thirteenth prayer

[prayed]

Characters: Kyoko Sakura and open
Setting: Floor One Hundred, Floor Twenty-One, Floor Nineteen, Floor Four, Floor One
Format: Starting in action, but I'll follow.
Summary: Birthday and event shenanigans. Also eating a ridiculous amount of ice cream.
Warnings: None.

Floor One Hundred ⚜
[It's not often that Kyoko bothers with this floor. Truthfully, there's no reason in particular for her to be here today. She had simply wandered off the staircase without giving it even a single moment's thought about her actions or the consequences they might have.

Consequences like a fresh burst of homesickness. It's a strange feeling. Everyone she knows from back home is here. Homura, Madoka, Sayaka and even Mami. She's alive, but the sight of her father's church takes her back. It reminds her of the place she had so wanted to protect so strongly that she let the secret get out. It reminds her of her city, of fighting Witches and her every day routine.

It's startling how much she misses those things. Less shocking is how much she misses her freedom. The sight of this tower gets boring fast. With a slight sight, she finds herself at a the back of a pew, finds her hand goes through it, before opting to simply walk down the aisle--or at least, what this place is telling her is the aisle. A stick of pocky hangs out of her mouth, her hands shoved in her pocket.

She needs to stop over thinking things.]

Floor Twenty-One ⚜ Set before the rumor is changed by Tetra
[Kyoko had come to the restaurant largely on a whim. There's precious little reason to run around doing errands for the tower when the food in the cafeteria is perfectly fine, really, but even so, there's little harm in checking out the menu. If there happens to be something interesting enough then well, it isn't as though she lacks confidence in her ability to dig up anything they ask of her.

Of course, it remains closed. More interesting are the words carved into the wall.

SAYAKA MIKI AND JIN SHIRATO: DEFINITELY DATING. YOU'D HAVE TO BE BLIND NOT TO SEE IT!

She takes the words at face value, her expression falling as she rereads them. Apparently she was blind, because she didn't see it. Sayaka and...who the Hell is Jin? Sayaka sure as Hell hasn't ever mentioned him to her. Didn't she have a guy that she was interested in? That guy she made her wish for, Kyousuke. She folds her arms and shakes her head, letting out a heaving sigh. Somehow, it's annoying to find out that Sayaka's dating someone, especially through words scrawled on a wall. She mumbles to herself sullenly.]

You'd think she would've at least told me.

Floor Nineteen ⚜
[The library's missing sections have been restored.

This rumor, at least, was worth checking out the validity of. There is apparently some truth to it, too. Well, sort of. Kyoko is rummaging through the books, which are old enough to crumble to dust at the slightest touch. Some look as though they've had a jar of ink spilled on them, others have been violently torn apart.

The history section she can get hiding, but why would anyone go through such extreme methods to hide information about things like astral projection? The red ink is vaguely unsettling, creating the image that they'd been bathed in a pool of blood before being placed on the shelves.

DATA EXPUNGED

What's that supposed to mean...?

[She pulls another book off the shelf as she considers this, coughing violently as it breaks apart in her hands, sending up a thick cloud of dust.]

Floor Four ⚜ backdated to May 9th
[Upon waking up, Kyoko didn't give much thought to the date. The fact that she's fifteen now occurred came and went with the only significance being that she's proven to be capable of living this long, but really, that's only natural. Even back home, she went out on her own terms. She's strong enough to protect herself from anything. At least, that's what she chooses to tell herself.

Besides, really, what reason does she have to celebrate? She doesn't need an excuse to spoil herself or buy herself nice things, nor does she need anyone to provide them for her. That just one of the benefits of having this power and being sharp enough to use it up on herself.

So, the cake (surprisingly well made, coming from such a stuffy person,) that Naoto gave her was nothing less than a surprise. An unusually embarrassing one, at that. Kyoko is still unsure of how to take the gesture, even as the cake sits on the coffee table in front of her, a huge chunk of it missing. Really, she only mentioned it in passing. How did that girl even remember? She doesn't get it at all.

Lost in thought as she is, she'll still take the time to look over the back of the sofa at anyone entering the floor with a complicated expression on her face, as though she's not sure whether or not she wants to see who's joining her.]

Floor One (Kitchen) ⚜
[Today, either ignorant to the rumors about the cafeteria food or (more likely) simply not caring, Kyoko can be found in the kitchen, leaning back against one of the counters. In the crook of her arm she holds a gallon of ice cream. With her other hand she's shoveling large spoonfuls of ice cream into her mouth, paying no heed to the many reasons this is a bad idea. Sitting next to her is a plate with cookies on it, occasionally spearing the ice cream with her spoon in favor of lifting one up.

Her eyes remain locked on the door and so, anyone who walks in will find her biting down on her spoon in order to free her hand for a light wave before she promptly goes back to stuffing her face.]

Comments

[bytheirhand]

A group of thirty alchemists who traveled on the Advenna Avis in 1711.

[prayed]

[Everything. Even their memories would be taken by another person.

What a cruel system.]

So then, you were only ten when that happened, right?

[bytheirhand]

[He nods]

Right.

[prayed]

[Disgust is written all over her face, but there's something else as well. Pity, perhaps?]

Who's bright idea was it to make a kid go along with their of stupidity?

[And why is their face not here so she can break it?]

[bytheirhand]

I drank willingly, but my... my caretaker was Fermet.

[prayed]

[Note to self: kill maim punch the next guy she meets named Fermet in the face. Repeatedly.]

He dragged you into his mess. What was he like before he got you to swallow poison? Fermet.

[She hesitates, seeming to debate whether to tack on her next question.]

...what about afterwards?

[She's starting to idly toy with that scalpel. Just a little bit for now.]

[bytheirhand]

[It's clear that he is legitimately trying to not answer this one. His hand are clenching down on the side of the chair like it's the last thing he's got left in the world, turning his knuckles a bright white.]

Kind. He took care of me. Raised me after my parents died. I trusted him without question.

[It's hard for him not to notice the fact that she's started messing with that scalpel. Especially after breaching this particular topic. He's visibly shaking now, squeezing his eyes shut and unable to keep the tears from flowing. He hiccups, biting down on his lip like that would let him stay silent. He digs down enough to draw blood, but as soon as his lips part the blood flows right back and the small wound closes itself completely.]

A-after... he tortured me for years.

[prayed]

[Her eyes are locked on Czes, but her hand slips at the word torture. The blade nicks her palm. Blood slides her hand, falls down onto her thigh, heals itself without her ever once noticing that she's been cut. And so, she doesn't stop fiddling with the scalpel.]

He tortured you...? That's...

[bytheirhand]

E-everyday. For longer than I can remember.

[prayed]

[It would be one thing if he had been killed by his caretaker or if there was some benefit to betraying him. In order to get ahead, she's let countless people die, killed countless Witches that were once girls just like her without ever once stopping to think of it as anything other than a natural part of the food chain.

Even her father's breakdown was something she could understand. That was her own fault, after all, for selfishly wishing for another person's circumstances without ever once considering their feelings.

And it's because of all that, because she's lived on the streets, that she's not a stupid girl; she knows that people are cruel and awful, but she just can't see the reasoning for torturing a person day in and day out--no, is something like that even possible? No matter how hard she tries, she just can't imagine it.]

But you trusted him, right? Your parents entrusted you to him before they did, so why...?

[She knows it's a mistake to ask that, but the words are out of her mouth before she can stop them.]

[bytheirhand]

Because he liked to see the fear in my eyes. The fact that I trusted him made it even better.

[His voice is flat. Dead. Stated as a matter of fact.]

[prayed]

[Her toying is a little more obvious now; she's getting clumsier with it. She's starting to knick herself a little more frequently. She shouldn't ask any more. She should leave it at that. Walk away here. It'll be better for both of them.]

What did he do to you?

[She wonders, vaguely, if he'll just give her the same answer he did before: tortured him daily, obviously. Maybe he'll call her an idiot for asking the same question over and over.

That's fine.

Let him call her stupid.

After all, she really is an idiot.]

[bytheirhand]

[No. He'll give her more than that. More than she ever wanted to hear. He idly starts to rub at his wrists, his voice void of any emotion, like he was trying to pretend that he wasn't talking about himself. That he was talking about some other naive little twerp named Czeslaw Meyer who trusted too much and too blindly.]

It depended on the day. On how he felt -- how angry he was, how happy he was, how scared he was. He was almost always scared.

Still, he told me what he was doing was important. That it was necessary for us to understand the limits of our immortality and I believed him. He'd shove me into the fireplace to see how long it took for me to burn. Prepare a vat of acid to stick me in so he could watch my skin melt away. Tie me to the bed and shove hot pokers through my eyes. Flay me alive and rip out my heart so we could both watch it stop beating.

Little things like that.

[prayed]

[She opens her mouth to say something, but closes it quickly.

"Little things."

Those words stick in her mind, but even so, she doesn't have a sharp remark to respond to them with. Maybe--no, probably--it's because she's been here so long. Because everyone here is too kind. Because the only ones that are really bad are the ones up top. It's like a video game where you can pin all the blame on the big bad.

She's starting to forget what the world outside is really like.

No, even outside of this place, she could have never imagined that something like this would occur outside of a horror story.]

[bytheirhand]

[He lifts his head, suddenly seeming far older than he should. Gone is the guise of the innocent ten year old. The way he's holding himself -- everything from his posture to the look in his eyes -- just does not fit the way someone his apparent age should look. His expression is heavy, weary -- the look of one who's seen too much, been through too much, has suffered too much at the hands of others.]

Would you like to know what it's like to die like that? What it feels like to be taken apart piece by piece? What it's like to watch your own skin slough off your body and melt away?

[prayed]

[...]

I like to think I've got a pretty good imagination, but it's not really my call anymore, is it? Ball's in your court, y'know.

[No, it still is. If she really wants to, she can end this anytime. She can break him into pieces again. She can run away. There's a hundred and one ways around it, but Kyoko can't bring herself to do any of them.

She's not eager to hear more. Not at all, but she doesn't want to run away from the answers to questions she asked, and even more than that...she really just doesn't want to leave him alone like this.

It's fine. She can handle this much.]

[bytheirhand]

[He smiles. It's a bit derisive, a bit condescending, but beguiled by the fear that still lingers in his eyes, in the latent hesitation in his voice.]

It's fine if you don't want to know. I can't blame you. I wouldn't want to either, if I were you. It's not exactly pleasant.

[prayed]

[Despite the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach and everything in her mind screaming that it's a bad idea, she answers without a moment's hesitation.]

I'm listening, so tell me.

[bytheirhand]

[He almost laughs.]

And you wondered why I thought you were an idiot.

[The shake is gone from his voice now as he taps into some sense of bravado. Trying to make it sound like it was no big deal. That this kind of stuff was merely play time.

But that's because it was. The Rail Tracer showed him that much.

And so he tells her. He tells her what's it's like to roast to death. The way the smell of your own flesh burning fills your senses. How the heat makes your insides boil. What it's like to feel fire burn through to the bone.

He tells her what happens when you're slowly taken apart piece by piece. What it's like to have your hand shoved in a vat of acid and watch the skin melt away.

How it feels to have your eyes ripped out of their sockets. What it's like to be stabbed through the heart. What if feels like to have every bone in your body systematically broken.]

[prayed]

[Throughout his explanation she shuffles through her pockets, eats everything in it until there's nothing left. There's not much. A candy bar. A few cookies and other things. Not nearly enough to fill her empty belly. It's aching. She feels sick, she feels like she's dying, like it's caving in and despite the horrible conversation she just needs to eat something.

She wants something. Anything. Anything at all, before she starves to death, so she doesn't have to feel this unpleasant emptiness. She needs to be able to prove that she's still here; if she can't, she'll certainly wither away. She's messing with that stupid scalpel even now. Her hands are dyed red from all the times she's cut herself with her trembling hands.

She doesn't say anything, though one bloodied hand has begun digging through her pocket again. She's waiting to see if he's finished.]

[bytheirhand]

[He's done. He has no intention of telling her anything more. Unless she asks, of course. Then he doesn't have much of a choice, does he?

He sits, just watching her face for a moment and taking a sick sort of pleasure from the look of horror on her face. Not because he enjoyed seeing it, but because she deserved it for asking questions like that in the first place.]

Is there anything else you want to ask?

[prayed]

[A moment of hesitation, then--]

Did you devour him?

[Her hand comes up empty.]

[bytheirhand]

[He quickly looks away, ducking his head down and gripping the sides of his chair.]

... Yes.

[prayed]

How'd that happen?

[bytheirhand]

He tried to devour me. I did what I had to do to survive.