at least, Gabriel understood. “No,” he said quietly, one hand reaching out. Oh God, how he wanted to strangle him here and now. No one would know, no, they would assume he had died because of the illness.
indent “No, it was,” he continued, eyes darkening. “Laruku, God sees everything you do. He sent an angel here to make you atone for your sins.” The hand, his traitor hand, shot out and grabbed the older man’s wrist. Twisting it around, he bore the scars for the world to see, and laughed. “It would have been easier if you had died,” he reminded him. “Just think about all the people you hurt. They need not have suffered for you.”
[/html]
[html]
They were words a voice whispered into his ear every night, words that he muttered to himself under his breath and in his dreams. Words that were burned into his skull and into his decrepit, rotting heart. Words that were scars across his body. Laruku did not believe in god, and he wasn't sure if he believed in hell. But he did believe that if there was anything like punishment on the other side of consciousness, then he would deserve it. He would deserve every scarring burn and damning word. His fogged-over eyes went wide at the other's sudden touch and he gave out a strangled, uneven cry. Then why didn't you let me die!? he all but screamed, I know it was my fault! I know, I know, I know, I know! He shouldn't have died. None of them should have died!
He struggled but was too weak to twist his wrist from the other's grip. The hybrid trembled in his makeshift bed, shaking from fear and anger and those thousand years of guilt. God, I tried to die, he cried, invoking the name of a being he had never known, I tried, and I tried, and I tried. I tried to die before anyone else was hurt. It isn't my fault. Tears flooded his eyes, but there as no sight left obscure. His chest was twisted in pain, and his throat felt like it was on fire. The fever was still burning hot. I'm sorry, he continued, voice pleading, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I've always been sorry. It wasn't my fault. It was. Everything was. Why was he still alive? Even now?
[/html]
[html]
indent There it was; that noise. Gabriel had realized that noise was power when he had heard it from Conri. That desperate, scratching, begging, scream. That plead, that demand, that curse. It was power because it meant he had control. He had control of the sick man like he had control of the Nothing boy. His smile widened, and his face turned crazed. He looked as mad as his father in the next room over, as mad as his mother when she had killed her first daughter, as mad as God and all His angels when they had set about destroying the human race.
indent And Gabriel laughed, leaning closer. “You have to suffer,” he stated. “You’re a sinner, and all sinners pay in the end.” Laruku’s eyes were wide and rolling, but they never seemed to find him. That was all right. Gabriel didn’t need to look him in the eyes. Not yet. “Death won’t come to you because you don’t deserve it. No man has the right to ask for death before his time. Before he pays for everything he did.” By this point, Gabriel was so close to Laruku’s face he could feel his breath. The doggish hybrid’s eyes narrowed and his face darkened, breaking into a vicious snarl. “Say His name again,” he commanded, and twisted the scarred wrist. “Pray to Him, and pray for the people you hurt. Beg for forgiveness! BEG FOR FORGIVENESS FOR YOUR SINS!” He was screaming, raving, and it felt like heaven.
[/html]
[html]
Life wasn't fair. It was a mantra no one had ever taught him because they had been too busy abandoning him to the wilderness. It was as if they had all known all along that it would turn out this way, that he would be doomed to leave broken bodies and broken hearts in his wake, that would end up like this, a diminished sort of creature, lying on a deathbed, but unable to die, unable to do anything at all but scream at all the injustices in the world. Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! he shrieked as the other's voice continued to rise, like a wave approaching the shore, a tidal wave, a fucking tsunami. Everyone was a sinner except the ones whose throats he'd torn out. That was the way the world worked.
He writhed on his bed, gnashing his teeth so his tongue bled. Shut up! THERE IS NO GOD. You're not God! SHUT UP! With all of his strength, he ripped his hand from the other's grasp, effectively twisting his wrist, once and for all. The burning pain was nothing compared to the fire in his mind though, whether fever-induced or otherwise. His heart was pounding too quickly and he couldn't breathe. His body was backed against the wall and his throat was searing with the same flames as in his head. GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME! SHUT UP!
[/html]
[html] She heard it again, the same kind of panicked screeching that she had heard the day that she busted into the shack, only to find her father lunging for some young stranger. She had been sleeping, huddling up inside of a tent to keep herself out from the rain. It was the sound of his voice that jolted the girl awake, sent her in to a sudden panic. Practically throwing herself from the tent, Rachias charged forward on hands and knees, skittering out and in to the open. Before long she found her footing and pushed herself up, taking off in a full out run for the shack. Her mind was to confused from having just woken and her vision was blurry, far to gone to realize the scent that lingered was familiar.
Finally she reached the shack, bursting through the door suddenly. There was already a faint snarl there, someone over top of her father, and she could not yet make out who it was by sight or smell. Grabbing for the first thing she could find, a broom that had been left neatly beside the door, she took it by the handle and raise it in to the air. "Get away from him!" Her own voice was practically a screech, taking a few careful steps forward as she waved the broom in front of her.
|
[/html]
[html]
indent Panic swept in and Gabriel watched as Laruku began to flail, scream, crawl up against the corner. He kept laughing, cackling, laughing the way that Laruku had laughed every time he had been that demon, laughed because he knew he was right and this was righteous. Then all too suddenly the door flew open and he jerked, cut his voice off in a sharp inhale and moved his body. It was just as well, as an all too familiar figure began wailing a broom at him. “Rachias!” He barked, lifting his hands to swat away the straw. “Stop it Rachias, it’s me! It’s Gabriel!”
[/html]
[html] It was the haze of half-sleep and panic that confused her so. Only when he spoke, when her eyes had time to adjust to the numerous transitions of light and her head cleared enough to at least partly understand what was going on, that she realized it was him. Gabriel. She stopped flailing the broom at him almost immediately, even though her heart and mind told her to continue and run him off. Run him off for disturbing her father and run him off for being part of the cause of her brother's death. Instead, she held it steady toward him, almost threatening to begin again at any second. "Get away from him Gabriel!" She barked sharply, ensuring that he knew she would not stand for him being near her father. She knew he hated him, he always had.
|
[/html]
[html]
lol, ignore him. <_<
The girl's voice was back, though it was not calm. Laruku curled his knees to his chest and tried to make himself as small as possible, backed up in the corner of the room. His face was contorted in a terrified sort of snarl as he stared forward at nothing and his lips were pulled back to let blood trickle out and quietly dribble down his chin. It wasn't his fault. (It was.) If only all of those people had let him die all those times in the past. (You never had enough conviction.) If only Acid had killed him to begin with instead of just abandoning him to luck and chance. (Stop trying to off the blame.) If only the glass had cut a little bit deeper and if only he had bled a little bit faster. (There's not enough blood in you to bleed.) If only, if only, the woodpecker cried, the wood on the tree were a little bit softer.
His wrist throbbed, but he couldn't focus on it. If he tore it open now, would he die? His arms ached and he couldn't bring the veins to his teeth. His heart was thundering still, and he felt like any gash created now would surely spurt enough blood to kill him in a few moments, before anyone or anything else could interfere. Or perhaps his heart would simply explode. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to imagine it. His ears flattened against his skull and he tried to will his body to give in. I've tried to die, he murmured into his knees, mostly unintelligible. It's not my fault. It is.
[/html]
[html]
indent Lifting both his hands in a sign of no-quarrel (one bearing a perfect circle, from long ago, in the palm) he stepped away from the sick hybrid and took a step towards Jasper. That was his way out, and he knew that all too well. Attempting to keep his face stoic, he spoke flatly. “I was just trying to help,” he said, wondering if that was a lie or not. “I came to see my father and Jasper. When I came in here he started screaming.” With a little help of course, but she didn’t need to know that.
[/html]
[html] She tried to keep her eyes on him, on him and away from her father who was mumbling in to himself, though she found it hard to do. Rachias lowered the broom just a bit, finally until the point that the bristles on the end touched the ground, and she eased her way to the side, off toward her father. Brows furrowed some as she went, keeping the broom in front of her until the point that she came between her father and her brother, positioning herself so that her she could see them both, Laruku out of the corner of her eye and Gabriel in a more full view. "I'm here Papa." The voice that she spoke in was oddly calm and quiet when compared the furious and slightly confused look that took over her features. She needed to calm him, to get him settled back in the bed and cleaned up. "I've been taking care of them." Again quiet, but there was still a sharp point to he words. She didn't know what to believe. Did Gabriel really care enough to come see them? He hadn't seemed so fond of his father when they spoke about fathers so long ago.
|
[/html]
[html]
indent “Corona told me,” he said swiftly, using tactic. Though Gabriel had never been very eloquent with words, he had picked up on how to speak and react, and how to play when he spoke. Taking another step, the hybrid began to make his way towards the door, though his pace was slow and not meant to suggest a retreat. “Are you planning on staying here?” She did, he knew, he could tell. She was never going to come back as long as she blamed him for the death of her brother.
[/html]
[html] Corona told him. She should have figured that, of course. Rachias was actually quite fond of her half-sister, they seemed quite alike in some kind of odd way, some way that Rachias didn't quite understand yet. "I haven't decided." And it was true, in a way. She intended to stay with her father and possibly see if he would allow her to stay near him after he was better, if he got better, but she didn't quite know where he had been staying anyways. "I'll be here until they get better." Or until they pass away. She turned then, slightly away from her brother to set her gaze on her father, holding tight to the broom even still. "Lets get you back to resting Papa."
|
[/html]
[html]
indent Flicking both ears forward, he took another step back. “All right,” he said calmly, yellow-gold eyes staying on her face. If she changed her mind and came after him with the broom again, he would take it from her. Still, she seemed more focused on her father and that meant he had a way out. Turning his back on his half-sister, Gabriel opened the door. “You know where to find me if you need anything,” he offered, though doubted she would come calling. With that, he was out into the open and heading back towards Inferni.
[/html]
[html]
The heaviness in the air was gone, as was the scent of salt, though that might have been because all he could smell was the blood in his mouth now. He licked his lips slowly and swallowed the bitterness. It made him want to gag, but he just swallowed it again. He was still alive, and his heart rate was gradually slowing again. Sudden excitement followed by rapid exhaustion. It seemed to happen a lot. If it happened enough, would anything change? His temples throbbed from trying to make himself spontaneously combust, or whatever he had really been trying to do. (Dying, darlin', it's one of the many things you fail at.) Except that he wasn't doing a very good job of living either. It was a vestibule, purgatory.
I don't believe in God, he declared quietly, swallowing again. It was just bad luck.
[/html]
[html] Her own selfish desires told her to chase him with the broom, to smack him with and run out of the lands, being sure to cause enough of a ruckus to set the pack harboring her father on alert. She didn't though, concerned that the sudden rush of excitement would only make her father worse, she couldn't risk it, and so she let him go. No matter how convinced he was that she would never show up there to see him, he was wrong. She would find herself there soon enough.
"I know you don't." She murmured quietly to him, feeling comfortable enough to settle her full attentions on him as soon as the door to the shack had closed. She didn't really believe in him either. Rachias finally set the broom aside, leaning it against the wall closest to her, just barely in reach. The girl crouched a moment, gathering a small piece of cloth up before standing once more, shuffling herself close to him. "I have to clean you up." She was always careful to tell him what she was doing, she knew he couldn't see. "You're bleeding, then we'll get you settled again." Sometimes it felt like she was talking to herself, the way that he hardly ever responded or the fact that sometimes he was so out of it that he still didn't know what was going on, even if he did hear her. "And I'm gonna stay in here and keep your company tonight." Or keep the bad company out. She reached for him then, aiming to place her free hand against him, to signal that she was close and moving in to clean him up.
|
[/html]
[html]
The worst part of it all was not being able to see. He was trapped in an empty abyss and at the mercy of his own imagination, which was ever-heavy with years-old guilt and memories of things that should have never happened. Things that had once been confined to drunk stupors and bad dreams had become a constant thing, and the cackling in the deepest reaches of his skull followed him like the fog used to. Denial, as dirty a word as it was, had allowed him to function as a person, even after the blood stained his hands. Denial had pushed everything onto someone else, and denial had allowed him to concentrate on other things. None of that anymore. There was just whiteness, and sin, and guilt. And guilt.
I'm okay, he told her, uncurling from his fetal position slightly. I broke my wrist. Perhaps it was odd for him to be so lucid, but her voice helped him find that denial again, to some extent. It gave him something else to concentrate on aside from the throbbing pain in his head, in his hand, in his chest. Sorry, he said. He shouldn't be her responsibility. Do you believe in God?
[/html]
[html] As soon as he moved and spoke, taking it as some kind of sign that he was at least understanding what she needed to do, she moved in for him, closing the short distance between them. Rachias crouched as soon as she was near enough, placing one hand on his arm as she dropped and reaching out with the other to wipe the blood from his face and the other spots in his fur where it had dribbled to. Ears fell slowly back against her head as he spoke, cushioned by cream and chocolate hair. His words both bothered her and comforted her. He seemed somewhat aware, at least more than usual, but the fact that he had broken his wrist made her wonder. Had he done it on his own or did he have help in the form of her brother? "How did you break it?" Just one sign, one little signal that might confirm that he had done harm to him, that was all she needed.
"Don't be sorry." She told him quietly, smiling at him even if he couldn't see it, he might be able to hear it. In truth, it made her feel better to look after him. She was the only one fit enough to do so, in her eyes, even if it wasn't looking after him medically. At least she was getting time with him. "I don't think so." Rachias answered his question quietly, almost hesitant. She hadn't been given a reason to believe in him, only a million reasons not to.
|
[/html]
[html]
There were few voices he heard that did not have bad memories attached to them. The people that had said the most meaningful things had also threatened his life. It was only a matter of time. They all grew up hurting each other. Except the girl beside him had been hurt by him more than he had been by her (or at least, she had not hurt him personally. Existence was not something he could blame her for). Perhaps that was what made it so easy to latch on to, even if it the same fact was what terrified him the most. Bad habits were hard to break. He hurt people. Always had. He didn't believe that would ever change.
I don't know, he said, furrowing his brow. I don't believe in God, he repeated from before. I don't believe in angels. Who was here? Maybe someone from hell. Pretending to be God. I don't know if I believe in hell. He wasn't letting me die. Pause. The long stream of words wore him out even more, and Laruku sighed, swallowing again. Do you think I'm going to die?
[/html]
|
