ᴋᴏʟᴛɪʀᴀ ·sᴜɴsʜɪɴᴇ· ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜᴡᴇᴀᴠᴇʀ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
respired) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
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.
no subject
[ Before she knew how to track on the magitek, before understanding what his warning really entailed. ]
no subject
[ He rubs the side of his face. ]
I hadn't meant for that to happen. I was--I was returned to my world before I could make a proper statement.
no subject
Was it a rift being unstable?
[ She's heard that's possible, but much like how they end up here, it's unpredictable. In that case, there's nothing he could have done, and it's... it's a failure on the team's part to communicate. Which is what she really feels in the end. They've got to be there for each other. (Or so she feels.) ]
no subject
[ He pauses. He's about to say, in a torture chamber, but maybe he shouldn't discuss that with a child. He clears his throat, and mutters. ]
... I was back in Azeroth. Six years passed.
no subject
Six years? Before you were here again?
[ She does consider asking if that explains the chains... but that feels needlessly intimate. Does she really want to know the details? Not so much. Not unless she needs to know. ]