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towerofanimus2013-07-14 12:04 pm
destructiveprinciple) wrote in towerofanimus2013-07-14 12:04 pm
☠ 005 | you said we were born with nothing
Characters: Avenger, 'Shirou' and OPEN to all.
Setting: The graveyard on the forty-eighth floor and the hundredth floor.
Format: The exact opposite of Kotomine Kirei's lovingly composed monologues.
Summary: 'Shirou,' on his way down to the cafeteria to do his regular job, comes across the evidence of Rin's departure, and also Archer's disappearance as well. He's not happy.
Warnings: Typical fare for the Tower of Animus such as mentions of death, the destruction of worlds, and sadness.
[ SCENARIO A || FLOOR 48: OUTSIDE ]
[ This was a floor of pointless mausoleums, open graves, and fields of unattended gravestones. Some of the names littered on the headstones he recognized and knew—llya, Sakura, himself. He came by here every morning on his way down to the cafeteria to see them, and that routine never varied. 'Shirou' didn't leave flowers at their graves; it seemed a paltry gesture for failure to keep them safe and well. So, normally he would stand there and talk a little about random things. Saber, the food being a lie, what information they had found out, a video game he'd played in the media room.
But when he came down this morning, there was an unexpected new name among the graves.
Matou Rin, carved into the stone like it meant nothing at all. Like it didn't mean the magus was now in terrible danger, from Ruana's power-sapping to supply the Tower now that the power cores were running out. Like it didn't mean there was now another girl roaming the desolate, destroyed land of the world she came from like so many others. Like it didn't mean another failure.
His knees suddenly seemed too weak to hold him up, and he sat down hard on his rear in front of the gravemarker, one small slab of stone with a polished surface and scratched edges in the lines of gravemarkers stretching out like small, gray pittances. Shirou sat there and rebuked himself, feeling hollow as he thought about Rin, wandering alone in the ruined landscape of her world. And also thought more angry thoughts about how he was going to make the administrators pay for this injustice.
And that's how any nearby passerby's will find the teenager. ]
[ SCENARIO B || FLOOR 100: THE HOLOGRAM ]
[ For those of you who don't give a shit about 'Shirou's little episode of upset—a Servant is slowly pacing about this floor, late within the depths of night. He seems to be vaguely confused.
His back is turned towards the staircase, his face turned away from it. It looks like he's trying to figure something out; ]
—Mm?
Setting: The graveyard on the forty-eighth floor and the hundredth floor.
Format: The exact opposite of Kotomine Kirei's lovingly composed monologues.
Summary: 'Shirou,' on his way down to the cafeteria to do his regular job, comes across the evidence of Rin's departure, and also Archer's disappearance as well. He's not happy.
Warnings: Typical fare for the Tower of Animus such as mentions of death, the destruction of worlds, and sadness.
[ SCENARIO A || FLOOR 48: OUTSIDE ]
[ This was a floor of pointless mausoleums, open graves, and fields of unattended gravestones. Some of the names littered on the headstones he recognized and knew—llya, Sakura, himself. He came by here every morning on his way down to the cafeteria to see them, and that routine never varied. 'Shirou' didn't leave flowers at their graves; it seemed a paltry gesture for failure to keep them safe and well. So, normally he would stand there and talk a little about random things. Saber, the food being a lie, what information they had found out, a video game he'd played in the media room.
But when he came down this morning, there was an unexpected new name among the graves.
Matou Rin, carved into the stone like it meant nothing at all. Like it didn't mean the magus was now in terrible danger, from Ruana's power-sapping to supply the Tower now that the power cores were running out. Like it didn't mean there was now another girl roaming the desolate, destroyed land of the world she came from like so many others. Like it didn't mean another failure.
His knees suddenly seemed too weak to hold him up, and he sat down hard on his rear in front of the gravemarker, one small slab of stone with a polished surface and scratched edges in the lines of gravemarkers stretching out like small, gray pittances. Shirou sat there and rebuked himself, feeling hollow as he thought about Rin, wandering alone in the ruined landscape of her world. And also thought more angry thoughts about how he was going to make the administrators pay for this injustice.
And that's how any nearby passerby's will find the teenager. ]
[ SCENARIO B || FLOOR 100: THE HOLOGRAM ]
[ For those of you who don't give a shit about 'Shirou's little episode of upset—a Servant is slowly pacing about this floor, late within the depths of night. He seems to be vaguely confused.
His back is turned towards the staircase, his face turned away from it. It looks like he's trying to figure something out; ]
—Mm?
2/2
Man, does seeing something like your first home all it takes to make you so chatty with your stories, Master? I had no idea. It must be nostalgia.
[ Despite his words, they don't have a mocking or mean-spirited tinge to them like normal. They're... what? Playful, empathetic, amused? It's difficult to tell. ] Fair's fair though. Somebody I met once said a name is an expression of somebody's life, so I can't let myself be outdone by you telling me yours.
[ Avenger gazes at him like he’s turning the words over and over in his mind. He made an inquiring noise at the back of his throat. ]
...
S-oo... How familiar are you with Zoroastrian mythology, specifically?
no subject
Quite familiar. I've contracted with a few of that pantheon... and of course I've lived lives where the culture of the region followed it.
1/?
[ He pauses. Once, Angra had told this to the Einzbern's doll. But that was the only time he'd ever given it, though a few of her descendants had remembered it seven decades or so later.
Then he continues on. While he had no memorized scripture to recite, the Servant knew the events by heart. He'd gone over them countless times during the exile to the mountain summit. ]
—Insanely long ago, in a very small world.
See, once there was this boy. He was born to a rather poor home in a small, nameless village in the middle of nowhere. Back then, the boy's world was simple.
He would always get up early to help his father in the forest, and brought what they could to the village. The people lived off whatever they could find in the forest and mountains surrounding them. It wasn't easy, no, but there was usually enough food to not starve. [ A soft scoff, full of contempt. Like he was making a jab; ] He was happy. An ordinary person who never aspired to great deeds, or asked for more than he had. Why should he? A warm place to sleep at night, a roof over his head, the good-will of his neighbors—that was enough.
[ And if Angra spoke with contempt before, his voice was ripe and sneered with a disgusted, scornful hatred now, like an untreated sore oozing discolored pus. As if to say, "get a load of this bullshit." ]
The village the boy lived in was isolated entirely from the rest of the world. That was why their world was so small. If they had pride as humans in anything, it was that they lived cleanly, righteously according to their beliefs. People were supposed to take moral actions to defend order, value the goodness of humanity, and live virtuous lives, so on and so forth. It was their duty. Pah, the usual shit.
They set themselves above petty human concerns like conflict, malice, eh, doubt, or resentment. Naturally, the boy tried hard to live up to their teachings and worked hard to help others. Maybe he wasn't the most virtuous guy... Yet nor did he commit wrongs that were worse than anybody else's.
[ Avenger's fists clenched for a moment, biting white half-circles into his palms, then relaxed again. The villagers angered him. They were dead, had died long before he had. Why get so angry over them, he reminded himself in annoyance. ] Anyway, these people were troubled. Because no matter how righteously they lived, there was still malice among them. People still died and went hungry. Still, their nature itself held evil which was something they couldn't bear to accept...
So what could they do? You can't separate evil from yourself. That's a fool's task.
2/2
Since, okay, you can't make everybody do good. That's impossible. Totally, absolutely impossible.
But if they picked some random somebody out of the crowd to be the root of such evil and called him a demon, there's a way to prove everybody else is good. It's not their fault, get it? It's HIS fault, never theirs.
That was the boy's fate. The boy was tortured, got every word that cursed mankind carved onto his body, and went crazy before being exiled to the top of a nearby mountain to rot! Pretty sweet deal, don't you think? The people of the village gave him the title of "Angra Mainyu" and they calmed down, went on with their little lives. You know how it is.
A couple centuries pass, the boy is incapable of both dying or moving at all! It's all very boring.
[ Avenger sounds sarcastic as he recounts this. It's clear he regards the solution as no reason at all. ]
In the modern era... Alright, not modern-modern, but close to it, the Third Grail War took place, and a family by the name of Einbzerns decided to cheat and call upon Angra Mainyu to win. Sadly, they got a weak, third-rate fraud without special powers in the form of that boy, who was defeated four days into the War itself. Shame, that, right?
[ There's a pause. Not seeing any reason to educate him any further on detail, the Servant smiles softly. ]
...
... Annnd that's how we got to where we are today. [ Avenger finished carelessly, his previous anger over the villagers gone again, shrugging. ] Any questions?
no subject
[If he hadn't been an embodiment of evil then, the long years would have made him one anyway. And to call himself a fraud - he wasn't the same spirit, but a scapegoat in his name. He didn't even have an excuse - he didn't even do anything.]
[Naoya shook his head and reached out to put a hand on Angra's shoulder. Nothing sappy, but a support.]
Not really. Heh. That... explains a lot, though.
no subject
But they were even now, story-wise at least. He knew a lot of his story and vica versa.
Angra tolerated Naoya's hand on his shoulder as the gesture of support it was. He was his Master, and in a sense, the Servant was more pliant and accepting of his owners, even a replacement one, than he was of others. He could tolerate it because it wasn't out of pity. ]
Oh yeah, I guess it does, if ya' don't have any questions.
[ After a few seconds, he pulled away from his grip. Then he grins. ] Done with the exposition for now?
no subject
[He nodded a bit.]
It's a shame you can't completely see what I'm seeing. Before everything happened, it was quite the beautiful place.
no subject
[ Naoya, he can't see anything you see in this case. Even if he looked through your eyes. This is only an empty, metal room to him. ]
... Mm-mmm. Back in the old days, everything wasn't so used up. It's a farm, right?
no subject
no subject
It was just ya' two? That must have been some kind of mundane happiness.
no subject
no subject
[ Not 'innocent,' just happy. He'd been a regular ol' human teenager. ]
no subject
[People who had been through so much... heh. It calls for a drastic change in perspective.]
no subject
Yeah... It changes endlessly. [For some reason, that then prompts him to smirk at Naoya. ] Aah, Master, I wonder if I should envy you, in a way.
[ 'A drastic change in perspective is one way to put it.' ]