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.
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