towerofanimus

Entry tags:

four.

Characters: Claudia Hortensia & OPEN
Setting: Floor 82, Floor 7, Floor 48, the stairs outside Floor 27, Floor 3, Floor 82 again, & choose your own adventure.
Format: Brackets preferred
Summary: Candy-hunting catch-all post
Warnings: Will add as necessary

I. Sunday - Floor 82
[Well... That was unexpected. Claudia, mask removed, stands alone in the ballroom that makes up this floor, a small bag held in her hands. She rifles through it, but she finds nothing of particular note; it's just more candy.]

[Then who, exactly, was that person? What was that all about?]

[She decides to go through with her seep of this floor as she had intended to, before the interruption. But, really, it's less about finding candy now and more about try to see if there's anything else to be found here that might provide some kind of explanation.]

II. Monday - Floor 7
[Claudia doesn't want to swim, but that doesn't mean she's going to ignore this floor. So today, rather than checking the pool itself, she can be found rifling through the lockers. In both locker rooms, actually, because she's completely ignoring the genders they're labeled with.]

[No biggie.]

III. Tuesday - Floor 48
[This seems like a natural place to search, given her job as a gravekeeper, so Claudia makes her sweep of this floor at the same time she performs her duties. At first she thinks nothing of it when she leans down to retrieve the chocolate roses lying across one of the graves, but then her eye happens to glance the name engraved there, and she frowns.]

[Aoi Tohsaka.]

[Surely... It must be a coincidence. She tells herself that, but she still finds herself lingering, her brow furrowed.]

IV. Wednesday - Outside Floor 27
[Claudia doesn't actually set foot on the laboratory floor. Instead, she lingers outside it, on the stairs, seeming uncertain of what to do. She could search this one. It probably wouldn't be too dangerous, provided she doesn't put her hands in anything they shouldn't be in. But...]

[But she can't bring herself to step forward, so she's stymied.]

V. Thursday - Floor 3
[Claudia doesn't intend to go searching for candy today! She's gathered quite a bit over the last four days, after all, and she thinks she's earned a break. So, this afternoon, she can be found in the library rather than roaming the Tower, quietly reading a book.]

[...The feeling that she should keep looking is nagging at her, though, so she's a little more unsettled and agitated than she'd like to be on her "day off." She's trying not to let it get to her, but the feeling probably comes across in her demeanor more than she would care for it to...]

VI. Friday - Floor 82
[For the third time, she's come to this floor, and for the third time, she's encountered that person. She doesn't know anything more than she did the first time; they said nothing to her even when she tried to speak to them. Truthfully, she feels rather frustrated. Mask discarded, she doesn't even bother to check the inside of the bag this time, scowling at the empty air.]

VII. Whenever, Wherever
[Other than the prompts given above, Claudia will be investigating the following floors on the following days:

Sunday, afternoon to evening: 101, 100, 99, 96, 94, 93, 88, 87, 86, 83, 81, 1
Monday, morning to noon: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 18, 19, 21
Tuesday, afternoon to evening: 50, 51, 53, 54, 55, 56, 58, 60
Wednesday, afternoon to evening: 82, 21, 22, 25, 28, 19, 18, and most of the others she searched on Monday
Thursday, throughout the day: None! She can be found around Floors 1, 3, and 101 at various times, however.
Friday, afternoon: 62, 40, 39, 38

So if you'd like to run into her on any of these floors, have at it.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Maybe not.

[She agrees without judgment. He was, after all, an Executor. Their perspectives undoubtedly differ.]

[When she reaches for him, she's not expecting to have her hand taken, and she freezes at the feeling of his fingers wrapping around hers, eye widening. There's a part of her that feels like she should pull away, that it isn't proper to let herself remain entangled with him like this, but her hand lingers in his.]

[She...really has missed him.]

I...

[She doesn't know if she should accept, for a lot of reasons. It's not something she deserves from Kirei, of all people, and she can't help but feel there are others she should go to first. But... His offer means so much to her on its own that whether or not she agrees hardly seems important.]

Thank you.

[ He can feel her stiffen when he takes her hand. Perhaps it's a sign that he should let her go, but his grip isn't rough and she could withdraw if she chose. Instead, she lingers, so he does not release her. ]

What do you need of me?

[ It is a more general question, rather than the immediate. He is not certain where they stand now, and what his role to should be. As her husband, he is meant to support and be at her side, but he is not her husband now. Still, for all she gave to him, and all she sacrificed -- even if it did not accomplish what she endeavored to do -- what he owes to her is beyond simple expression. ]

I don't know. I just—

[She cuts off abruptly. When she starts again, the words tumble out of her mouth, coming to her thoughtlessly.]

I want to be near you and spend time with you. I want to be able to rely on you, and have you rely on me. [She looks up to his face, smiling, though something about the expression seems a little conflicted. Her hand squeezes his.] Even if things are different here, you're still family to me.

[ He should deny her.

Not because the idea repulses him, exactly, but because he has learned better since her death: there is a darkness that clouds him, and it will never fade. That evil has claimed her life once, albeit indirectly, and the potential for it to do so again is very real.

He should deny her, to spare her that. She gave her whole life for him once, and it does not seem right for it to be given so willingly twice. It will make no difference. He will not chance. Once again, a saint will be wasted and used up for nothing.

It doesn't make sense to him: he did nothing to earn her grace once, much less twice. Why is he given this chance again? He failed, and now for no clear reason, there arises this second opportunity.

Like the command spells which have reappeared on his hand. ]

I will do what you wish.

[ As he always has.

The proper thing to do would be to deny her, to spare her. Hurt her now, briefly, to spare her in the future. But how can he express to her, in truth, what it means for her to remain beside him? Would she listen? No. She, in all her holy nature, would continue to insist that he could surpass that.

Doing what she desires like an ideal husband would, even if this is no longer their path, is all he knows to do.

He lifts the hand he has in his grip, and he presses his lips against her knuckles. It is not a romantic action; it's one of piety: a gesture of entreating a saint. ]

Ah—

[Whether or not the gesture is intended as romantic, her breath catches as he kisses her hand. In the years following his death, distance grew between herself and her feelings for him, but now that he's here in front of her—she can feel everything so acutely that it hurts. It's only natural that the sensation of his lips brushing against her skin leaves her aware of her own heartbeat.]

[She ignores that feeling, though, shoving it out of her mind as best she can. It would be wrong to allow herself to be caught up in it, and besides—]

I don't want you to do things just because I want you to. I want you to do them because it's your own choice.

[Doing something because he wants to... She understands that might be too much to ask. But that response makes it sound as though he has no autonomy at all, and that doesn't bring her any comfort.]

Edited 2013-11-12 14:05 (UTC)

[ That small sound that escapes her lips, soft and delicate as it is, stands out to him -- and in the wrong way. It isn't the idea of her sounding passionate, or touched, but the vulnerability in that noise; the weakness.

He listens to her, watching her face, then his gaze lowers to their joined hands. ]

If I follow that--

[ His own choice. He has always been free to choose for himself. His father did not force him to follow the life of the church. Claudia did not force him to escalate their relationship. Tokiomi Tohsaka did not force him into compliance as his student. He could have made different choices, at any time, but he did not. He let himself be led, for he had no inclinations of his own.

He is empty and without direction.

However, if what Archer says is correct, and what he does desire is something he has denied for all these years, then to pursue what he truly wants is... ]

I fear the result.

[She follows his gaze as it lowers, to their hands. Unthinkingly, she traces the skin on the back of his palm with her thumb. At first, his reply is only met with silence, but after a few moments have passed, she asks:]

Why is that?

[...There's some instinct saying she should shy away from the question, but she ignores it. Kirei isn't someone she can just turn her eyes away from, and she has no desire to do so, anyway.]

[ It is incorrect to say he ever really lied to her. In a way, perhaps their entire union itself was a lie, as he could not love her -- but it was not as if he did not make the attempt, as if he did not press and crave desperately without result. She did know how he felt -- or what he did not feel -- after all, and in all her grace that did not matter to her.

He did, however, omit details to her; small inclinations that he likewise tried to deny to himself. But now, he mouth moves and he cannot withhold his admission. ]

Because, what I desire-- [ his hand tightens on hers; not painfully, but there is an urgency in his grip and tension in his voice. ] -- what I will do cannot be forgiven.

I may not survive the result, when faced with what I do, and the truth of my sins.

[When she feels the way his grip tightens around her hand, she moves closer, immediately and almost without thought. She still has that bag of candy held in one hand, so she shifts it into the crook of her arm, at the same time bringing his hand closer to her body so that she can clasp it in both of hers. She holds onto him firmly, the gesture meant as a comfort and a reassurance.]

[She looks at him directly now, her expression serious.]

What do you think you will do?

[She asks the question softly, but her tone is no less firm than is called for.]

[ His throat feels tight. Trying to swallow down that tension gains him nothing, and his grip on her tightens a little more. A part of him want to clench down harder, knowing how fragile and frail her slender fingers are and--

He realizes he's never really heard to scream. He's seen her cry, enduring pain and even sobbing under the weight of it, or she may have raised her voice in fear, but she's never truly screamed in front of him. Even when she took her own life, she knew what she had done, and faced it without fear.

Why does that thought linger so strongly on his mind? Why does he keep wondering what she'd sound like if she were truly horrified? What she'd sound like if he twisted his hand and snapped her slender wrists? ]

Do not ask me that.

[ His tone is flat, but it seems more entreating than commanding. ]

But I—

[She starts to speak, but then she cuts herself off. Her brow furrows as she looks up at him. She bites her lip. She won't try to force him to admit anything, but even so—]

But I love you. [She speaks quietly. Maybe one could argue that her telling him so, in their circumstances, is inappropriate, but she means it in the purest way she can. He's family to her, just as she said, and that's why she simply can't turn away from this. Her voice gains volume again as she continues.] So, I want to be able to understand.

You are wrong to love me.

[ The words come simply, bluntly, but he is not harsh. He states this as a simple fact, not viciously with any intent to harm. Her love for him was what ended her life before. By comparison: in this world of hers where he perished, she thrived. The evidence is obvious: he should have died that day, rather than her.

Now that they are together again, he may be the death of her twice -- and not so indirectly.

He reclaims his hand, drawing back. It is easy to fight her grip, gentle as it is. ]

Would you hear my confession?

I'm not. [Her reply is similarly blunt, though there's an insistent undercurrent to her words that his lacked.] There's no one that it would be wrong to love. You're just as worthy of it as any other living human.

[When he draws his hand away, she allows it without resistance or comment. In fact, she steps backward in reply, putting more space between the two of them again. She holds the bag of candy in her hands close to her chest, gripping it as though in his stead.]

I would, if you're willing to give it.

[ She speaks with such surety, with such conviction, and it does not seem like anything would manage to sway her.

Except, perhaps, what he admits to her now.

He crosses himself, in habit, and he kneels before her. His gestures are not overdone, overtly pious or self-pitying. It merely seems right; ritualistic for the confession he offers to her here. She may redeem him, or damn him. ]

You took your life, to spare mine, and I felt regret.

But it was not like you would imagine.

[ He gazes up at her, in all her beauty that does not stir him. He knows she is beautiful, as he was told it so many times by those congratulating his marriage, but never once has he been moved by the sight of her.

Except when she was in pain -- and she so often was. ]

I wanted to end your life, and it was not a desire born from mercy.

[ Is he saying this truly to repent, to make amends to her? Or is he looking forward to the pain and shock on her face? ]

[He crosses himself and kneels, and she automatically takes another step back, the action instinctive. For what the gesture could be, the way he moves is plain and matter-of-fact, and she has never known Kirei to act without reason. It must be something truly grave, then, and that makes her nervous, an anxious buzz thrumming between her ears and in her gut.

I wanted to end your life, and it was not a desire born from mercy.

Immediately, her eye widens and her lips part, the expression plainly one of shock. For just a moment, her gaze is suspicious and wary where she looks down at him—but then, abruptly, it goes blank altogether, as though a shutter has been pulled down to hide her feelings from sight.]

I see.

[When she speaks, her voice is toneless, neither cold nor comforting. The buzzing in her head and the pit of her stomach both intensify, leaving with them a strange, unpleasant weightless feeling, like she wouldn't be able to find her footing again if she tried to move.

But—that's all there is. There's no pain or anger, or even fear. Dimly, she thinks she should feel those things—that it would be normal and natural for her to feel them—but she must be too shocked to experience any of that. Instead, there's only confusion and uncertainty.

Kirei wanted to do that?

Kirei wanted to kill her?

She can't imagine that. She can't imagine wanting to take another person's life, and regretting their death because of it. And yet, this man that she trusts and is utterly vulnerable to even now—

Did he struggle with that impulse throughout their entire marriage? Is that why he took his own life? The thought makes her dizzy. Something like that, and she never knew. She loved him and wanted nothing more than to help him, but she never realized something so important.

She really failed him, didn't she?

Numbly, she opens her mouth to speak again.]

But that doesn't change what I've told you. No matter what demons you struggle with, you are worthy of love.

[And, besides—

When she speaks next, her tone is gentle.]

You could have easily killed me at any time, but you didn't and haven't. You've chosen not to. Isn't that right?

[ As he kneels, his hands have rested on his thighs. When Claudia speaks, every spoken phrase builds a deeper tension in him. His hands clench, tighten, and grip what little fabric he can bunch up within his fists. It's not much, but without that small barrier it would be worse: surely even his blunt nails would dig into his palms, with force strong enough to draw blood. ]

You would absolve me?

[ When he speaks, it's something deadened and disbelieving. As he continues, his voice seems to tremble with a growing intensity: numbness turning to desperation.

She has no reason to forgive him. He gave her nothing. He could not show her honest love; only a parody when he tried to emulate the emotion and failed. He could not make her happy, as she surely saw through his farce. He lied. He used her, to experiment with his own deficient nature.

Yet, even knowing this -- and worse, knowing what he fantasied -- she still offers him forgiveness, and claims he deserves a love which he will never be able to feel. ]

I should have died.

[ This woman; this saint is far beyond him. Her remorse and her love goes beyond his comprehension. How is she not hurt? How is she not refusing to ever see his face again? A lesser human being would react these ways, but she is not. There is no one on this Earth with depths that can match hers.

And yet even she could not repair his damage, so what hope did he have? ]

Your memories. Your world. That must be what is right, in God's vision.

[ His body seems to buckle, but even so the motion of his descent is slow and controlled. His body bows completely, his face nearly touching the floor, his head mere inches away from her feet. His hands slide out, to lay flat against the floor, but they slowly curl, nails scraping against the ballroom tile.

What kind of God would allow him to live, and condemn her to die? ]

It must be.

[The sound of his voice, and the sight of him sinking to the floor before her— It pulls at her so strongly that she feels sick, her heartbeat a painful, steady throb. He's suffering. He's suffering because of something beyond his control, something she was never able to truly see or understand. Even now, she can't comprehend it. Abruptly, she feels angry—at herself and at other forces, but not at him.]

[What can she do for him? She isn't sure. Maybe she can't do anything, and even knowing what he's told her now, she's as powerless and worthless as she ever was. But— She doesn't want him to suffer, or to think that he deserves to die.]

No. [She replies simply, but the softness of her tone remains.] I don't have the power to absolve anything. That's simply the way I feel.

[Her acceptance means nothing more than that. After all, she's nothing more than a woman, flawed and weak in her own ways. Slowly, she lowers herself onto her knees in front of him.]

Don't say that. You can't know something like that. [She hesitates, then—but then she reaches out to touch him. It would be a lie to say she feels no nervousness in the wake of his confession, but even so, she trusts him. If he chose to kill her, he could do so. He would do so. So, the fact that he is instead here, prone in front of her... Her pale hand settles in his dark hair, her fingers running through it.] You've done nothing wrong.

[No matter what his thoughts have been, he has never hurt her.]

Please stand up, Kirei.

[ A part of him tenses when she touches him. That gentle hand in his hair doesn't soothe him, even soft and adoring as the contact may be. He stays where he is, and he does not rise.

Her continued sympathy and gentleness only worsen the situation. He is not put at ease by her words; only more riled. When such words slip from her lips, an urge bubbles up in him to reach out and strangle the sounds from her throat. She would realize then that she was wrong, and that he was right. The desire burns red against his closed eyes and his shoulders tighten.

When he speaks, his voice is somewhat muffled by the close proximity to the floor, but still audible. ]

It must be wrong.

What God would sacrifice a saint, and spare a sinner?

[ His hands clench together, forming fists against the floor, and his breaths become shorter. His chest feels tight, and his teeth clench. ]

It must be.

[This time, the sense that her words aren't helping is clear, even if she doesn't know what else to do. There's a pause as her hand stills, Claudia remaining silent as she watches him. She can't see his face, but the tension in his shoulders is visible to her. When she pulls away and straightens, she doesn't urge him to stand with her.]

I'm not a saint, Kirei. [This time, she sounds firmer.] And God— God didn't sacrifice her. He didn't sacrifice that woman who gave her life for you. She made that choice for herself, because she loved you and valued your life more than her own.

[Just as she failed to.]

I wouldn't devalue that.

[ He still does not rise.

He remains where he is, tense and still, even when she moves to her feet. He does, by a measure, lift himself from the floor -- just barely. He presses his hands flat again, raising himself just a little higher from the floor, and his eyes remain cast downward. ]

You speak like you are not the same person. Like you are not also Claudia Hortensia.

Why do you say that?

[Automatically, though his face is still downturned, she shrugs. It's a simple motion, but the gesture is self-depreciating somehow.]

It's obvious, isn't it? [She lets that reply hang in the air for a second before she continues.] I told you, the woman you remember— She was better than me. It's not my place to speak of her choice as though it was my own.

That is not true.

[ He straightens a bit more, properly kneeling again, but his head remains tipped downward: gaze focused on the floor. ]

If what has been told is true, and this place -- if this place is some purgatory, at the end of all worlds, then you are all that remains.

It is not a sin that you survived.

[At those words, she draws a sharp, startled breath, as though she has been struck. And in a way, she has been; the retort is a blow to some hidden, vulnerable part of her, and it knocks the air from her lungs.]

[To hear him say that should be a great relief, but instead, all she can see is that grinning shadow speaking in his voice.]

How can you say that to me now? When you're... [She trails off, gesturing with one arm to his position on the floor.] If that's the case, there's nothing-- There's nothing more or less sinful about your survival, if that's how you feel.

[She stays silent for a moment, biting her lip, before she starts again.]

Being here now wasn't my choice, anyway. And, whether or not it was-- There would be nothing wrong with you or anyone else hating me for it. I wasn't able to do anything for you, or--or anyone.

[ At her words, his head slowly shakes. It's a mild gesture, as he moves his head from side to side. ] No. There is a difference.

You survived to carry on an honest life. But I...

There is no virtuous benefit to be reaped from my survival.

[ He finally looks up, meeting her gaze, and he does not waver. ]

It is not possible to hate you.

And I do not believe it possible for anyone in this world to do anything for me.

Is that so?

[She speaks blankly. Once again, there's something so dizzying about hearing him say those words that she can't feel anything else. An honest life? Did she?]

[But of course, he can't say otherwise, because he doesn't know. Tokiomi—]

[She needs to tell him that. It would be selfish and cowardly to continue to hide it. But even as she thinks that, a confession isn't what comes to her lips.]

That doesn't matter.

[She kneels down again, but she doesn't reach out to touch him this time. She simply wants to be at eye level, rather than looking down at him as he speaks.]

You haven't done anything wrong simply by being alive. A life is a life. It has value.

[But it's harder to respond to his final words than the rest. That admission seems to cause her pain where his earlier one did not, her hurt and frustration apparent in her expression now. Her brow furrows as she bites her lip again, and her gaze drops away from him, down to the floor.]

[There's no way for her to help, even if that's all that she wants now.]

I'm sorry.

[Even as those words leave her mouth, they feel so inadequate that she wants to cry.]

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