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( closed ) life like the unplumbed sea;
WHO: Elysium & friends(?)
WHAT: This is now just a catch-all for everything
WHERE: Everywhere
WHEN: 2024
WARNINGS: Blanket warning for possible explorations of dark themes in general, please tread at your own risk. I will, however, endeavour to include specifics in headers if applicable.
WHAT: This is now just a catch-all for everything
WHERE: Everywhere
WHEN: 2024
WARNINGS: Blanket warning for possible explorations of dark themes in general, please tread at your own risk. I will, however, endeavour to include specifics in headers if applicable.
cw descriptions of torture my fucking god this got long good morning
the smallest flinch when he pulls her to him, and she resists in the way of someone reluctant to concede -- but she does, already having offered up her vulnerability and then having to lay in the bed she'd made. malkuth closes her eyes as she rests into him, the coolness of his skin not as unpleasant once her own warmth begins to seep into it.
just in case, because she hadn't cried into izou nor at ishmael but she had march. just in case, because the more she tells this the more it cracks at her composure. reliving it again, and again, trying to be fine and not being able to -- but as someone who bore witness, who records history and keeps it safe, it's
hard to forget, even if part of her would like to, and her voice quiets as she answers. more distant than... here, with him, back in that dark, bloody prison with little hope of escape. no sunlight, no telling how long they'd been there, as the days had passed she'd become less unsure if their messages had been received, if anyone was going to find them... ]
No. That'd be nice if they had. Better than reality -- I can handle monsters, Ely, I worked with them, I've fought them, it wouldn't have scared me even if it appeared and sliced me open itself.
[ because at least it'd be done to her. a slow inhale, memory spotting back to that moment. both izou and march had gotten onto her about brushing it off, acting like it hadn't happened to her, not just this but everything else that hurt -- from her dying day in her first life to the pain she'd felt here in the past too, and so, malkuth lets herself cast it aside for now, since elysium had been willing to before. ]
They beat me until I complied to come, and then shackled me to a wall with a bowl at my feet. And then they just... left me there, as they started to collect limbs and jars of blood from the others. Wriothesley... Wrio, [ a name fraught with pain, ] was brought in looking no better, and they beat him again, and again, and again until his body looked more like-- like... I don't know. Bloody. Torn. Like it'd been hurt beyond feeling that hurt.
[ her stomach churns and she inhales slowly, then exhales shakily. malkuth can't help it. when it comes to wrio, her voice always draws smaller. always becomes more distant. it's an effort to protect herself more than the one listening, but she tries. and really, once she'd begun, it's hard to stop. ]
I couldn't get them to stop, no matter how much I begged, cried, screamed at them. He was the one they wanted, and they just-- wanted me to watch. They gouged out his eyes to be used in their stupid summoning, and then they poured-- something onto him, some kind of-- of-- blood, I guess, the whole room smelled like blood, and made him drink it, and then he just...
... just died, after more pain, after they'd had their fill of his.
[ a brief freedom. but where was she in all of this, truly, besides made to watch? her hand squeezes between their bodies and she moves back just enough to pull down the collar of her gown, to show the scar of a puncture wound just above her collarbone. ]
I don't remember when they did this. I remember begging them to stop, and then a sharp pain, but I don't remember at what point. Just that it happened during all of that, and then they took my blood, too.
[ her fingers touch it lightly, as they had his palm, and she digs her nails briefly into the scar before she stops and shifts to rest against elysium instead. still no tears, but... her exhaustion returns, continuing-- because there's more, and this is new information to anyone else. ]
I stayed there. I watched them bring in limb after limb. Jar after jar. Ereshkigal-- she needs to be checked on, too, she was... was singing with them, when they sacrificed Taryon too, but he wasn't suffered any. She cut his throat and he bled out. Still painful, but... but not like... like Wrio, who I couldn't help, couldn't save, couldn't do anything for even though he'd always done so much for me.
[ a brief beat, turning her face into his shoulder. now is when she trembles, having spoken everything she remembers, trying hard not to cry and trying harder to still be the woman who'd threatened him in a restaurant. who was the one dying not an hour ago? why is he comforting her after something so terrifying, that he has to worry about every day, every time they go on a mission? ]
... I've done the same thing to others, Elysium, when I worked at L Corp. I can say-- say I wasn't myself all I want, [ and it'd be true, a lack of memories and the firm belief she was only a machine doing a job, not disclosing the dangers of Abnormalities and then killing those who resigned, ] but I did still do things just as bad as they had. Worse in some. And of course I hate that I did, and I would never now, but I still have.
[ she should be used to it, she means. more unaffected.
seeing stuff like this.
but it's better that she still got upset, that the tears press into him regardless, she knows that, but that it still shakes her so badly regardless of that past is what she hates.
why can't it have made her stronger, the way it had gebura? who pours in anger and frustration instead? why is she stuck with grief and fear and a nightmare that persists unless someone is nearby? march will be a welcome partner in her bed, but malkuth is scared of the days she'll have to try to be alone with nothing but her ducks. ]
no subject
What a handful. Then again, so was he. ]
What's living to you, Malkuth? Repentance? … One foot in the present, the other stuck in the past. Letting go is easier said than done, but I'm sure you already know without me telling you that what you currently have doesn't seem that all sustainable.
[ … what they have isn't sustainable, shaped by circumstances uniquely their own. But this isn't about him, even if he catches himself thinking he should heed his own advice about being stuck in the past—advice he's decided to actively go against. More important is the moment, for everything she's endured, things no one should have had to bear. After all, he's not the one trembling, nor is it his heart that's tearing at previously sutured seams.
All things considered, he knows he's not her go-to for comfort, not the voice to continue to offer platitudes about how time heals all wounds or that it's okay for her to heal at her own pace. Nor is he meant to be the crutch pledging to stay by her side until she can walk on her own. She has her own circle for that, not someone who's as close to a third party as it gets. From the way she's tried to detach from her story, Elysium closes his eyes, resisting the urge to sigh again.
Because the way he's contextualising it is tiring in of itself—what would he want to hear during a time like this? What wouldn't he? ]
What are you going to do going forward? Allow yourself to grieve indefinitely, then keep trying to live on when you think enough time's elapsed? Keep convincing yourself that one day you'll either be able to reconcile with your past or bury it completely?
[ … Sorry, but he is a guy who might've been ninety percent of the way to his grave at some point, so his voice is a little softer, a little more slurred, the hand at her back sliding downward to her waist. A quarter of a hug. ]
I'm not judging you, for the record. [ What she does ultimately isn't any of his business. ] They're genuine questions.
no subject
[ he's getting tired, she can tell. the looseness of his grip is from the exertion he's putting in for her, and -- malkuth still doesn't know what he wants out of this, out of her or them or anything when he pushes as much as he tugs, but it's fine for now. she'll take his arm from around her, trying to press him back to laying down and she'll simply hold his hand instead. grounding, grounding.
if he won't let her do the latter, at the very least she'll sit more on his bed and talk to him that way. ]
When I worked in the Library, I had a lot of time to think about stuff like that. What I wanted to do with my past, how I wanted to move forward, and the way I'd handle anything in the future. The result of that thought is why I can do what I do now -- these missions and their less than ideal outcomes, losing the people I love thanks to my own negligence or something out of my control, even roughing up against others like Ishmael...
... are all things I can handle because I'd learned, through the stories of others and by drawing the timeline of a City that measured its history only in conflict and technological advances, that there's a world of color in every experience. I was the cause of a lot of pain and a lot of death, and so I decided that I'd never forget their names or their stories even as I fought Guest after Guest, thinking they were continuing that list of victims I had under my belt. I don't regret that it happened, but more that... it had to happen. That's why I'm sad that the people around here felt they had to rely on sacrificial means and a "god" that was just using them.
[ it's a lot of words, and she keeps her tone even and soft, wiping at her eyes with a sleeve. less detachment and more... of a story she's told before in essence, a little fond, a little bittersweet. ]
It's the same here, in Brașov. In Seoul and Vegas. I won't forget the people who died, [ the people she'd buried after the Yamadenki, too, pulling their bodies six feet under, ] but that doesn't mean it holds me back any -- I use that frustration as fuel to find ways I... we can do better next mission. To have less losses, to have better communication, to make sure the kaiju destroys less. Or try.
[ malkuth won't mind if elysium's drifted off by now, really, it isn't as if she's checking. but her smile is something a little more farther off. ]
You really talk like you know everything sometimes, Ely. There's better ways to word your questions than to make them sound like accusations -- especially when your goal was supposed to be consoling a crying girl after she'd been kidnapped, tortured, and forced to witness one of her best friends dying.
no subject
Is that how I came across? My baaaad… [ haha. Weak laughter, brows tensing again as he resists going down. A poke to the side of her abdomen, as he leans more of his weight against her instead. ] If you wanted me to treat you like I would anyone else, you wouldn't have asked me how I was with crying girls.
[ Someone who froze up, who didn't know how to comfort and held back for fear of saying the wrong thing—someone who'd sooner walk away than risk making things worse. The nature of their relationship was opposed to that: a steady balance of contention, necessary or not, that they rarely found anywhere else. ]
… you aren't any weaker because of your tears. It's as you've said, they're what embolden you. But just because you have all that experience and the conviction to not let the past hold you back, it doesn't make the pain now hurt any less. You talk a lot about moving forward, about making amends and handling things, but… what about you, right now? For a girl who's been kidnapped, tortured, and forced to watch a close friend die…
I wonder how much kindness you're really affording yourself, that's all. … Miss 'I probably got off pretty easy…'
[ The detachment—he knows it all too well. Even the telling of a story close to your heart. The 'just move on,' tucking yesterday's lessons into a corner of your heart, never to be forgotten, telling yourself you won't make the same mistakes again. It's not a question of whether or not you'll buckle under the weight or not one day, it's that you won't because you can't.
On the subject of fading smiles, this is how he eventually drifts off—with mumbled words trailing into silence and his body going slack. Her body against his isn't exactly warmth; physically, yes, but it feels akin to leaning against a mirror in certain respects, cold, cool, a reflection he doesn't want to acknowledge but has no choice to. Allowing themselves kindness. If only it were that simple. ]
no subject
Probably about as much as you do, Mister 'Tit for Tat'.
[ she doesn't move him off right away, closing her eyes briefly to take the quieter comfort of someone being there, even asleep, before she does so gently.
how many people does he let comfort him in any way? does he always just see what he can do for another person rather than let them do anything for him? either in return, or without intent beyond because they'd like to...? the questions pile slowly as malkuth looks down at him, before she frowns and reaches over to pinch his cheek
stopping short to smooth the blanket over instead. either way, he's better off than how she'd found him, and she has a wife to get back to. a little more rest'll do him well, and then he'll be up to annoy the living daylights out of everyone again. or cheer them, if they're open to it.
... malkuth knows she will be, for all the shit she gives him at times. she'll practice cooking again since he bothered to answer after all. ]