middleofsomewhere | Conclusion

Conclusion

Thank you.

For those inside the system the voices of the Great-Seasons ring out around them once the red mass has vanished and the blue plinth it was smothering is freed once more. They don't have all that much time to reflect on that before they find themselves waking up once more in their bodies around the tree trunks.

Or at least, around the tube that is the Great-Season they entered through. All illusions have vanished now, all that is left are pipes and metal.

The Great-Seasons allow them passage out from the centre, no sentries or pipes attack them this time. Everything seems to have been put to rights, the walls in the Autumn sector have stopped moving, there is no strange weather effects in the Summer Sector, no engineering problems in Winter and all the camaloid creatures in Spring are calm. Any Helpmates they come across are doing their jobs and no longer malfunctioning.

After a small amount of time, enough to check that all is well, their SCA's light up. All Passengers are to return to the Voidtrecker Express.

Considering the vast distances involved it is probably best that they use the evacuation function to return to the Luggage carriage.

Once all Voidtreckers have returned the train returns to the Void once more.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's not even the violence that jolts Soldat out of their sleepy state, it's the "she took my memories". They're cold, suddenly, and horrified, and even angry-- she took his memories-- but they're awake. Then Otoha hits the wall, and they immediately shove that down, let the Asset chew on it like it chewed on their own memories. They hurriedly set the plate down and nudge their lantern further back on the countertop they'd rested it on, just in case.

Then they approach, slow, both hands visible and flat, unthreatening. Gentle is not a thing their voice does well, but they come close: "Hey. Hey, Otoha. Can you look at me." They think they know what this is, but will their usual method of calming down work? Might be worth a try, if he'll respond.

He takes a step back, clutching his chest. Breathing is hard, sucking air in through his nose in short little bursts. His body feels prickly, like there's static in the connection between his soul and his body. He can feel his body shaking slightly, trying to hold it together. As much as he trusts Soldat, he still can't fall apart. It's not Acceptable.

"... Miss... him. But... don't want... to feel this... anymore." He can't cry. Not here, and he's not sure he's got any tears left in him. "If I... forget him... he's gone... but... why does thinking about him... hurt so much? He... he's dead. I... need to just get over... it..." He winces again as he feels his chest squeeze.

Soldat is not going to deal with the getting-over-it thing here and now. Challenging that is just going to make the poor guy fall apart-- and while that can help sometimes, maybe, Soldat didn't get to the point of breaking down for months, and even then only in front of someone they trusted more than literally anyone else in Beacon.

So what they do is pull their tablet out and extract the pieces of origami paper from the back of the protective casing. "Otoha. Look at me. I'm going to show you how I calm down. When I get like you're feeling. Okay?"

They hold out one piece of paper, dark purple in color.

He tries to force the feelings down, to shut them down, but it's not working. Why isn't it working? He's not sure, and he hates it. He feels so weak. But Soldat is talking to him. Slowly he glances up, looking at the piece of paper blankly.

Is that... huh. He takes it carefully, feeling it. ... Yeah, that's origami paper. He'll have to ask where this came from later. He doesn't respond verbally, just focuses on the paper.

"I fold the paper like this." They start on the first fold of the crane on their own paper, slow and even, waiting patiently for Otoha to follow along with his paper. Once he does, Soldat makes the next fold. "And then like this. Slow and steady, one fold at a time, no time limit."

Oh. Paper cranes. He's seen these done before, but he's not sure... he puts the paper flat on the counter so he doesn't drop it and makes the first fold. He knows this thing is complicated, and his expression is still blank. He feels like he's moving so slowly, even though he's not outwardly moving slower at all.

Slow is the way to do this, anyway. Focusing on the folds, moving the hands, making something delicate and fiddly but with a specific set of memorized steps-- not on whatever is causing the panic.

Soldat leads Otoha through all the steps, slowing down even further whenever it looks like he's struggling with a fold, redoing folds if anything needs shown a second time. They don't talk much, only if Otoha seems to need a word or two to keep him on track or if he's unraveling instead of getting calmer.

And in the end, there are a pair of paper cranes. Soldat even illustrates how pulling on the tail gently makes the wings move.

He's following along, but it's still mechanical. It takes a few tries for some of the folds, since it's hard to hear Soldat over the static in his ears. He watches the paper move until it's folded up, and then it moves again when it's pulled.

Just things that can't move on their own. Just...

He's being embarrassing. "... Should go..." He takes a few steps, stumbling towards the back of the train.

That's what the watching is for. Soldat is trying to show more than tell. They set their crane down when Otoha steps away, but don't move closer, having the sinking feeling that the defined steps didn't work. That's the first time origami has failed them.

"Okay," they say quietly. "Okay, if you want to. You don't have to, though. I'm not upset. Or anything."

He turns and looks at Soldat. "... Not your fault. My fault for failure." It's always his fault, there's always more he should have done. "Emotions are awful."

Now he's just lost. "Otoha. You didn't fail anything. You made a paper crane. It's fine." It's not the most perfect paper crane in existence, but it's still clearly what it's supposed to be.

"... Still feel blank. Probably better." He's breathing better, at least. He doesn't feel like he's choking anymore. There's still static in his ears and a weird flatness to his voice, though. "You were just trying to eat and then sleep. Fucked it up."

"So what. You're." They pause, brace themselves for possible rejection, and say, "You're my friend. That's what you do for friends. You put things down to help them when they need it. You'd do the same for me."

There's a faint part of him that wants to cry, but the static is drowning it out. "... Just gonna get hurt. Shot, or something else. I'll fail at protecting you, too."

That's what he did, he failed. Just like he expected, just like he always does.

"Pal, I got a bulletproof metal arm and I heal three times as fast as everyone else," Soldat says wearily. "Even if I did get hurt or shot. I'd be fine. Besides, death doesn't stick here. We just come back. So don't worry, okay?"

"... I don't want you to have to go through pain." If this is even a little bit what physical pain is like, he doesn't want anyone he cares about to feel like this, ever.

They sag a little against the counter, giving Otoha a little smile. "That's a kind thought. I feel like that a lot, myself. But most of us are used to a little pain, Otoha. Me, I'm used to even more than most. I promise, I'll be fine."

"..." He lets out a long, slow breath. "I... okay. Just... you can back out at any time." He knows he's a lot to deal with. He's already being a lot to deal with.

Seriously, this guy's handlers have done fucking number on him. He's worse than Sora on Sora's worst days. Soldat wants to be angry again, but they're too tired for it right now. Maybe later. (Yes. Don't like it either, huh, Asset? Yes.)

They push off from the counter and approach, slow and cautious, to put the flesh hand on Otoha's wrist if the man lets him. "Thanks. That's a real nice thought. But pretty sure I'm not going anywhere."

He doesn't pull away, and doesn't flinch. "... Mm." Maybe he says that now, but...

"... I interrupted your meal."

"Yeah. And you probably won't be the last person to do that, either." They curl their fingers around his wrist gently, a grip warm but loose enough to pull out of, then let go and meander back to the rest of their toast. It's cold now, but frankly, they don't care.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Conclusion

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject