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)
towerofanimus2013-04-28 11:36 am
fragileprophet) wrote in towerofanimus2013-04-28 11:36 am
the third - forgive me for these cliché words
Characters: Ion and you!
Setting: Dorm 1-16, a Washroom on Dorm Floor 1, Floor 100, and the Cafeteria.
Format: Started with prose, but I will follow your lead!
Summary: Backdated to shortly after the event close. Ion wakes up to an intense amount of guilt and regret concerning what happened during the brainwashing, and tries to deal with this.
Warnings: Mostly just a lot of angst and general panic. Some self-hate.
[Dorm 1-16]
Ion would have loved to have been relieved when he opened his eyes from the simple comfort of his bed and found himself in control of his own body. In fact, he was. But only so long as it took him to sit up and wonder if it any of it had really been real—and then find the confirmation staring him in the face from its position on his nightstand. The bloody tuning fork, the symbol of his order and everything he had been raised to support, sat at him with condescending finality.
You did this, it spat silently. You soiled me.
And Ion knew—Lorelei, did he knew. His hands shook from where he clutched the sheet to his chest, his eyes wide and panicked. He was so sorry. He was so sorry. It hadn’t been him; he wouldn’t have done it. He wouldn’t ever have harmed someone the way he had done under the influence of the Administrators.
And yet…a small part of him…somewhere deep inside…didn’t it just feel so wonderful? So free of worry? So wonderfully calm? To see the flame of life blown out like a flickering candle.
That wasn’t him. Ion felt his throat constrict, and he fell back on his bed, curling into himself and trying to hide as best as he could underneath the sheet. To block out the tuning fork and its tarnished gold. It couldn’t have been him. That couldn’t have been how he had really felt. It had been incepted inside of him as some cruel game or…or…
It wasn’t really me, right?
What scared him the most was that Ion wasn’t actually sure.
[Dorm Floor 1 – Washroom]
After a while, Ion finally summoned the courage to crawl out of bed. Or, rather, forced himself to get up. It didn’t feel right to lie around moping, even if he was feeling the way he was. The fork was still waiting for him, blood dried and tacky and turning a dark, ruddy red against the gold. He shuddered at the sight of it—then acted.
It wasn’t going to change. Not on its own. That was where the responsibility turned to him. As the Fon Master, he had to wipe it away. He had to redeem himself.
Moments later, he can be found in the washroom, furiously scrubbing it in the sink. Come on, he begs it in desperate silence. His hands start shaking, heart begins thumping. He can’t get the stains off—they won’t come off! Or have they already been washed away down the drain, and Ion’s too distraught to see anything other than what his guilt will allow him?
[Floor 100]
It was the first time Ion had stopped to look at this floor, and it almost made him feel worse once he had. The Daathic Cathedral was so peaceful and bright and full of hope as the Fon Master walked toward the front of it, not at all like the one that made up the thirteenth floor.
There were no whispers here. No distortion of sound. No overwhelming sense of danger or foreboding. He assumed, as he attempted to run his hand along one of the pews and found it intangible, that this was due to the fact that none of it was really real. Still, it was the closest thing to home he had left, wasn’t it? Even though it pained his heart in bursts to be reminded that it was likely gone for good, he continued on, until he reached the alter.
Ion closed his eyes, and folded his hands in front of his chest in prayer. Even if this wasn’t really Daath, even if his spirits couldn’t hear him, he was determined to make due. Or at least to hope that this would be enough to soothe the dull ache inside of him and chase away the images of the soiled tuning fork he had woken up to. “Yulia, forgive me,” he whispered softly. “For I cannot forgive myself.”
[Cafeteria]
Although sitting alone at one of the tables in the dining hall, Ion isn’t actually eating anything. He’s not hungry, and honestly isn’t all too sure he’d be able to stomach anything if he tried to eat. But even sitting alone, doing so in a wide place full of people makes him feel a bit less alone. If approached, he naturally won’t mind sharing his table, and he’ll engage in polite conversation as best he can. It’s easy to notice, however, with every word he speaks, that his thoughts are heavier than he’s trying to let on.
Talking about it, of course, would be troublesome. He’d rather not bother anyone with his personal problems. Though anyone is welcome to a little harmless prying.
Setting: Dorm 1-16, a Washroom on Dorm Floor 1, Floor 100, and the Cafeteria.
Format: Started with prose, but I will follow your lead!
Summary: Backdated to shortly after the event close. Ion wakes up to an intense amount of guilt and regret concerning what happened during the brainwashing, and tries to deal with this.
Warnings: Mostly just a lot of angst and general panic. Some self-hate.
[Dorm 1-16]
Ion would have loved to have been relieved when he opened his eyes from the simple comfort of his bed and found himself in control of his own body. In fact, he was. But only so long as it took him to sit up and wonder if it any of it had really been real—and then find the confirmation staring him in the face from its position on his nightstand. The bloody tuning fork, the symbol of his order and everything he had been raised to support, sat at him with condescending finality.
You did this, it spat silently. You soiled me.
And Ion knew—Lorelei, did he knew. His hands shook from where he clutched the sheet to his chest, his eyes wide and panicked. He was so sorry. He was so sorry. It hadn’t been him; he wouldn’t have done it. He wouldn’t ever have harmed someone the way he had done under the influence of the Administrators.
And yet…a small part of him…somewhere deep inside…didn’t it just feel so wonderful? So free of worry? So wonderfully calm? To see the flame of life blown out like a flickering candle.
That wasn’t him. Ion felt his throat constrict, and he fell back on his bed, curling into himself and trying to hide as best as he could underneath the sheet. To block out the tuning fork and its tarnished gold. It couldn’t have been him. That couldn’t have been how he had really felt. It had been incepted inside of him as some cruel game or…or…
It wasn’t really me, right?
What scared him the most was that Ion wasn’t actually sure.
[Dorm Floor 1 – Washroom]
After a while, Ion finally summoned the courage to crawl out of bed. Or, rather, forced himself to get up. It didn’t feel right to lie around moping, even if he was feeling the way he was. The fork was still waiting for him, blood dried and tacky and turning a dark, ruddy red against the gold. He shuddered at the sight of it—then acted.
It wasn’t going to change. Not on its own. That was where the responsibility turned to him. As the Fon Master, he had to wipe it away. He had to redeem himself.
Moments later, he can be found in the washroom, furiously scrubbing it in the sink. Come on, he begs it in desperate silence. His hands start shaking, heart begins thumping. He can’t get the stains off—they won’t come off! Or have they already been washed away down the drain, and Ion’s too distraught to see anything other than what his guilt will allow him?
[Floor 100]
It was the first time Ion had stopped to look at this floor, and it almost made him feel worse once he had. The Daathic Cathedral was so peaceful and bright and full of hope as the Fon Master walked toward the front of it, not at all like the one that made up the thirteenth floor.
There were no whispers here. No distortion of sound. No overwhelming sense of danger or foreboding. He assumed, as he attempted to run his hand along one of the pews and found it intangible, that this was due to the fact that none of it was really real. Still, it was the closest thing to home he had left, wasn’t it? Even though it pained his heart in bursts to be reminded that it was likely gone for good, he continued on, until he reached the alter.
Ion closed his eyes, and folded his hands in front of his chest in prayer. Even if this wasn’t really Daath, even if his spirits couldn’t hear him, he was determined to make due. Or at least to hope that this would be enough to soothe the dull ache inside of him and chase away the images of the soiled tuning fork he had woken up to. “Yulia, forgive me,” he whispered softly. “For I cannot forgive myself.”
[Cafeteria]
Although sitting alone at one of the tables in the dining hall, Ion isn’t actually eating anything. He’s not hungry, and honestly isn’t all too sure he’d be able to stomach anything if he tried to eat. But even sitting alone, doing so in a wide place full of people makes him feel a bit less alone. If approached, he naturally won’t mind sharing his table, and he’ll engage in polite conversation as best he can. It’s easy to notice, however, with every word he speaks, that his thoughts are heavier than he’s trying to let on.
Talking about it, of course, would be troublesome. He’d rather not bother anyone with his personal problems. Though anyone is welcome to a little harmless prying.
no subject
Startled, he dropps the object so it clatters noisily noisily in the sink, and stares, shoulders tense, at his shaking hands. For a long moment, Ion says nothing.
It isn't until he twists the faucet off and wipes the not-yet-fully-formed tears away that he hesitantly turns to look up at Raven. He's embarrassed and ashamed and it shows in those green eyes of his, no matter how hard he tries to cover it up with his characteristically soft smile.
"I-I'm..."
The young Fon Master trails off when his voice catches, but tries again after taking a small breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't see you."
He has to actively force himself not to turn around and stare down at the object in the sink. It's as if he's trying to deny its presence altogether.
no subject
Raven hesitates a moment, eyes flickering from side to side briefly, before tiredly stepping past the threshold and into the room proper. He doesn't move any further into the room, though. Pieces slowly are fitting themselves together despite his muddled thoughts, aligning themselves into a picture he doesn't at all enjoy the thought of.
Ion had been missing, as had a good number of the other Tower residents. Raven had personally known one of them, came face to face with what had befallen her.
And if all of the others who'd vanished that week met with a similar fate...
The only outward sign of his thoughts manifests in how he shuts his eyes for one long moment, before opening them again with a heavy exhalation.
The visage that stares down at Ion afterwards is carefully blanked of any emotion, but there's something sympathetic in those golden eyes all the same. A sad, knowing understanding of some sort, perhaps, if the Fon Master is able to recognize it.
One hand comes up to rest against the doorway; the left hangs as dead weight at his side. He takes another moment to try to organize his thoughts, find words to say, but ultimately Ion is a stranger, and he never all that skilled at giving his thoughts voice. His next statement comes out slightly falteringly, but maybe that can just be chalked up to the fatigue he's still doing his best to veil.
"If you're done... it probably isn't wise to linger too long."
Sorry for the lateness! Lot's of schoolwork aaah
His hands gripped at the sink behind him, and Ion focused most of his energy on keeping his knees from shaking. He had to break away from Raven's bright-yet-sad golden eyes to stare down at his feet. After a long moment, he nods. "Right, I'm sorry."
He tries to hurry, but his movements are sluggish and clumsy as he dries the tuning fork off on a towel and then hides it inside of folded hands. "I'm in the way."
Ion smiles, even if the gesture of friendliness does little to chase away the overall air of melancholy that surrounds him. As he takes steps away from the sink to bring him closer to his roommate, he nods his head respectfully. "Thank you for saying something. I don't know what came over me--but it was...it was inappropriate."
I know the feel; it's nearing finals over here orz
He does lean back against the wall as Ion approaches though, to allow him his space and keep a respectful distance. The movement's purpose is twofold: hopefully the comparatively relaxed, casual posture he ends up in will both help set his roommate more at ease, if only a little, and mask some of his lingering exhaustion. If it doesn't, then it wasn't as if he thought himself particularly personable to begin with.
The swordsman goes through several possible replies in his head and discards them just as quickly. 'You were obsessing, that's what.' 'You were dwelling on things you had no control over.' 'You're wallowing.' Some of it would certainly have come out sharper than was due; years past, and the events of the time his mind and body weren't his own are still a sore point to him.
It wouldn't do to alienate a roommate unnecessarily, though, and Ion is a child, one who'd yet done nothing to earn his ire. Raven knows this much, and he knows himself well enough that he'd rather err on the side of caution until he can force control over his emotions again.
He opts instead for: "You're still going to carry it around?"
There remains a faint edge to the question, but it's blunted so much he might as well have been commenting on the state of affairs instead for how bland and ingenuous its delivery is.
WE'RE ALMOST THERE
He laughs gently, softly, and gestures to the much cleaner and brighter one hanging around his neck. "I already carry this one around with me, though, so I suppose...I'll put this one in my trunk." Even if its dirtiness scares him. Even if it presents him with a constant reminder that he was an unwilling accomplice to an action that sets him at odds with his personal ideals.
Maybe he simply doesn't want, or isn't ready, to let go of his regrets.
For the first time, before Ion continues to move on and out of the bathroom, he really takes a look at Raven. Suddenly, he's guilty. The man looks...tired. Potentially moreso than he was, himself. He'd been so distracted by his own problems he hadn't...he just hadn't paid it much mind. It was awful of him! Especially when he wanted so terribly to be on good terms with his roommates.
"I'm sorry if this is coming out of nowhere," Ion says, "but...how are you feeling?"
Maybe it was none of his business. Well, it was none of his business. But Raven had been so kind to say something to him...it would be rude and selfish not to return the sentiment. And he did care, really he did. Even if Ion didn't know him too well yet.
o-orz sorry about being so slow this week
"... To be honest, I've been better," Raven starts, face drawn, but he's not particularly negative about it so much as drained, really. It was an unpleasant week all around. "Spent the majority of the past week around the tower keeping away from... well. Also tried to handle damage control regarding a companion of mine, but...
"It... could have been worse, I suppose," he murmurs, somewhat distantly, but it's clear he's only understating. "But it isn't as if my situation was unique, so you don't need to worry about it."
Even with the constant reminders to him, it's plainly obvious those who had the worst of it were the droned themselves.
no subject
Still...idly, he finds his hands drifting toward his heart. And although Ion feels a bit too awkward to look Raven in the eye, he softly admits, "I want to worry about it." He pauses. He knows that he doesn't know very much about his roommate yet, knows that they're hardly close...but his nature finds him unable to simply brush off the man's melancholy. Even if they were still complete strangers to one another, Ion knew he would feel the same. "It doesn't matter how unique your situation may or may not have been, or if it could have been worse. I could never call your feelings unworthy of my concern."
Raven mattered just as much as the next person. And if Ion had planned on simply invalidating his roommate...well, maybe he really should be throwing away that tuning fork.
no subject
Perhaps it's just the madness of it all finally catching up to him, but Raven chuckles despite himself, the sound faint and low, but obvious as such.
It's an unpracticed sound, as if he doesn't make it much of a habit.
"... You're far too kind. I should have realized this when we first met," Raven says, wryly, once he regains some composure. "Or at least, I should've noticed enough not to mention as much as I did.
"I'm private by both nature and necessity. It wouldn't be the first time I've had to deal with my feelings on my own," he continues, using the same wording Ion had for the sake of the conversation. "But if we're both allowed our input on the matter, then you should worry about yourself first."