[Noctis only watches as she piles up each individual sketch, delegating them to whose head they belong in. He catches glimpses of his own face, of Eos (moonlight, hands grasping in the dark), as well as images twisted with wet flesh and teeth (he knows they’re hers and he’s right. She puts them in a different pile). The pang of nostalgia rises up, impossible for him to sweep aside — yes, he wants to be offended that something so personal would work its way through someone else’s hand. His own experiences, raw and revealing, given life on paper, staring up at him in quiet censure.
He looks at Annie, and it’s almost laughable how easily her question overrides any grievance. It’s as if she hadn’t been really looking at them until now, and Noctis finds himself hesitating once more.]
They… [Luna’s face, portrayed in both elegance and simplicity, destroys the last of his will to cry foul. The sorrow of something lost, falling into the swirling dark, rolls off of him in waves.] …ache. [Simultaneously nonsensical as it is sincere. It hurts, and yet—]
You can get rid of them. I do it all the time, if it's something that hurts.
[ The first time she has openly admitted with words to a fact he is already very aware of. That she hurts, that she's always hurt. At somewhere around the age of thirteen she had tried to crack her own skull open, possessed in the grip of her own impossible existence, tiny human mind driven beyond its limits by the snickering laughter of what lived within. She'd painted out a memoir upon recovery, and turned it into a mighty pyre on the Academy lawn as soon as she was done. ]
[Eyes shifting to the lighter, Noctis' eyes widen slightly. The thought never even remotely crossed his mind (except now, he can feel the idea thrumming through Annie, like it belongs to him all the same), and he pauses.]
I can't do that. [He can't. Watching the sketches dissolve into flame, eaten alive, would only prove to make the pain more poignant. To Noctis, it would be less cathartic, and more a cruel dismissal of what should always remain important to him.
He even reaches for the stack that "belongs" to him, his hand stopping just short of actually taking the sheaf. Instead, it hovers a mere inch above, asking for permission.]
[ She doesn't understand that. Holding something tight despite the pain it causes. That's her. Would rather hold her tongue out over the lighter flame than dwell on the depths. And then there's Noctis, full of love and duty. She can feel their fundamental differences clashing, the somber light in him and the wild wretchedness in her. The vulnerability comes into her face. ]
I... could do something nicer.
[ A beautiful pale girl, her hair unwound in a field of blue flowers... Blood seeping at the edges. She stares at him, realizing that... the girl must be dead. Drawing her tears, her reaching hands, her shredded body disappearing into the dark. More than that, she realizes how much Noctis loves her. An emotion Annie herself has never understood, it is like admiring an exotic creature through the water and glass of an aquarium. ]
Do you have room for anybody else, in there?
[ His heart. All the pairs she had known had mated for life. Felice had turned into a wrecked shell of herself when Grace had died, they'd all watched her turn from Disney princess to a skeletal creature of hurt, fed on liquor... Wanting to die and join the one she loved. Noctis had been on his way. ]
[His hand retracts, resting on the cool surface of the booth.
Room for anyone else? A question he never thought he would live long enough to consider. He'd accepted Luna's sacrifice for what it was, a long time ago, but the scarring was still there. Ten years of sleep, embraced by the Crystal, could not heal all of his wounds.
The surprise is clear on his face. The way his eyes widen, the manner in which he sets his jaw to avoid biting at his lower lip. Was he expected to consider making room, floating in the far reaches of space, universes away? It may as well be a revelation, the way the question blossoms uncomfortably in his mind.]
I think she’d want for me to. [As honest an answer he can give, without saying I don’t know.
Noctis shifts uncomfortably in his seat.]
Eventually, I guess. I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.
[ There's something in her that wonders why she asked that. What was she thinking? What is she doing. She stares down at the piles of other people in front of her. In a way she isn't surprised, but at the same time-- Her art has always been hers. It is so intimate, so invasive, that she stole from him. Like a weed, creeping in. Anxiety blossoms under her breast bone. What is she doing. What is she talking about. Where is she. Her disorientation blossoms, not at all an unfamiliar sensation for her but it's not just about her any more. She's not alone in this, and where normally she would just sink in to it, so opheliac, she grabs on to Noctis instead.
Is that why she needed to know about the spare room in him.
She says something, some meaningless acknowledgement of what he says, but her desperate clutch at the bridge between them belies her nonchalance so thoroughly its a wonder she bothers.
[Tendrils creep into his mind, latching on, filling that empty space inside of him that he wasn’t sure he possessed but exists all the same. It’s disorienting at first, until he realizes that it’s not completely his — only then can Noctis allow her in without losing himself in the tangle, without turning it into an endless feedback loop of disarray.
Sleep. If she needs sleep, she can have it. His ennui from years past is now a tiredness that rests in the marrow of his bones. There’s enough to go around for the both of them, if she so desires it. And so Noctis offers this to her. The idea of rest, lapping at her feet like a low tide, beckoning her deeper.
Outwardly, however, there’s a matter of what to do. He doesn’t even quite catch the words she says, he wonders if they’re even important. He’s ready to stand, to lead her out if he needs to.]
[ When was the last time she slept. She doesn't remember now. Not unusual, all her hours of activity swirling into a confused miasma, muddy, not potable. But there's a quiet feeling seeping in to her that... she doesn't think is hers; clean and clear and cool. No, that didn't sound like her, at all. She pushes the stack of pictures that are his things across the table at him. His to do with as he pleased. She gets up, and is just about immediately diverted by the alien server and her bill. Annie stares at it dumbly for a second before stuffing her hand into her pocket and just handing over the entire fistful of credits.
The baffled alien takes them, consternation on its face as she wanders out. It warbles exasperation at Noctis, eyes rolling all around its head as it begins counting the wad of little coins in an irritated voice.
Annie is waiting outside for him, and only now seems to realize, ]
[Noctis may as well be dragged along physically, lingering behind but eventually following her same path regardless. A side glance to the alien with too many eyes is all he affords it, with the exception of a shrug of his shoulders that mean practically nothing. He picks up the papers strewn across the booth (all of them, not just his own), shuffling them into a messy stack that he carries with him out the diner doors.
He holds them in both hands, awkwardly, blinking as she asks him if he had been asleep.]
It's fine. [So yes, then. More importantly:] You all right? ....You left these. [He steps forward, offering her the sketches, his movement languid with the feeling of a drowsy sleep being pushed to the surface.]
[ That sounds like her. Leaving a mess behind. She holds the sheaves of paper and napkins in both hands, like it's something delicate she might drop and break, just as awkwardly unsure of what to do with them now. They'd served their purpose, giving the strange tides of her mind an outlet into the physical world... but what now. What did she do now. Go back to the tournament, go back to the Station, live all alone in some void box in space waiting for the infection in her psyche to take her over. A sigh, eyes closing. ]
I really gotta... get back to a routine.
[ A kind of answer. She opens her eyes, orienting her way back to the hotel. The lull of the sleeping prince on her thoughts makes everything feel liquid and slow... but she walks, her only focus now getting back, lying down. She leaves every door open behind her as she goes, a disruption.
She crawls into the unmade bed in her clothes, the pile of drawings tucked messily beneath a pillow.
Snickering echoes rise up from her almost as soon as her head is down. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
somnifacient) wrote2017-03-25 01:39 am
no subject
He looks at Annie, and it’s almost laughable how easily her question overrides any grievance. It’s as if she hadn’t been really looking at them until now, and Noctis finds himself hesitating once more.]
They… [Luna’s face, portrayed in both elegance and simplicity, destroys the last of his will to cry foul. The sorrow of something lost, falling into the swirling dark, rolls off of him in waves.] …ache. [Simultaneously nonsensical as it is sincere. It hurts, and yet—]
Does this help you?
[He already knows the answer.]
no subject
You can get rid of them. I do it all the time, if it's something that hurts.
[ The first time she has openly admitted with words to a fact he is already very aware of. That she hurts, that she's always hurt. At somewhere around the age of thirteen she had tried to crack her own skull open, possessed in the grip of her own impossible existence, tiny human mind driven beyond its limits by the snickering laughter of what lived within. She'd painted out a memoir upon recovery, and turned it into a mighty pyre on the Academy lawn as soon as she was done. ]
no subject
I can't do that. [He can't. Watching the sketches dissolve into flame, eaten alive, would only prove to make the pain more poignant. To Noctis, it would be less cathartic, and more a cruel dismissal of what should always remain important to him.
He even reaches for the stack that "belongs" to him, his hand stopping just short of actually taking the sheaf. Instead, it hovers a mere inch above, asking for permission.]
May I?
no subject
I... could do something nicer.
[ A beautiful pale girl, her hair unwound in a field of blue flowers... Blood seeping at the edges. She stares at him, realizing that... the girl must be dead. Drawing her tears, her reaching hands, her shredded body disappearing into the dark. More than that, she realizes how much Noctis loves her. An emotion Annie herself has never understood, it is like admiring an exotic creature through the water and glass of an aquarium. ]
Do you have room for anybody else, in there?
[ His heart. All the pairs she had known had mated for life. Felice had turned into a wrecked shell of herself when Grace had died, they'd all watched her turn from Disney princess to a skeletal creature of hurt, fed on liquor... Wanting to die and join the one she loved. Noctis had been on his way. ]
no subject
Room for anyone else? A question he never thought he would live long enough to consider. He'd accepted Luna's sacrifice for what it was, a long time ago, but the scarring was still there. Ten years of sleep, embraced by the Crystal, could not heal all of his wounds.
The surprise is clear on his face. The way his eyes widen, the manner in which he sets his jaw to avoid biting at his lower lip. Was he expected to consider making room, floating in the far reaches of space, universes away? It may as well be a revelation, the way the question blossoms uncomfortably in his mind.]
I think she’d want for me to. [As honest an answer he can give, without saying I don’t know.
Noctis shifts uncomfortably in his seat.]
Eventually, I guess. I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.
no subject
Is that why she needed to know about the spare room in him.
She says something, some meaningless acknowledgement of what he says, but her desperate clutch at the bridge between them belies her nonchalance so thoroughly its a wonder she bothers.
She... needs to sleep. ]
no subject
Sleep. If she needs sleep, she can have it. His ennui from years past is now a tiredness that rests in the marrow of his bones. There’s enough to go around for the both of them, if she so desires it. And so Noctis offers this to her. The idea of rest, lapping at her feet like a low tide, beckoning her deeper.
Outwardly, however, there’s a matter of what to do. He doesn’t even quite catch the words she says, he wonders if they’re even important. He’s ready to stand, to lead her out if he needs to.]
Hey… why don’t you get back to your room?
no subject
The baffled alien takes them, consternation on its face as she wanders out. It warbles exasperation at Noctis, eyes rolling all around its head as it begins counting the wad of little coins in an irritated voice.
Annie is waiting outside for him, and only now seems to realize, ]
Did I wake you up?
no subject
He holds them in both hands, awkwardly, blinking as she asks him if he had been asleep.]
It's fine. [So yes, then. More importantly:] You all right? ....You left these. [He steps forward, offering her the sketches, his movement languid with the feeling of a drowsy sleep being pushed to the surface.]
no subject
I really gotta... get back to a routine.
[ A kind of answer. She opens her eyes, orienting her way back to the hotel. The lull of the sleeping prince on her thoughts makes everything feel liquid and slow... but she walks, her only focus now getting back, lying down. She leaves every door open behind her as she goes, a disruption.
She crawls into the unmade bed in her clothes, the pile of drawings tucked messily beneath a pillow.
Snickering echoes rise up from her almost as soon as her head is down. ]
( S̴̰͓͎̲̤͎̀͂̈́͂̌̃̕͟͢͞͝l̴̦̱̟̙̗͙͎̟͓̑̋̂̏̀̄͆͝ẽ̷͉͚̭͈͈́́͑͛͜ę̵̡̩̯̣̌͛̎̋͗̀͢p̡͇̼̖̮̖̦̤̳̈̽̔̔͋̍͟͡.̷̨͓͚̠̦̖͇̻͌͆̓͘̚͢͢͡͠ S̴̹͙͇̠̜̠̒̔̓́͂̏̆̚͞͡l̴͉̝̯̞̳̰̫͊̿̈́̃̿̆̈̂̐͡e̞͕̼͚̯̲̭̺͛̅͒̆̍̆͊͜͜ę̜̘̣̮̻̤̝̇̔̿̈̄p̵̛̳͕̭̲̱̼̙̤͚̊͛̄̑̿ å̘̱̗̬̳̩͉̙͋̍̐̐̓͘͜h̸͎͈͔̙̟̙̲̊́̀̀̈́́̔̆̊͜ả̷͔̫̲̯̥̝͚͖͑̈͆̎͜ͅh̷̨̲̥͇̱̿̾̅̔̀̓̕á͕̝͙̪̬̤̆̊͊̈́͘ͅh̵̡͍͍͓͖̠̼͙̊́̌̈́́̔̚,̵̛̛̹̮̰̯̘͖̖̹̭̝̇̆̀̀́̓̚͝ o̶̧̩̘̞̺͖̻͒̅̽̂͊̄̓͞͠ĥ̺̟̩̯͓͉̹̤̹̈̊̀̔̔̑̂͢ y̵̡̧̦͚̮̜̪̌́̏̍͋̽̂e͖̲͉̫̮̠͉̥̮̺̍̔̏̎̋̃̈̚͞ș̸̨̛͙̙͉͍̋̏͌͋̆̒̅̌̚ s̷̡̙̻̖̳̹̹̳͉̦͂̒̑̏̏͝͡l̗͙̬̮̯̘͔̇̇̏̊̽͆͂̚̕͟͞ḛ̮̫̥͓̂͑͑̈́̂͘ͅę̧̫̰͇̗̺̬͙̝́̈̍͌̕͞͡p̡̦̟̯̬̲͔̙͂͑̄̀̃̄͢.̶̨̧̼̞̥͎̯͑̔͛̉̋̾̚͝ )