Fon Master Ion (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fragileprophet) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2013-04-04 12:00 am
fragileprophet) wrote in towerofanimus2013-04-04 12:00 am
the first – somebody take my hand and lead me
Characters: Ion | open
Setting: the stairs around floor eighty-seven| daytime
Format: prose
Summary: Ion wakes up, decides to take a look around, and completely underestimates how exhausting stairs are. Needing to pause in his descent to catch his breath, Ion begins to wonder whether or not he should have just stayed in his room (and is basically regretting his life choices in general).
Warnings: none at the moment
This room was not his own. Ion knew it the moment he opened his eyes, and the immediate revelation left him both disoriented and troubled. He sat up on the unfamiliar bed and looked around at the unfamiliar white walls, an identical, but empty, bed at each of the other three corners. At first, he wondered if this was Mohs’ doing. It wouldn’t be the first time that the Grand Maestro had gone behind his back (not that Ion hadn’t returned the favor, if a tad less maliciously), though Ion had hoped that he had given up on his efforts to start a war between Malkuth and Kimlasca. In any case, the young Fon Master erased the idea from his mind as soon as an idle movement of his hand to his neck acquainted him with a strange metal collar. He tugged at it to no avail. That was when he saw the letters—and as Ion read the brief but explicit contents of the first, his heart sank to the very bottom of his stomach.
The second was much more informative, but no less troubling. And after he had read it in full, Ion took in the room, his dorm, his new home, with new eyes. They fell almost at once upon the trunk mentioned within the second letter, and he was quick to find his robes inside of them. Ion changed back into them from the strange material he had woken up in, took a deep breath, and left his dorm. It seemed silly to just sit around and wait for something to happen—and having done so much sitting in his young life, Ion had always been eager to capitalize on a moment to get on his feet and look around, even if said feet liked to put up an oft-solid protest. But it wasn’t as if a little exercise would kill him, right? And, besides, it seemed much more logical to get to know the Tower by walking through it, instead of simply bypassing most of its contents in the elevator. He’d have other opportunities to use it.
For now, Ion made his way slowly down the hall of Dorm Floor 1 until he found the staircase that could take him nowhere but down. He walked leisurely, cautiously, and with a thoughtfulness swimming around his head. That was at least, for the first ten floors. By the time he had passed twenty floors—looking passively into them but never stepping out of the stairwell—his face was flushed and his lips pale. The boy’s feet ached and shook awkwardly. Somewhere outside of the eighty-seventh floor, Ion gave up. With a sigh, he leaned heavily against the cool wall, then slid down to sit dejectedly upon the step and rest his head on his knees.
It was too late to go back now; if he could get to the next elevator, he’d be fine. Then he could get something to eat in the cafeteria at the bottom of the Tower and maybe get some of his strength back. I’ll just catch my breath a little he told himself, I’m sure it won’t be too much longer until the next elevator. I can manage! Of course, as the insufferably weak Fon Master tried to focus on breathing, it became harder to think of anything other than Auldrant as a lifeless husk, and all its citizens—all his friends—gone.
Setting: the stairs around floor eighty-seven| daytime
Format: prose
Summary: Ion wakes up, decides to take a look around, and completely underestimates how exhausting stairs are. Needing to pause in his descent to catch his breath, Ion begins to wonder whether or not he should have just stayed in his room (and is basically regretting his life choices in general).
Warnings: none at the moment
This room was not his own. Ion knew it the moment he opened his eyes, and the immediate revelation left him both disoriented and troubled. He sat up on the unfamiliar bed and looked around at the unfamiliar white walls, an identical, but empty, bed at each of the other three corners. At first, he wondered if this was Mohs’ doing. It wouldn’t be the first time that the Grand Maestro had gone behind his back (not that Ion hadn’t returned the favor, if a tad less maliciously), though Ion had hoped that he had given up on his efforts to start a war between Malkuth and Kimlasca. In any case, the young Fon Master erased the idea from his mind as soon as an idle movement of his hand to his neck acquainted him with a strange metal collar. He tugged at it to no avail. That was when he saw the letters—and as Ion read the brief but explicit contents of the first, his heart sank to the very bottom of his stomach.
The second was much more informative, but no less troubling. And after he had read it in full, Ion took in the room, his dorm, his new home, with new eyes. They fell almost at once upon the trunk mentioned within the second letter, and he was quick to find his robes inside of them. Ion changed back into them from the strange material he had woken up in, took a deep breath, and left his dorm. It seemed silly to just sit around and wait for something to happen—and having done so much sitting in his young life, Ion had always been eager to capitalize on a moment to get on his feet and look around, even if said feet liked to put up an oft-solid protest. But it wasn’t as if a little exercise would kill him, right? And, besides, it seemed much more logical to get to know the Tower by walking through it, instead of simply bypassing most of its contents in the elevator. He’d have other opportunities to use it.
For now, Ion made his way slowly down the hall of Dorm Floor 1 until he found the staircase that could take him nowhere but down. He walked leisurely, cautiously, and with a thoughtfulness swimming around his head. That was at least, for the first ten floors. By the time he had passed twenty floors—looking passively into them but never stepping out of the stairwell—his face was flushed and his lips pale. The boy’s feet ached and shook awkwardly. Somewhere outside of the eighty-seventh floor, Ion gave up. With a sigh, he leaned heavily against the cool wall, then slid down to sit dejectedly upon the step and rest his head on his knees.
It was too late to go back now; if he could get to the next elevator, he’d be fine. Then he could get something to eat in the cafeteria at the bottom of the Tower and maybe get some of his strength back. I’ll just catch my breath a little he told himself, I’m sure it won’t be too much longer until the next elevator. I can manage! Of course, as the insufferably weak Fon Master tried to focus on breathing, it became harder to think of anything other than Auldrant as a lifeless husk, and all its citizens—all his friends—gone.
I hope so ;u;
"I'm not really hungry," he confessed as he rubbed his eyes. The statement was interrupted with a yawn, but then he continued, albeit more slowly, "I'm mostly just...tired..." So tired. Ion leaned back on his hands, closing his eyes heavily even as he nodded in agreement. "But yes...if the Tower is as dangerous as it sounds...it wouldn't be wise to linger."
His eyelids began to feel like weights that he couldn't lift, his fingers sliding against the soft earth that felt as comfortable as any mattress. "I just need another minute. I'm sorry...for taking..."
The truth was...his body didn't want to get up. It was feeling harder and harder to even imagine standing. All he wanted to do was sleep and rest his troubled mind. He wanted to dream about home and about Anise and about safety. The poppies provided quiet promises that were incredibly hard to refuse. Ion couldn't finish his apology. It was taking him all his concentration to stay propped up on his hands, when all he wanted to do was curl on his side and let himself give in to the sleep that pulled at his brain.
no subject
"...Don't apologize, Fon Master..."
But too late does the thought cross his mind that the fatigue isn't natural. As Ion starts to droop, so does Guy, stumbling a bit as he lowers himself to a sitting position in the flowers. His body screamed for rest, and now that he was on the ground, he couldn't quite get back up. He tried - a shove of the hands to get his feet back under him, to try and stand up - but his legs were becoming weak, exhaustion taking over.
Suddenly the staircase seemed to be a million miles away. They shouldn't linger... they had to get out. But just crawling forward closer to the green-haired boy took an enormous amount of effort.
Guy could feel panic rising in his chest. Even if it feels like a load of bricks have been cast on his arm, he reaches up to grab Ion's shoulder and give it a weak shake.
"...Ion.... hey, Ion, no... don't... don't fall asleep..."
no subject
This was more like sinking, or being filled slowly with lead. Ion was becoming an anchor lodged amidst the poppies, and he couldn't stop it. Oh Lorelei--he couldn't get up. The boy's face would have been serene and lovely if there hadn't been some inherent fear behind those eyes and a lingering tension in his brow.
With a struggle, Ion managed to open his eyes. Guy was an unfocused mass of earth tones shrouded through warm, bright pops of red. He mumbled desperately at his friend, trying to lift his arm to clutch onto the blonde's shirt but being unable to find the strength. "...trying..." was the only word that came out clear, soft and thick and so full of desperation.
But then, even that proved too hard. Ion's eyes drooped again, his head lulled to the side, and his breath began to even. The dull red of the back of his lids began to fade to black as the sounds around him muted.
no subject
And now that Ion has fallen into a deep sleep, Guy himself found that staying upright was almost impossible, the desire to simply collapse and rest too overwhelming. Teeth are gritted, firsts are clenched, trying to force himself up with shaking arms. But the sound of Ion's deep breathing and the scent of the flowers blankets the blonde too thick, elbows finally giving in as he hits the ground ungracefully.
He stirs with a groan, only enough to move his face from the dirt. But he can barely lift himself, and each breath comes slower and slower, his sight darkening out until the field, the flowers, and the Fon Master were left behind in the void of sleep.
Neither would awaken again. Not in the field - not until their bodies had simply stopped functioning in the gentle embrace of sleep.