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futurology2016-11-06 08:01 pm
respired) wrote in futurology2016-11-06 08:01 pm
video; un: deathweaver
[ Koltira's sitting on a flat rock, long legs stretched out, a bottle of something dark and high proof in one hand--a souvenir from the remains of the saloon. He's surrounded by cacti and tall, spiky yucca plants; the silhouette of Perdition's Rest is not far behind him, due west. He's close enough to reach by a quick walk, but not so close that he's in the middle of everyone and their campfires and their singing and their camaraderie and so on. A thin dusting of snow coats everything, though close inspection reveals a mirror-like sheet of ice slowly crackling its way into being over the rock, as though animated of its own accord.
A few people have seen him since that terrible week, but not many. He's cleaned up since then. No more chains. Back in his fine, planet-appropriate clothes--long, black coat, stylish hat, boots with sharp spurs. He has new, red tattoos on one hand, and his pale hair is done up in a thick braid that falls over his shoulder.
He leans forward, pulling his right leg up and draping his arm over his knee. He looks miserable. And a little drunk. ]
No one regrets what transpired more than me. I was not in control of myself, though it's no excuse. An apology feels weak and inadequate, but you have it from me, a hundred times, a thousand times.
[ He takes a drink from the bottle. A long drink. ]
I will do what I can to atone, within reason. If you wish me never to look your way again, I will not. If you wish to strike me, you may, though I will defend myself against a lethal blow. If you have something else in mind, tell me.
I will work with Sieglinde, for whatever fruit that bears. It may bear nothing, but I'll endure the attempt.
[ The guilt in his expression, pulling at his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows, hardens. He clenches his jaw. ]
Yet, understand this. I will never be a slave again. Not to any of you, nor to anyone else. I will not beg, and I will not scrape. I will not kneel. And you do not have the right to decide my destiny. None of you do. That's my decision, and mine alone.
[ He sets the bottle down. Shuts his eyes. Last time this happened, he had given a lengthy explanation. He had laid bare the facts of himself: what he was, how he came to be that way. But not this time. He will not open a vein for nothing; he will not suffer dismissal on top of scorn. Not over his past.
Besides, as guilty as he is, as deeply and truly remorseful, he's still angry, too. ]
I have nothing more to say.
A few people have seen him since that terrible week, but not many. He's cleaned up since then. No more chains. Back in his fine, planet-appropriate clothes--long, black coat, stylish hat, boots with sharp spurs. He has new, red tattoos on one hand, and his pale hair is done up in a thick braid that falls over his shoulder.
He leans forward, pulling his right leg up and draping his arm over his knee. He looks miserable. And a little drunk. ]
No one regrets what transpired more than me. I was not in control of myself, though it's no excuse. An apology feels weak and inadequate, but you have it from me, a hundred times, a thousand times.
[ He takes a drink from the bottle. A long drink. ]
I will do what I can to atone, within reason. If you wish me never to look your way again, I will not. If you wish to strike me, you may, though I will defend myself against a lethal blow. If you have something else in mind, tell me.
I will work with Sieglinde, for whatever fruit that bears. It may bear nothing, but I'll endure the attempt.
[ The guilt in his expression, pulling at his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows, hardens. He clenches his jaw. ]
Yet, understand this. I will never be a slave again. Not to any of you, nor to anyone else. I will not beg, and I will not scrape. I will not kneel. And you do not have the right to decide my destiny. None of you do. That's my decision, and mine alone.
[ He sets the bottle down. Shuts his eyes. Last time this happened, he had given a lengthy explanation. He had laid bare the facts of himself: what he was, how he came to be that way. But not this time. He will not open a vein for nothing; he will not suffer dismissal on top of scorn. Not over his past.
Besides, as guilty as he is, as deeply and truly remorseful, he's still angry, too. ]
I have nothing more to say.
audio; un: Evening Spider
no subject
But she's probably not here for a dissertation. ]
When I have my right mind, yes.
[ Which is: most of the time. Ninety-eight percent. ]
no subject
In theory.]
I see.
[She's not the type to forgive easily, but she's not the type who holds grudges either and this situation is especially...odd. She doesn't know the whole story and frankly she's not inclined to ask since it's really none of her business.
So instead for the sake of giving the benefit of the doubt -- just this once -- she chooses a route decidedly not her usual.]
Then I forgive you.
no subject
He's discomfited by all this ready forgiveness. The people who despise him, who want to kill him or separate him from the group--these reactions he can understand. But this? Is beyond him.
Carefully. ]
Thank you. But.
May I have your name?
[ He remembers how he pursued her relentlessly. How there was something about her--something unusual. ]
no subject
This is how teams fall apart.]
Widowmaker.
no subject
Your heart beats slowly. Too slowly.
no subject
At this observation she let's out a noise low in her throat.]
Does that fact bother you?
no subject
[ Not quite the right term. ]
It is merely unusual. You are human, are you not?
no subject
[It's not the first time she's been asked that and she doesn't think it'll be the last either.]
Just different.
no subject
I am sorry to press. I was simply--drawn to it, while I was lost to myself.
no subject
Until now, at least.]
It's fine. I can see how it would be a rather curious thing to others, I suppose.
[Also complicated as hell and she's not gonna dive into it.]
no subject
[ he gestures to himself ]
-- this.
But you exist in some kind of in-between state. You needn't tell me how, or why. But it is, as you say, curious.
no subject
Doesn't want to be rude after all.]
It's a long, complicated story. If I were to tell it, I'd rather not do it over the network.
no subject
[ He glances 'round him. He sits alone on his rock, darkness falling around him. He is not far from the town. ]
But should you ever wish to speak of it, I will be here.
[ Not necessarily on the rock.
Just.
Generally. ]