They're in the void because I refuse to pick a location, that's your job. But wherever they are there's a sudden fall of stardust. She blinks, muttering out a small apology cause whatever is gonna happen next will be... a lot... probably... so...
—”I can grant any kind of wish you have.”
(Mobius…)
But you never wished for any of this.
“Come on, come and sit. Mom made hamburger steak for us today.”
“Hey, Marie, come and pour me a drink, will ya?”
You do as you are told and poured beer into his empty glass. The room around you is comfortably familiar and yet not; too clean, too perfect, you're so much more well-adjusted to broken furniture and a lonely futon that still smells faintly of blood. You turn to look for the closet were you usually hid in and it's gone, for some reason. Perhaps the absence of it means that you're somewhere safe.
“Man, beer always tastes the best when my daughter pours it for me.”
“You’re working tomorrow, so don’t drink too much… Marie-chan, how’s the hamburger steak? Is it good?”
You carefully put a piece in you mouth, and found that it tasted exactly the way you remember it. A hamburger steak made the way my mother did when she was in a good mood. But that only brings up the memory of your birthday, when she had struck you so hard that you had let a single piece sit in your mouth for a moment too long and she promptly took the plate and threw the remainder in the trash.
The woman in front of you has her face, but not her scorn. Not her anger or her hatred, or her fear of you.
“Oh, right, Marie, we’re going to visit your grandparents next Sunday.”
You're irritated.
“We haven’t seen them in so long, they’ll be so happy to see you. So don’t make plans to go out with your friends then. Oh, and also.” He put a small package on the table.
“I got this as a souvenir on my business trip the other day. Go ahead and open it.”
You feel sick.
The square box is small enough to fit in the palm of your hand, and when you open it, you see that it has a sparkling plastic ring in it.
Saying nothing, you stand up and head to the kitchen. You look for the kitchen knife hanging in the cupboard under the sink — hung there carefully in the exact same place it would be in the house you’d once lived in — and grab it without hesitation.
“Marie-chan, what’s wrong — “ But before she could finish her sentence, you shake off her arm with all your might, grab the woman, and fling her down. Her head hits the fridge behind her and bounces back like a rubber ball. You look down at the woman, who was frozen with hesitation, and stab the knife into her chest.
“…!” The woman’s mouth moves repeatedly as if she were gasping for air, without a single sound escaping it. You repeatedly stab her again and again until her movements slow down and her arms, which had been flailing around, fell to the floor. The corners of her mouth fell loose, and a disgusting-looking liquid begins oozing out of them.
“Huh? What? What’s going on?”
You could tell he was coming, so you return to the living room with the bloodstained knife. You quickly pace yourself towards the terrified old man, snatch the beer bottle, and slam it against his head as hard as you possibly can. The drunken old man stumbles forward, and his head turns towards the sofa behind the two of you. You quickly run up to him and stab his leg.
You weren’t going to let him escape. This man who is but a vague memory, a man who you can only imagine after he had left your life before you made it into elementary school.
“G-Gaaaaaaaah!”
“Shut the fuck up.”
The coldness of your own voice is ringing inside your skull. You are terrifyingly calm. The more you witness the old man desperately trying to appeal to you with that desperate expression on his face, the colder the edges of your skull feel.
“What do you say when you want forgiveness?” You stomp on the leg that you had stabbed, and his scream pierced the air. “Come on, say it.”
“S-Spare me…”
Spare me, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, please forgive me — groveling and pleading with those words, repeatedly, again and again.
(Like how you did back then. You are so familiar of that pain, of that fear, of all your apologies meaning nothing and yet still being expected. )
So of course you know what to say next.
“You’re so goddamn obnoxious, I’m gonna fucking kill you!”
You stab the knife into his belly and twist it viciously. Piercing into the skin and aiming for the internal organs that lie dangerously unarmed. His shrieks and his screams ring out through the living room. You raise the kitchen knife again and again, until it finally falls from your hand.
When you lift your head, you see your reflection in the windowpane.
You're smirking. Blood covering your face, in your hair, chunks of man dripping down into your eyelashes that you unceremoniously wipe off.
You finally understood.
(You've always wanted to do this.)
How could you have not understood such a simple thing?
You pick up the beer bottle that had been tossed away and emptied, and slam it into him, again and again. A grating noise emerged from the back of his throat.
Why —
You find yourself breaking down in laughter, but just as quickly snap out of it.
The TV had been left on, and was now showing a comedy program. The baseball program had ended while you had concentrated solely on spilling the blood of a man who you're meant to call your father. Tearing into flesh, filling your nose with the coppery-tang of blood, using your fingers to eagerly pull apart intestines from their home. Using all your strength to grab bones and snap it underneath your palms.
You slowly pick youself up from where you had been sitting.
“…What’s going on?” You mutter this without thinking.
There should be a pile of flesh that you had stabbed and chopped up in front of you. And yet…
“The hell is this?”
Lying at your feet is a black lump of something that you can't clearly make out.
(He wasn’t human.)
Indeed — it is like a polygon model. When you squint at it, it flickers and stutters sluggishly.
“The hell?”
You thought you had really done it. And yet…
—”I can grant any kind of wish you have.”
Just like that, the alluring whisper of the Devil came right back.
[Memory week has always kind of been like this, revealing things people didn't want to share. This... is different that what he knows, what he sees from most people.
The anger, the understanding, the desire, the murder. He doesn't know about Mobius, really. But he understands the desire to hurt the people who've hurt you. It feels like they're pretending. A mockery.
It reminds him of Snow and White.
You go through all of that and they aren't even real.]
Yes. [ A nod. ] I'm very aware of what she was as a person in the past... and though I don't condone her actions, I understand where all of this comes from.
She and I are still suffering the consequences, of course.
It's freezing cold, winter, ice, and snow. You're in Northern Country, your homeland. You're with a younger Nero, looking exhausted from wherever it is you've just robbed. You pick him up and start carrying him back home. With one hand you offer him a ring with a dark black stone set into it.
"Here, it's that ring ya nabbed. You found yourself a real treasure. This right here's the Good Luck Ring. The savin' grace for us social outcasts. It'll protect ya no matter when or where, so it won't let its owner die."
Nero repeat it back to you, with wonder, "... The Good Luck Ring."
"Yeah." You figure you should tell him what kind of treasure he managed to find. It's his loot, despite him being part of your bandits.
A tired laugh from Nero, "Good to hear... If that's so... Then it's yours, Boss."
Of all the things you'd think to hear from him, that was certainly not one of them. There's a momentarily stunned silence as you continue getting back to your hideout.
"Please... make it out of here alive."
That's ridiculous. Nero absolutely doesn't need to give you this ring. You have no plans of dying anytime soon, and you're far too stubborn to need a ring like this. "Don't be a dumbass. I ain't got no need for someone else's luck."
Now it's Nero's turn to go silent.
Right, you should say something, make your thoughts clear. "If ya really wanna put that ring on my finger so bad, then ya better make it outta this alive, bend down on your knees and present it to me yerself. Selfless fools ain’t got no business bein’ bandits. Be greedy and cling to that life with all you’ve got. Don’t matter who condemns you. I’ll always have your back. Tell me ya don’t wanna die. Or, at the very least, tell me ya don’t want me to die." These are the things that matter to you. A bandit is somebody who selfishly clings to life, and takes for themselves and their own. It's that simple to you. Nero is yours to protect, and you mean every word of it. You will always have Nero Turner's back. No matter what happens in the future. It's not a promise, but between the two of you, it may as well be.
It takes him a moment to speak up, "I...I don't want you to die..." You feel him cling tightly onto you.
"Ahaha!! Then I guess we better make it back in one piece, yeah? You go an’ put that ring on my finger every time yer up for a big challenge, got it?!"]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
w3 ( tuesday ) cw: domestic abuse, gore, murder
They're in the void because I refuse to pick a location, that's your job. But wherever they are there's a sudden fall of stardust. She blinks, muttering out a small apology cause whatever is gonna happen next will be... a lot... probably... so...
no subject
The anger, the understanding, the desire, the murder. He doesn't know about Mobius, really. But he understands the desire to hurt the people who've hurt you. It feels like they're pretending. A mockery.
It reminds him of Snow and White.
You go through all of that and they aren't even real.]
... The video game world?
no subject
O-Oh, um... Yes.
[ A brief pause. ]
That is the world she lived in, briefly.
no subject
You okay?
no subject
Yes. [ A nod. ] I'm very aware of what she was as a person in the past... and though I don't condone her actions, I understand where all of this comes from.
She and I are still suffering the consequences, of course.
no subject
[time for some Gay Shit.
It's freezing cold, winter, ice, and snow. You're in Northern Country, your homeland. You're with a younger Nero, looking exhausted from wherever it is you've just robbed. You pick him up and start carrying him back home. With one hand you offer him a ring with a dark black stone set into it.
"Here, it's that ring ya nabbed. You found yourself a real treasure. This right here's the Good Luck Ring. The savin' grace for us social outcasts. It'll protect ya no matter when or where, so it won't let its owner die."
Nero repeat it back to you, with wonder, "... The Good Luck Ring."
"Yeah." You figure you should tell him what kind of treasure he managed to find. It's his loot, despite him being part of your bandits.
A tired laugh from Nero, "Good to hear... If that's so... Then it's yours, Boss."
Of all the things you'd think to hear from him, that was certainly not one of them. There's a momentarily stunned silence as you continue getting back to your hideout.
"Please... make it out of here alive."
That's ridiculous. Nero absolutely doesn't need to give you this ring. You have no plans of dying anytime soon, and you're far too stubborn to need a ring like this. "Don't be a dumbass. I ain't got no need for someone else's luck."
Now it's Nero's turn to go silent.
Right, you should say something, make your thoughts clear. "If ya really wanna put that ring on my finger so bad, then ya better make it outta this alive, bend down on your knees and present it to me yerself. Selfless fools ain’t got no business bein’ bandits. Be greedy and cling to that life with all you’ve got. Don’t matter who condemns you. I’ll always have your back. Tell me ya don’t wanna die. Or, at the very least, tell me ya don’t want me to die." These are the things that matter to you. A bandit is somebody who selfishly clings to life, and takes for themselves and their own. It's that simple to you. Nero is yours to protect, and you mean every word of it. You will always have Nero Turner's back. No matter what happens in the future. It's not a promise, but between the two of you, it may as well be.
It takes him a moment to speak up, "I...I don't want you to die..." You feel him cling tightly onto you.
"Ahaha!! Then I guess we better make it back in one piece, yeah? You go an’ put that ring on my finger every time yer up for a big challenge, got it?!"]
no subject
Oh! I didn't know you were engaged?
no subject
[ Nero is not here to contradict him. ]
no subject
You two seemed to balance each other out very much, at least from my perspective... you seemed happy.
no subject
no subject
I'm glad to be able to see this -- even if it's a bit invasive...
Bradley-san, I'm happy to know that you have someone so important to you.
no subject
Haha, I never mind talkin' about him.