damned_institute | Day 58: Sun Room (Fourth Shift)

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Day 58: Sun Room (Fourth Shift)

Peter's lunch meeting with Tear had gone far better than he could have even expected. It was a good thing that he wasn't the sort of person who judged by age, seeing how the girl had proved herself to be very capable despite the fact that she was only a teenager. Not that Peter would ever admit it out loud, but Tear was a lot more mature than his own niece. He could only assume that Tear's circumstances had forced that onto her, though, which was the downside to the whole thing.

Or maybe it had something to do with her being a healer. She'd probably seen a lot of horrific things in her life already, things that some other people would never experience. Then again, Claire had seen her own body mutilated, so personality might have something to do with it too.

Either way, they had a basic plan. He was going to try and look into safe areas while Tear was going to work on their alliance with Search and Rescue. He wasn't too worried about the latter, but the former might be a pipe dream. Seeing how he had no interest in playing with beads and glitter, Peter chose to remain in the Sun Room.

It didn't take him long to draft up a message with his question, and once he'd posted it up (covering a few other replies in the process, but at the end of the day the board was low on real estate) he went ahead and found himself a seat. This way he could keep a careful eye on the replies that he got.

While he had already agreed to meet with Max tonight, Peter realized that the earliest this paramedic group could get going was the following night anyway. That was something to aim for, at least. Even if it was just him and Tear taking care of things at first, that was a start.

[For Haruno Sakura.]

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Sometimes, Albedo could read in Nigredo the differences between a past explanation and a present belief. This was not one of those times, and the younger moved to form a clarification even as his brother demonstrated dismay. Albedo reached for his hand in an effort to call attention. To press at details, maybe. In the end, all that was conveyed in the link between black and white was pain unpredictable and fathomless.

Minds seared in tandem, an eating sensation unregistered in Nigredo's system until after the fact. The younger disconnected instinctively, body retreating to his end of the sofa and hands closing against his chest. Waveform clung longer than was necessary, however, and by the time Albedo made to pull back, several things slid into place.

Here was progress unraveling. Here, the lines of defense carefully disregarded were pulled tightly around Nigredo, who despite signs of a migraine, processed the impressions. Of course. Of course. What good was that? Nigredo couldn't control it. Couldn't even begin to speculate how Executioner resided within him. If not for the limitations of this place, it might have activated.

Here, it had, and Nigredo had somehow harmed Albedo. The latter more or less confirmed the sensations, and here, his mind shattered in two pieces. Death would be preferred over harming a sibling, but it seemed he couldn't even have his preference. And he hated himself for it. More than anything in existence.

Warmth gathered in the boy's eyes and spilled over his cheeks as he stared fearfully at Albedo. "I'm sorry," was all he could say. There was nothing else.

Edited 2011-09-19 20:49 (UTC)

An idiotic gesture from a thoughtless state and herein lay the consequences made bare. It was product of a forgotten time, a castoff from something unmentioned. Like before, like a time lost, like only hours prior, his mind reacted to a threat, pieces shifting and grating as inconsistencies and instabilities pushed and pressed at themselves. The change was almost familiar, a perfect mirror of another time, and he, again, found himself facing a threat in name only, a problem given by the opposites pressing.

It was that same and not. Here, again, was one cared about in front of him, and here, again, was a shift to circumvent that aspect. Albedo was vaguely aware of Nigredo coiling away, but there was little to do about that now. The hand that had touched his brother reached up to press at his face, the heel digging into an eye. The resulting waves of sensation that caused his skin to enflame with the byproducts of a faulty rage, flesh torn to expose raw nerves in its intensity, was therefore ignored. A pretty little copy but not quite the same in actuality. Not the same destruction, dispersal. And not the same crushing aspect of betrayal from another source.

Breathing heavily, Albedo attempted to focus. Because a part of him understood. If he had frightened Ritsuka like this.... It was not that he would frighten Nigredo, but that he could have possibly hurt him, with them connected like that. Something that a deeper part of him yearned for momentarily, but it was swept away with little effort. The higher problem was the imbalance in mind, and now, twice now, Albedo was having a harder time reconciling the brief fluctuation of sanity.

He was still trying to balance the differences when his mind registered Nigredo's voice speaking with an odd emotion. The boy's head lifted to view his brother, eyes tired and lacking lucidity. And to that, there was....

It was far too obvious what conclusions Nigredo had leapt to, and Albedo didn't have the presence of mind to reassure as he perhaps should have. Instead it served as something to further a temporary crack, and he laughed, more than a little self-deprecating. His hand move to tug at his own hair, arm curling around his head. "You're sorry for thinking I was reckless?" he belatedly echoed, pulling the conversation back. "Why be sorry for what I am and will be?"

He gave a thin smile, his mind half-amused. The other half silently shook at the possible destruction this had wrought. "Of course, I took those drugs last night. They affect each in every way, different and unique, and mine?" His expression softened, eyes partially glazed. "Mine holds itself to pain." Pain in passing. Pain in relief.

Comprehension entered a beat behind, occurring at the height of affect and overwhelming dissonance, and Nigredo found that reality did not quite match up to his original assumption. For relief and gladness, he would attest, but reactions seemed ill-fitting. A little off-kilter. He slid his hands over his eyes and sobbed brokenly, excess emotions morphing into tears. The volume was low enough for only siblings to hear; the child wasn't up for open dramatics today.

He had been ridiculous. Had tossed aside logic in favor of base reactions. And Executioner? Here? Where, Nigredo, was the proof of that? Albedo was fine physically. (Mental faculties were under question, but that had always been the case, no?) Not a scratch or cut on him. Albedo was alive. Drugs were to blame. His brother's exposition, therefore, struck mocking pain where horror had once dwelt, and soon, Nigredo wanted only to laugh.

And laugh he did.

The transition from sobs to giggles was not so clear-cut as one might have expected, but somewhere in the process, the youngest began to snicker. To change to open chuckles and outright laughter. It lacked the intensity of last night's episode but somehow held naturally, for Nigredo did find the humor in this scenario. ...As broken as it might have been.

He eventually trailed off and gave a shuddered exhale, dropping tear-stained hands to his lap. "I'm such an idiot," he murmured, before locking eyes with the one adjacent to him. "Albedo." A pause. "Did you really take the drugs?"

Relief broke across where horror had dealt, and therefore, there was ease. Faulty and perhaps unguided but it existed as such. The grips on the strands of hair eased, and Albedo slipped his face against his knees. Only to jerk against them a moment later as the sound of Nigredo's sobs hit his ears, the sound grating and miserable. Albedo's form tensed, nearly hating himself, and then he peered out slightly from his ball, caught between wanting to comfort his brother and wanting to not touch him if that made it worse.

The answer was given to him in a moment. As his brother deteriorated into something more familiar, though not from this source. The laughter was far from expected, and Albedo raised his head, more concerned that he was a moment prior. His hand reached out, fingertips kneading Nigredo's thigh. And still Albedo did not speak.

Said nothing until Nigredo spoke, something of relief before wanting. There didn't seem to be more damage than what was, and possibly Nigredo would be pleased, after everything. His eyes angled to the side, unsure, and then he answered clearly. "Yes. I thought it'd be useful to know."

He thought it might affect him more than his regeneration could take. In bits and pieces, he was still himself.

A child in the grips of two extremes made for a poor reactor. As opposed to stiffening at the pressure on his thigh, Nigredo passed into quiet, watching Albedo without shame. If he had ceased crying, he couldn't tell. By now, tears seemed moot and faraway.

One might have anticipated a lecture--some form of punishment for the elder child. This was a step unwanted in Nigredo's world: having one's last living connection gamble his life for a mediocre reward registered as problematic. It might have been more appropriate to tug at Albedo's ear and hope the pain would be enough to instill how terribly wrong he had been.

But constitution was insufficient. Sanity was questionable. Nigredo didn't have the head to touch his brother. Instead, he spoke truthfully, vaguely wishing this would somehow reach the white-haired child. "I know you meant well, Albedo." He managed a bitter smile. "But please don't ever do that again."

The softness was as unexpected as a slap. His eyes widened to take in Nigredo warily, eyeing him carefully as he moved and spoke. The words could be taken as one condescending, and from an adult or another, it would have been. But Nigredo, while a liar by method proven, seemed to at least give truth on his own perceptions, and own opinions. In parcel and part, at least.

It was the smile, more, that affected the middle Variant. A strange expression and still emotion. He swallowed, leaned closer even as he wanted to back away, hand tightening the slightest on Nigredo's leg. A memory flashed. Something clouded. An example he had wanted to make. A dark room with a locked door, and one to two, and then. And this was....

Yes. This was quite possibly near the same as that. His head tilted at a sharp degree. His eyes watched. "Does it... Does this hurt you?"

In a heartbeat, the smile faded, replaced with a deficient countenance barely felt by the variant. He wasn't sure why. Something touched on delicate in that inquiry, and Nigredo supposed his awareness was better than initially suspected. "Does this hurt me?" he echoed.

The answer was more obvious than most, but relaying his sentiments on this matter proved difficult. It wasn't necessarily about the youngest getting hurt by a brother's careless actions. Rather, it was more the consequences of said actions on the brother himself. Pain would continue in its myriad of forms and reasons, but it had yet to compare to a hurt (or dead) sibling.

Nevertheless, Nigredo kept to the theme, continuing in truth. "Of course, it hurts me," he said. Softer. "More than almost anything." But it appeared he would always be hurt in one form or the other. Holding to it, therefore, was faulty. "Besides that, I would rather you stay well. You have..." He blinked. "...a lot of things to live for."

Like friends. Like unresolved differences. Like a twin who couldn't be easily explained. Like having a purpose Nigredo didn't have, perhaps.

The sentences could be taken. Ingrained as much as anything else that continued in its path forward. Each could be pressed at with need and found to be stable. Each could be accepted and thought for, considered. Shifted. Except for a solitary ending sentence that shifted the feel of Albedo's waveform before he could even think to react. Pain surged upwards; old pain and multiple betrayals--and to add, the quiet death in mourning. The silence that kept when siblings slipped away in a lack of understanding. Solitude not chosen and unwanted, but gripped tight all the same. An emptiness residing where simple need had once dwelt.

There was something curious, still, in the creature that looked up from Albedo's eyes. Something curious among the mass of loss and sorrow. He opened his mouth to question and found he couldn't speak the words. Albedo licked his lips once, pressed them together, and forced one word. "...Explain."

The meaning wasn't so straightforward to prompt such a shift. He hardly believed it was so easy as to force tangible pain to surface. And yet, beyond that, Nigredo could not tell how his words had affected Albedo. There existed parts he could never begin to understand. The same could be spoken as true for himself. It appeared as though they would be at an impasse once again.

Albedo, however, asked for clarification, and Nigredo found himself willing to do so, though far from certain as to how to fulfill the request. Eyelids lowered halfway as he attempted to form coherency. "...You have a lot of things to live for," he repeated, lips thinning into a line. "You have friends who care about you. You have things you need to do." He wavered momentarily and forced himself to stare out into the Sun Room. "You have a...purpose. I think it would be sad to just let that go."

Or to never have it in the first place, but that was a truth not to be shared.

Whether or not the emotional basis of that explanation was held in Albedo's mind was beside the point. Albedo was an evolving creature, this being shown the most as of late through the simple fact of considering another. Here, that fell, slipped away from shock or surprise, and the fact of sorrow fell short of his understanding. There was something far more prominent that he had locked onto.

Surprisingly, the statement about friends was accepted enough to be moved aside. It was not that the subject was not still shaky--but that Albedo could take care as it was when clear, of his and others', and at least with one other, Albedo would consider them friends. Friends as others had defined to him, friends as ones cared about.

That was accepted. The rest was not. Albedo's voice came deceptively low, though lacking any tint of anger. Only a firm demand of explanation. "Then tell me, brother." His eyes watched the youngest of the set, bland and churning both. "Tell me my purpose. Tell me exactly what I need to do."

The question of existence settled in Nigredo like stone, a ripple in calm waters. For someone to define another's purpose with none of his own seemed faulty. Seemed more presumptuous than touching on any good. Thus, the statments were accepted in quiet resignation as the boy moved to look at his brother, ruin written in his eyes.

"I can't tell you." The link made it clear: he didn't know. What was it, then, that others could do? How did they act in the face of defining their purpose? "You have to find out what you need to do on your own."

He thinned his lips into a line. {But you can move, can't you? You have that.} The fact of existence. The enviable point.

You can move, can't you.

His brother couldn't know. Couldn't know that he had spoken that girl's words. Had echoed what Albedo had just mused on, and just contemplated. That he could move. So Nigredo, then. Nigredo thought like that girl. Believed that movement was not something left for him, and envying Albedo for the ability to.

Truthfulness of the matter aside, how could Nigredo think that Albedo could move, could have the choice to exist in a liveable way? Albedo had always defined himself as something dying, despite the irony, and yet here were two that claimed different.

His throat closed. He stared at Nigredo.

Here were two that felt more alone than he.

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Day 58: Sun Room (Fourth Shift)

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