Counter Guardian Arturia @ Tower of Animus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
no_longer_a_king) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2013-02-28 07:18 pm
no_longer_a_king) wrote in towerofanimus2013-02-28 07:18 pm
ITP: Concerning the nature of souls and finding purpose
Characters: Arturia [AU5] and OPEN
Setting: Various, with prompts for floors 82, 12, and 60. After the elevator event, but the timeline is otherwise completely flexible
Format: Prose, please!
Summary: Arturia goes around making sure the people she knows are still alive after seeing what's down stairs, and other sundry things.
Warnings: none as of yet.
[A: Various, possibly combined with other prompts if you like.]
It was still like a blow to the guts.
Their actual status here wasn't what had shaken her so badly. They were souls in an artificial body, made by some form of magic. That didn't phase her because that was essentially what her existence had been from the moment she made that contract on Camlann Hill. It was the true of all Heroic Spirits and familiars like them. It was true of Counter Guardians like herself and Archer.
No, what had shaken her so badly had been seeing the bodies. Arturia had thought she had seen battle so much a mass grave couldn't phase her, but when the bodies are people she knew--multiples of people she knew--she'd wanted to retch. If she hadn't had so much experience, she supposed, she would have thrown up right there. So many people, even if they were just acquaintances, as corpses. She had to make sure that what they saw happen in the great machine was real--that they were truly all right.
That was why she was rushing through the Tower now, trying to find as many familiar faces as she could. Visions of slashing through the Grail-tainted Camelot were playing in the back of her mind, the horror of it, the suffering. She had to be sure those graves were not the reality of now. Had to.
[B: Floor 82; Masquerade of Truth]
Arturia had never gone on this floor before and had mostly observed from the stairs. The party that seemed to go on here at all times never interested her and since she rarely saw someone she recognized, she usually passed it on. Now? After how much she had gone through the last few days? She really did want to be around people. Everyone had moments like those, even people who tried to avoid them as Arturia did.
So she stepped off the stairs, walking to the masked gentleman who acted as a 'bouncer' of sorts to the party. He looked her over for a moment and then wordlessly handed her a mask. He reached out to put it on her, but she waved her hand and took it herself before placing it on.
Then he stepped aside and no sooner had Arturia crossed the threshold than another masked gentleman took her by the hand and began to whisk her across the dance floor. Arturia was graceful and skilled on the battlefield and there had been many a time at court or during some kind of festival or banquet when she had had to dance with Guinevere. It was easy to figure out the steps her partner followed and, while she was certainly no dancer by trade, she did not embarrass herself. it was easy to briefly lose herself and simply forget and by the time her partner released her on the other side of the room after their dance was when Arturia realized something:
She could not recognize anyone here. She had a vague feeling she should, but the thought of who it could be was gone the moment it entered her mind upon looking at the person.
Odd. Must be a trick of the floor.
[C: Floor 60; Industrial Kitchen]
In her more private moments, Arturia tended to find herself lingering in kitchens and thinking. Reminiscing, really. About the Fifth War and Shirou. About how the kitchen had been his domain and, painful as the memories were, it was comforting to think of him at times, of the way he'd insist on how she was a person and not a tool, of how he treated her like a guest in his home. True, his teasing had gotten on her nerves, but it had been a very long time since she'd been Arturia and not King Arthur.
But that was the past. Anything that might have happened with Shirou she could not undo and there was only one part she would ever hope to. Perhaps, if she had made more effort, been less weak, then maybe--maybe--things would be different. Maybe she would not have become the World's Sword. Maybe she would have peacefully gone to her rest if she had stayed her hand that fateful day.
This would probably be her only chance to reminisce for a very long time. Things in the Tower had changed and Arturia had no doubt things were about to get busy. No matter how she failed in the past, there were people here who needed help, who needed saving and she....
Arturia was not sure if she was a knight anymore, but she did know one thing: she could not stand by when people needed help. When people she considered comrades and allies needed help.
And so she went through the kitchen silently saying good-bye to her indulgence of the past and mentally prepared herself for the future.
[D: Floor 12; World Death Projection]
Arturia stood in front of the latest of the projections running, this time the object of focus was a red planet bloated with skyscrapers and vehicles that crossed through the atmosphere like bees in a hive. It stayed like this for a few minutes, the occasional bright flash in the sky as two of the vehicles ran into each other and then, it began to glow.
As with the last projection the glow seemed to fade, the vehicles in the sky making looping zig-zags before crashing to the planets. Buildings fell from the impacts. The nearby sun began to dim and slowly, spreading out from this one world, everything began to go dark until the only source of light in the room was the planet at the center of the show.
"Is this what's happening to the worlds?" she asked allowed as the projection began again--a space station proudly bearing the moniker "UFP: NEW HOPE" the center of it this time. She'd never paid attention to this room before, but after being downstairs and finding out what had happened above, she was getting interested in what, exactly, had destroyed these worlds.
Setting: Various, with prompts for floors 82, 12, and 60. After the elevator event, but the timeline is otherwise completely flexible
Format: Prose, please!
Summary: Arturia goes around making sure the people she knows are still alive after seeing what's down stairs, and other sundry things.
Warnings: none as of yet.
[A: Various, possibly combined with other prompts if you like.]
It was still like a blow to the guts.
Their actual status here wasn't what had shaken her so badly. They were souls in an artificial body, made by some form of magic. That didn't phase her because that was essentially what her existence had been from the moment she made that contract on Camlann Hill. It was the true of all Heroic Spirits and familiars like them. It was true of Counter Guardians like herself and Archer.
No, what had shaken her so badly had been seeing the bodies. Arturia had thought she had seen battle so much a mass grave couldn't phase her, but when the bodies are people she knew--multiples of people she knew--she'd wanted to retch. If she hadn't had so much experience, she supposed, she would have thrown up right there. So many people, even if they were just acquaintances, as corpses. She had to make sure that what they saw happen in the great machine was real--that they were truly all right.
That was why she was rushing through the Tower now, trying to find as many familiar faces as she could. Visions of slashing through the Grail-tainted Camelot were playing in the back of her mind, the horror of it, the suffering. She had to be sure those graves were not the reality of now. Had to.
[B: Floor 82; Masquerade of Truth]
Arturia had never gone on this floor before and had mostly observed from the stairs. The party that seemed to go on here at all times never interested her and since she rarely saw someone she recognized, she usually passed it on. Now? After how much she had gone through the last few days? She really did want to be around people. Everyone had moments like those, even people who tried to avoid them as Arturia did.
So she stepped off the stairs, walking to the masked gentleman who acted as a 'bouncer' of sorts to the party. He looked her over for a moment and then wordlessly handed her a mask. He reached out to put it on her, but she waved her hand and took it herself before placing it on.
Then he stepped aside and no sooner had Arturia crossed the threshold than another masked gentleman took her by the hand and began to whisk her across the dance floor. Arturia was graceful and skilled on the battlefield and there had been many a time at court or during some kind of festival or banquet when she had had to dance with Guinevere. It was easy to figure out the steps her partner followed and, while she was certainly no dancer by trade, she did not embarrass herself. it was easy to briefly lose herself and simply forget and by the time her partner released her on the other side of the room after their dance was when Arturia realized something:
She could not recognize anyone here. She had a vague feeling she should, but the thought of who it could be was gone the moment it entered her mind upon looking at the person.
Odd. Must be a trick of the floor.
[C: Floor 60; Industrial Kitchen]
In her more private moments, Arturia tended to find herself lingering in kitchens and thinking. Reminiscing, really. About the Fifth War and Shirou. About how the kitchen had been his domain and, painful as the memories were, it was comforting to think of him at times, of the way he'd insist on how she was a person and not a tool, of how he treated her like a guest in his home. True, his teasing had gotten on her nerves, but it had been a very long time since she'd been Arturia and not King Arthur.
But that was the past. Anything that might have happened with Shirou she could not undo and there was only one part she would ever hope to. Perhaps, if she had made more effort, been less weak, then maybe--maybe--things would be different. Maybe she would not have become the World's Sword. Maybe she would have peacefully gone to her rest if she had stayed her hand that fateful day.
This would probably be her only chance to reminisce for a very long time. Things in the Tower had changed and Arturia had no doubt things were about to get busy. No matter how she failed in the past, there were people here who needed help, who needed saving and she....
Arturia was not sure if she was a knight anymore, but she did know one thing: she could not stand by when people needed help. When people she considered comrades and allies needed help.
And so she went through the kitchen silently saying good-bye to her indulgence of the past and mentally prepared herself for the future.
[D: Floor 12; World Death Projection]
Arturia stood in front of the latest of the projections running, this time the object of focus was a red planet bloated with skyscrapers and vehicles that crossed through the atmosphere like bees in a hive. It stayed like this for a few minutes, the occasional bright flash in the sky as two of the vehicles ran into each other and then, it began to glow.
As with the last projection the glow seemed to fade, the vehicles in the sky making looping zig-zags before crashing to the planets. Buildings fell from the impacts. The nearby sun began to dim and slowly, spreading out from this one world, everything began to go dark until the only source of light in the room was the planet at the center of the show.
"Is this what's happening to the worlds?" she asked allowed as the projection began again--a space station proudly bearing the moniker "UFP: NEW HOPE" the center of it this time. She'd never paid attention to this room before, but after being downstairs and finding out what had happened above, she was getting interested in what, exactly, had destroyed these worlds.
D
Raven had, from the moment he arrived in the Tower, tried to avoid dwelling on the claims that their worlds were destroyed, and therefore this floor by proxy. It's simply absurd. Surely nothing of the sort could have occurred so quickly as to have them go to sleep in their own worlds one moment, and wake up the next in their rooms here. Not without any warning.
Still, faced with as many illusions as had cropped up over the past few days, it's hard not to doubt.
He'd come onto the floor to reassure himself, 'of course not, it couldn't happen,' but instead. Instead, he simply watched the projections cycle.
"I always thought... that if something were to happen to the world I came from, it would have been something else.
"Not this, whatever it is."
no subject
"This is the closest I've seen to it. Not many have been able to explain what is going on and I doubt the administrators have taken to telling us anything they know for sure about it or how they can even track it."
no subject
"They'll allow us easily to access this floor and watch what's apparently happening to our worlds, but since I've arrived I haven't heard any details at all about it. No discussion, no theories, no solutions," Raven says, derision acrid in his voice. "The only word we have to go on is the letters they so kindly left us when we first woke." And then he's not at the wall anymore, having chosen instead to pace around the glowing projection in agitation.
But as quickly as it arises, the hostility bleeds out of him again in just as much time, leaving him staring up at the image as the space station, like many before it, falls into ruin. Rewind, reset; this time the display is of a bright planet, of brilliant blues and greens.
"Yet... there seems to be no reason for our being held here," he murmurs now, steadily watching the projection. "We are given too much freedom to be prisoners. We're given too little to be anything but. So what game are they playing at?"
no subject
If that machine was capable of pulling souls here, of placing them in bodies, then it made sense why they'd be confined here, in a way. It might be they could only keep them within the space of the Tower and as soon as they left, the bodies that had been made would break into dust or their souls would disperse or any number of things. for now, they were trapped in the tower. For now, they had nowhere to go.
For now, Arturia had to act as if what the Administrators said was true.
no subject
For the first time during the conversation, he turns and meets the knight's eyes directly. The set of his features reflects the conversation's gravity.
"What do you mean, 'what you saw down below?'"
no subject
She eases her stance a bit, looking at him seriously, as if she were briefing one of her men before a long campaign.
"A group of this tower's refugees made it into the Administrative levels recently. While there, we came across a machine that extracts the souls from a person's body. When we die here, our soul is removed from our body and placed into a replica of the previous one. What the administrators bring here from our homeworld is not even our own flesh, but the soul itself."
how does one write shorter tags, I'm sorry u_u;
That... while true, is less the reason for it compared to the events of several days previous (fog and guilt and blame blame blame from something he'd thought he'd left behind in the past), which had left him wanting little to do with other people, for a short while. Just while he sorted out his thoughts, at least- or so he tells himself.
The truth of the matter is that even this meeting is a remarkable stroke of serendipity for how rarely he'd ventured near anyone in the past few days.
"Far less than is prudent, though," continues Raven, gold eyes narrowing in thought. One hand, the human hand, comes up, and he studies it now, looking for flaws. "So this... is merely a machine-made copy?"
...He feels like himself, though. And try as he might, he can't pick out anything foreign, anything different. It's unsettling.
If they all are simply souls, and everyone here had a soul to retrieve in the first place... He stops himself. The implications of what that means can be dwelt on later; they have no place in this conversation, not when the knight is being so informative. And that gives him pause as well. She's doing him a great service, isn't she, when he'd given her no reason at all to provide it?
He knows he wouldn't have been so forthcoming with information like this to a total stranger, had their positions been reversed. Even if she claims she thought the word might have spread.
"...My apologies. I haven't..." The former knight seems to struggle with himself a moment, floundering, before sighing and deciding to do away with any weak attempt at formalities. They've talked this long already without them. "My name is Raven."
No need to be sorry! I'm sorry it took me this long to get back to it.
"I suppose it is," she said, looking at her own gloved hand and trying to think, to feel. It was no different than the body she was granted in service to Alaya, nothing felt out of place, and yet there it was. Part of her had pondered if it was different for anyone else, but it seemed such was not the case if no one had noticed.
"I apologize, we did not actually see the process of how the body is made or I would tell you."
pardon; you don't have to continue if you don't want to, given it's so late
"Was that the sole purpose of the excursion, then? To gather information?"