synflux | (OTA + CLOSED) if i cannot move heaven

It's also been keeping me.

[Not enjoying himself. When does he ever? But its not terrible, either.]

Mm. Reminds me of the Company. Traveling places...but alas, all under the reason of work. That city back there we were in was interesting, though. Familiar in some ways.

The opalescent fantasy of normalcy set against the crueler reality just outside its borders.

[ nests and their fly-high fantasies, often literally walling off the sight of the less kind backstreets. ]

For every person that acted odd, or ended up leaving without warning... there were still more who didn't pay it any mind at all, as long as it didn't effect them. That's what you mean, right?

[ mister reality himself. ]

Of course. You hit it on the head, there, Miss Weiss.

[Because that seems to never change. As long as people are happy in their own little worlds, they'll avoid the ugliness that cakes the undersurface. They'll glance away. And the rot will grow, as it always does, and nobody will do a thing about it.]

[He doesn't even blame the Nest people. Hell, he even got a place in a Nest as a Color. But it doesn't change a thing.]

Even if we brought back the dead bodies we've seen out here...why, I don't think anything would even budge. How ugly.

The people who've lost others would be thankful, [ she reminds him quietly, ] so at the very least, our compassion won't go unnoticed. You have to remember that.

[ the small things she'd mentioned. blue and grey are colors too. ]

The city they live in might not care as a whole, but the people inside can start building something together. Memorials, communities that might hold enough sway to have actual officials look for the missing one day, or at least... places they can go where they're comforted by people who understand. It starts small.

[ and it grows, like a seed. this is unshakeable to her. ]

Hrm.

[Maybe, maybe not. He can't argue her point. But do the tears of the many mean anything to the ones who ruled an iron fist?]

[He sighs.]

How...many people need to die for that alone, though? How many souls will go missing? Is it worth it?

You can't think of it that way, Vergilius.

[ ... it's unfortunate, but

she does have a line. malkuth pauses in her walk, turning to watch the faint lights over the horizon -- they're far away, but lights travel farther -- before she exhales. she already knows it's going to sound harsh, and that it's truly the mark of someone who worked at a wing once upon a time, but, ]

If you trouble yourself over things like that, then you'll just stay stuck right where you are. Of course it's terrible that there's a threshold for action. Even one person suffering is awful -- who wants to be the reason they do something? It won't bring the person who died back. It might not even assuage their grief. But on the brighter side, at least with more going missing, the person who lost someone isn't... alone.

[ ... ]

Change isn't something that comes without cause and consequence. It'll take as many as is needed -- our job is to make sure that number is less than it would be otherwise.

[He falls silent at that. It doesn't even sound harsh to him. It just sounds....familiar. His eyes meet the horizon as well, and its as if they mimic them in their low light.]

I wanted children to be...the seed of change to a better place.

[So of course he understands. That was his idea from the beginning. If he couldn't change anything, they could, step by step, soul by soul, but...]

[Of course, it didn't work out. What an understatement.]

So I...see what you're saying. I suppose it...took its toll on me more than I expected.

... That's how it was with Carmen's death, too.

[ it took a toll on everyone. but he knows her story, she's allowed him to flip through the pages. he's allowed her to peek into his just a bit, the connection slow but there as she thinks of his lost garden.

terrible. awful. ]

It's good you can still grieve, Vergilius. That you can still remember the people you've lost, that you want to remember them, just as the people here want to, too. If nothing else -- and we will be doing more -- then at least we can bring them something back to remember their loss by.

... Do you have anything like that? From your garden.

...

[He seems to think about it for a moment, before his scarred hand reaches into his jacket pocket, over his heart. He pulls out a folded piece of paper and hands it to her.]

...Look upon my garden.

[It's a photograph.]

[ she takes it delicately, the wear not escaping her notice; it's a photograph that's been held many times, that's been opened and folded close many times, that's seen just as much of the city as vergilius has from the safety of a pocket.

... so this is his garden. there's so many of them. malkuth's eyes linger on each one, thankful in how none look familiar, and she studies the stoic face shared by the man beside her too. his garden, his children, the seeds he'd hoped would grow to change the city itself... they are the future, and there's certainly things they can do that others can't with their age, but it's such a hefty thing to leave to someone so young.

malkuth's voice is quiet when she speaks again, soft and curious. there's no expectations of a full answer. ]

How did you lose them?

[It's a question that makes the light in his eyes dim, and its a question that touches on an answer he hasn't given voice to for quite a while. Sure, he's been over and over in it in his head, but he has never told it to a single other soul.]

[Until now.]

....This is where the Library of yours comes in. [He says, a little distant - as if imagining that very building and its horrors in his field of vision.] A monster came out of it that should have been trapped. It brought along another monster. And on Christmas, I...

[He starts, stops - that tired old house of a voice creaks in pain.]

I came upon their destruction of that garden. I did the best I could. But I was....too late.

[ ... oh.

more than anyone else does vergilius have reason to hate the library, to hate her as part of it. but he doesn't. he likes her, he wants her, he's gentle and kind and interested in her. wants to see her happy and safe.

malkuth presses her lips together. ]

... I'm sorry.

[ it isn't her fault that either escaped. but she's still responsible for it in part, at least in her mind, and she holds the photograph back out to him. ]

Is... that why you asked about the Purple Tear?

[He takes the photo carefully from her hands. A moment to look at it, before he folds it, slides it back to its pocket, as practiced as anything. He has done this hundreds of times before.]

...Yes.

[It was the reason. And he had lashed out. The Library could do whatever it could do, he didn't care, but the fact that Iori managed to leave...]

[Even with seeing the other survivors during his time with the Company, it still stings. Why her? Why did she...?]

Even so, her machinations are still ongoing. I was merely a pawn in her game.

... The books we get from receiving guests are literal, physical things. You can hold them, tear them, throw them away, imbue yourself with their abilities... read their pages.

[ every guest's book was a piece of literature to hod. each story important as the last. hod had liked to read every one, to remember them that way; malkuth had liked to, too. it was something they shared. ]

I know it won't change things, and I don't expect you to see any good in knowing. Why your garden? Why not someone else's? Was that the only way? [ ... ] But would you like to hear what she's after?

Is that so? But I think thats...lonely. People as books.

[He reaches out for her hand, now - having to bend, but taking it in his own to hold.]

Isn't it better to hold something like this?

[Even if he deprives himself of it, he knows affection, other people, love...they're better than any book could be.]

[That's precisely why he denies himself of it, actually. At her questions, his expression darkens.]

I know it....has something to do with her son. How pitifully ironic. To try to bring him back...and to take the lives of children in the process. How cruel.

[ it is, and it's kind of him to reach out first, but her hand remains loose in his as she lets them join. she won't pull away, it's just... being held, rather than holding in return.

it's simple fact that they turn into books. that their entire lives, however long or well or poorly they lived, however much they did or didn't or hadn't had the chance to do or had the chance and chose not to take it, ended up being nothing more then black words etched into blank pages. turning nonsensical letters into something legible, something that had to be read half a dozen times to understand it but something that could never be fully understood and, as a result, would never disappear. because that's what books were supposed to do. once you understood them entirely, they would disappear.

that's the lonely part. malkuth's thankful they never did. ]

It read like... she was searching for the possibility where he was still alive, rather than to bring him back to the world she knew now. I think if she found it, she would have killed the "her" there and stayed.

[ a pause, weighing the confirmation of his thoughts in her next words. ]

The Purple Tear has thousands of possibilities that she jumps to, with every decision infecting and spawning another. She looks through them and decides what future she wants to see most, what can get her to her ultimate goal, and then ensures it happens somehow. [ a soft exhale. ] There must have been something she saw that only you could manage, maybe... relating to what you're doing now, that would help her find a world where her son was still alive, and acted on it. Admiration hadn't seemed to work out for her where loyalty or a spare hand might be needed, so she did the opposite.

[He notices the looseness of her hold, but doesn't pull his hand out. It's alright. He doesn't mind.]

[The possibility of him being alive. See, that's where they were similar. He understands the same pain. It's the very thing that pushes him forward for Lapis, for whatever is left of Garnet. When Malkuth continues, however, his face darkens - there must have been something she saw that only you could manage.]

[Ha.]

[Again. A pawn on a board.]

Do you know...what she said to me?

[A pause. His voice sounds as rough as sandpaper, dragging over dry skin. His fingers twitch, tense in Malkuth's hold.]

"Well, it's a shame about those children. That's one less pretense for you to wear."

[How hateful. How vile. How cruel. But was it? Was it a pretense? Was he just busy pretending to be something he never could be.]

I cannot...see eye to eye with that false serpent, though I can understand her. I refuse to.

[ how cruel. it isn't a pretense if it something you want to be; this isn't a pretense either, the way he holds her hand and is always so conscious of his strength around her. malkuth presses her lips together (thinking of ishmael, of how they can't see eye to eye on the library either) and shakes her head. it's not a pretense.

still, she can't wholly disregard the purple tear either. not when a dozen broken eggs for a single cause was, and remains, the expected consequence. should it be? no. is she selfish for ruining so many lives for the sake of herself? of course.

but malkuth can't judge her any. she doesn't have the right to. ]

Why? I'm not going to say you should, especially with what she did, what she said, but... why can't you?

[ simple curiosity, from an endlessly inquisitive woman. ]

I can't abide by people who see others as pawns. People are people. For better. For worse. They aren't....chess pieces.

[He raises his other hand, rubs at his eyes - weary, weary, so weary, carrying all his sins for years until he'll drown with them.]

I've done enough of trampling over human lives in my lifetime, for the job. The weight of what I've done stays with me. Why does it...not weigh on her like it does for me?

... Because she only wants one thing, and if she let everything else weigh her down, she'd never get anywhere.

[ malkuth understands why she can't wholly throw aside the purple tear. it was the same line of thinking that l corp ran on. it was the same train of thought that she herself lived by for so long, that she's been working tirelessly to pick at and pull apart. it's something that

....

she believes in now, to an extent, but rather than seeing them only as numbers, only as chess pieces the way a certain someone might have (by angela's words), she remembers each name, each face, for better or worse. but why doesn't it weigh on her the way it does vergilius?

unease settles low in her gut. malkuth's gaze remains on the horizon, the outskirts. ]

People aren't pawns. They're not meant to be used, trampled on, or brought down -- they're meant to live, pursue their own happiness, and be rewarded for the hard work they put in. [ that's what they always worked for, what they work for now.

the urge to draw away is fierce. her hand remains, tense and ready to spring away. ] But I'm still doing all of those things as a Patron Librarian, Vergilius, and smiling in my downtime as if I hadn't. What makes me any different than her?

[Now this is a question.]

[See, this is what brings him back to that moment. Before the first time her hand found his face, when he, in drunken stupor, had raged against the Library and its negligence in letting the Purple Tear out onto the world. Maybe she let herself out. It didn't matter, at the time.]

[Now, she asks that, and he thinks about it for a moment, before he asks a question. A sincere question. Her hand is tense, but he holds it - not strictly out of assurance now, but also to prevent her from going. He wants to see how she answers.]

[For better. For worse.]

Would you walk into my garden and tear it up unprompted, to sate your own selfish desire?

[ the librarian wishes she could give him a quick reply, but she can't. just like she can't leave, caught by his hand, the gaze she's turned from. she also wishes the quick answer was one he'd like to hear. but it isn't so simple.

the words claw at her throat; she doesn't want to lie, she doesn't want to give the truth. malkuth's eyes dip down to the sand at their feet and she wishes it'd just swallow her whole.

she wishes she was the kind of person to run; she isn't, and so she exhales softly and lifts her face to him. her lips pressed tight, parting, and then pressed again. reluctant, but willing to answer what's been asked.

for better, for worse. ]

... Change isn't something that comes without cause and consequence, [ quiet and apologetic. repetition of what she said before. ] It doesn't matter if it's selfish or not, Vergilius. You wouldn't accept it even if I killed them while explaining the end, something that would benefit the City as a whole, justified the means.

[ like they're doing now, with the library. she knows that. there's plenty of people who have sought revenge. one by one, they've fought for their lives and only one side had come out victorious.

malkuth stands here, while they don't. ]

They were yours. Don't diminish your love for them by thinking that there would've been a "good enough reason" for to happen.

[ there shouldn't be one. ]

[Of course. In the end, the Librarian is still part of the Library. It's not about morality. If the Library bade her to run over that orphanage for the sake of her dream, Carmen's dream, she wouldn't throw herself to the ground in front of it to prevent it from going, perhaps.]

[He closes his eyes, a little pained.]

Of course there's no good reason. There was no good reason for what I did all these years, on my end. Saying it was a job was a poor excuse.

[In the end, the City took him, chewed him, made him into this twisted thing.]

But you know...that's not exactly what I asked. It isn't about change, or justification. It really isn't about selfish reasons either, I suppose.

[He stops, keeps his gaze, but it feels dimmer, withdrawn, like an animal that's pulled itself back into its dark excuse of a rotten flimsy house in the corner of a grim yard.]

...I wouldn't be able to judge you, anyhow.

[He would've burned the world down, in that heated moment when he had lost it all. Thousands would die. He still holds that wretched dream in his heart.]

[He's no better, really.]

You should.

[ this, she wants to make perfectly clear. what's a little deeper gonna hurt. ]

I can refuse to do what Angela asks and be put back to sleep. It isn't a job I'm contracted to in writing, it's a deal I eventually accepted so that I could finish what we started. I remember the names, the stories, of the people I face, but that still doesn't exempt me from judgement -- I'm doing it because I want to see our hope manifest. Not because it's the only way for me to survive.

[ even if it is, from and outsider's point of view. malkuth hadn't cared about living. she cares now, but then? it was only for the plan they hard worked so hard for, had suffered tremendously in the name of. ]

That's what your job is. A reason, not an excuse. It isn't a good one, but it's still one.

...

[He lifts up his head - he starts, stops, a mildly rueful look crossing his worn face.]

Stop...taking the words from my mouth. [You should judge me.] Ah. But I will ask you, then.

[His thumb trails over the side of her hand, but he's lost in thought, trying to piece his words together.]

What do you expect to get...if I do? If I do judge you?

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