The trip to Albedo's room seemed to last an eternity, a prolonged torture in light of injury and weight. Still, he slid through the threshold with practiced movements, taking care not to disturb the occupant within--who, as expected, was fast asleep. Nigredo watched him for a minute with a melancholic smile, before quietly seating himself at the vacant desk.
A soft hiss escaped his lips as the child settled, which was quickly stifled and pushed aside. Instead, he brought up the journal, flipped to the beginning page, and stealthily positioned his flashlight to illuminate only the writing. Satisfaction came after minor adjustments, and soon, Nigredo began to read.
Detail the methods, commit them to memory or murder.
(Cabbages and kings. Why the sea is boiling hot.)
True was defined by how you recalled it, after all.
(And whether pigs have wings.)
And you could love someone so much that you had no choice but to kill them.
This, Albedo knew. This, he knew quite well.
(Shall we be trotting home again?)
The answer came there none.
-
Dreams are your mind's way of filing memories, bits and pieces shifting as you sleep.
The strange voice rings with promise and potential.
“Poor, pathetic child,” the voice calls, lovingly, mockingly. “The day you kill him will be the best and worst moment of your life, I suspect.”
Except that’s not it--Words come as a drone from the source. A kind of survival mechanism in itself, a denial of what cannot be. For the truth remains. As perfect as it always was. As perfect as the day the thought occurred, before it was ever set in motion. A faltering dance of sensation and sound, blood
( ... )
The boy called Albedo had went to sleep soon after he entered the room given to him and another. Albedo, was, by habit, a chronic insomniac, and yet he fell into sleep as if he had no choice left to him. Escaped into the unconscious domain as if it gave all of life meaning. There was nothing wrong with him--he was, by definition, perfectly healthy, moreso even, from eating the past few days. But still, this happened, and this was what transpired.
Albedo dreamed. Nonsense and secrets alike, but dreams are the mind's way of filing memories, bits and pieces shifting as you sleep, and so he slept. And so he dreamed. Dark giving way to light, and then, life flooded where there had been naught, and for the first time in a very long time, longer than the child could recall, he existed in a state that he could define as alive. Not whole, not nearly, but something more than the shambling shadow that he’d defined himself as weeks prior. A flash of pain, a burn like love, and then a heartbeat. Clear and simple and solitary. Only one
( ... )
He hadn't the chance to go very far--that is, not in the way of time. The first page barely filed into the inky black when Nigredo heard light shuffling from the bed, and the blood froze in his veins. He was still, a statue in child form, with his fingertips pressed against the bindings of Renamon's journal and breaths stifled deep into his chest. Reasons for such reactions existed as scarce; he had to remind himself Albedo wouldn't find fault with a necessary intrusion if it came from him. He was, as remembered, wanted, even as his heart pounded within the grips of a possible death. In the passing seconds, the air had changed, too fleeting for comprehension. But his instincts always knew where all else faltered: he knew an approaching end like he knew what lay within his own mind
( ... )
Ah, but the darling dear was effortlessly wrong, now wasn't he? Albedo giggled, laughter ricocheting, but seemed for the moment content to have Nigredo's hand on him, content to nuzzle into Nigredo's lap. "Loved me?" he asked, and sounded sincere in his wonderings, despite the edge of melodiousness starting to seep through. "He told me?" The surprise was feigned and obvious, as obvious as the fact that he did not hold to what Nigredo had said
( ... )
It wasn't that he had taken to surface appearances. He had managed to learn something in the process of falling, of another's psyche scraping across an edge. One could say he merely lost the will for active resistance. Nigredo heard the laughter, the feigned echoes, and like clockwork, he steeled for a break. Passed into quiet resignation. Allowance would be given; he had nothing of wants in light of himself. His brother could act as he wished
( ... )
What Nigredo spoke was enough to unfocus Albedo from his task set, to instead place importance on a vow Albedo had just internally given to himself. Both of them would live. And it mattered naught which future Rubedo had come from, which version of death he had seen. Lines were crossed, this was assured, and from that version, he had told of Nigredo dying with Yuriev, which that man, as stated, had been gunned down in a heap of protectiveness and pain. Albedo believed both, and as the saying went-- It was when the impossible was gone, that whatever was left, despite how improbable, remained what was true. Both spoke truth and yet could not--therefore, it was only correct to take that redhead's words as fact. Different versions, different realities, and here, again, Albedo would state that
( ... )
You are yourself. His fate, therefore, was to live. It was so opposite, so antithetical to the end he had prescribed to, particularly in light of the revelations put forth. A father's command, his role, the tearing of connections, that eternal loneliness. Perhaps a single element might have merely played at tendencies, but the combination of all proved to be his downfall. Thus, Nigredo assumed death came at the conclusion of each path treaded upon. For Nigredo had thought, had forseen solitude as his only companion, and therefore, he had buried his desires. Destroyed his wants in favor of resignation and an infant's dream. He hadn't thought to believe he would live. To believe that he should live for himself
( ... )
For an instant--Nigredo wept. His brother cried and stammered out phrases, and Albedo only bore witness. This was a confession, and comforting, interrupting--would ruin that sanctity. This was a confession, Albedo thought, and all that was Nigredo became clear. His silent longing, his standoffish behavior. The opposite of Albedo. Albedo would cling in want, force himself onto another in fear of loss. And Nigredo
( ... )
He would promise commitment and more. He would give the entirety of himself to a brother--whether he proved to be the death of Nigredo or otherwise, Nigredo would never care. He wouldn't mind as long as the other would promise only acceptance. Welcome his existence and want for him to continue. Again, why would he ever think to die if someone wished to keep him for him
( ... )
It was not as if he was given to indecision. Even as Nigredo sent things that had the possibly to damn him, the thought streaked only once through his mind and vanished-- That what Nigredo was saying could ruin him, placed in hands that would use it as they willed. He would have. Completely and utterly, given the chance prior. But now he would almost ignore it. Almost forget those words, I will give you anything you want. It was almost like pleading. Pressing. Nigredo was breaking and Albedo wondered at the source
( ... )
Comfort was the strangest, and it broke the already fractured existence. It was necessary, a prerequisite to a transition, for the being that Nigredo was could not accept affections. As he was, he could not live on promises nor vows of devotion. They would slip away given time, fall beneath stagnation, and waste away into ink and shadow
( ... )
Nigredo's arms wrapped around Albedo, possibly more tightly than they ever had. With this, came a clearer form of need, again one that he knew, and while his brother clung beneath him, Albedo continued petting him, surprisingly calm for the circumstances at hand. Perhaps it was only the fact of sleep, solid and unavoidable after a point. Or a dream, or simply the fact of Nigredo in his arms. Here, laid care, nicely and pressingly clear, and despite the apparent misery, Albedo was near content.
Because Nigredo was glad. The link could not lie. "I'm glad, too," he said quietly. {I'm glad you're here.}
This came as a repeat, said before, but he didn't have the mind to place it. Instead focus shifted to a different point. He touched his forehead against Nigredo's to gain his attention. "Let's get off the floor, okay?" It couldn't be comfortable to be crushed under your brother. Despite the fact it was Albedo's fault. He held to the action. It was only but necessary at that point.
There was an immediate scramble for coherency the instant Albedo called to the environment. The fragments of Nigredo's mind melded together, the act hasty enough to leave the younger in a state of disarray. He finally realized that he was still on the floor, that his chest hurt beyond a magnitude considered normal. Care lingered between the two variants, but he could not piece together the sequence leading up to the development.
And he could not understand how he had managed to cry again.
The child stared with wide eyes at Albedo, to the ceiling over his brother's shoulder, and then back. "Um." He forced a sharp inhale before relinquishing his hold in increments. Yes, they would do well to get themselves off the floor. "Okay. Yeah."
...Nigredo was a mess, and half of Albedo found it adorably endearing. Don't get him wrong, there was concern, but his brother like this was wholly himself in the way of each reaction was perfectly seen, each move and motive came from a person with the weight of wants behind them. He knew that all, of course, but still. And it was not as if he would not be taking care of Nigredo. There was no need to be overly concerned.
Albedo detached himself carefully and backed off his brother, before standing and leaning down to pull Nigredo up with him. He brushed his brother off slightly, and went to pull him over to the bed. Partway there, he paused, looking at the desk. "Do you need that?" A murmured yes was given, and Albedo plucked it up and handed it over without delay. That done, he continued leading Nigredo the few feet to the bed. "Lay down, okay?" A child's please was infused in the tone. "Why'd you come to my room, anyway?"
He didn't know how he managed the strength to stand, nor how his skin had not sagged beneath the weight of gravity and his form had not crumbled in Albedo's arms. Yet, somehow, Nigredo moved lightly. Somehow, he didn't drag his feet when his sibling directed him to the bed and gave his assent to things without thinking twice. He curled into the sheets with Renamon's journal in tow, eyes considering his surroundings as if they had never existed prior.
When Albedo asked for the reason for his presence, Nigredo almost answered wrongly, to remember at the last minute. Why would he be here? He had come here for a specific reason than anything natural, right? Right. "I, uh," he started, staring at Albedo with some reservation, "I didn't want to stay in my room with, uh, him in there so... I'm sorry if I disturbed you." He swallowed audibly.
The trip to Albedo's room seemed to last an eternity, a prolonged torture in light of injury and weight. Still, he slid through the threshold with practiced movements, taking care not to disturb the occupant within--who, as expected, was fast asleep. Nigredo watched him for a minute with a melancholic smile, before quietly seating himself at the vacant desk.
A soft hiss escaped his lips as the child settled, which was quickly stifled and pushed aside. Instead, he brought up the journal, flipped to the beginning page, and stealthily positioned his flashlight to illuminate only the writing. Satisfaction came after minor adjustments, and soon, Nigredo began to read.
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(Shoes and ships and sealing wax.)
Detail the methods, commit them to memory or murder.
(Cabbages and kings. Why the sea is boiling hot.)
True was defined by how you recalled it, after all.
(And whether pigs have wings.)
And you could love someone so much that you had no choice but to kill them.
This, Albedo knew. This, he knew quite well.
(Shall we be trotting home again?)
The answer came there none.
-
Dreams are your mind's way of filing memories, bits and pieces shifting as you sleep.
The strange voice rings with promise and potential.
“Poor, pathetic child,” the voice calls, lovingly, mockingly. “The day you kill him will be the best and worst moment of your life, I suspect.”
Except that’s not it--Words come as a drone from the source. A kind of survival mechanism in itself, a denial of what cannot be. For the truth remains. As perfect as it always was. As perfect as the day the thought occurred, before it was ever set in motion. A faltering dance of sensation and sound, blood ( ... )
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Albedo dreamed. Nonsense and secrets alike, but dreams are the mind's way of filing memories, bits and pieces shifting as you sleep, and so he slept. And so he dreamed. Dark giving way to light, and then, life flooded where there had been naught, and for the first time in a very long time, longer than the child could recall, he existed in a state that he could define as alive. Not whole, not nearly, but something more than the shambling shadow that he’d defined himself as weeks prior. A flash of pain, a burn like love, and then a heartbeat. Clear and simple and solitary. Only one ( ... )
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Because Nigredo was glad. The link could not lie. "I'm glad, too," he said quietly. {I'm glad you're here.}
This came as a repeat, said before, but he didn't have the mind to place it. Instead focus shifted to a different point. He touched his forehead against Nigredo's to gain his attention. "Let's get off the floor, okay?" It couldn't be comfortable to be crushed under your brother. Despite the fact it was Albedo's fault. He held to the action. It was only but necessary at that point.
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And he could not understand how he had managed to cry again.
The child stared with wide eyes at Albedo, to the ceiling over his brother's shoulder, and then back. "Um." He forced a sharp inhale before relinquishing his hold in increments. Yes, they would do well to get themselves off the floor. "Okay. Yeah."
Reply
Albedo detached himself carefully and backed off his brother, before standing and leaning down to pull Nigredo up with him. He brushed his brother off slightly, and went to pull him over to the bed. Partway there, he paused, looking at the desk. "Do you need that?" A murmured yes was given, and Albedo plucked it up and handed it over without delay. That done, he continued leading Nigredo the few feet to the bed. "Lay down, okay?" A child's please was infused in the tone. "Why'd you come to my room, anyway?"
Reply
When Albedo asked for the reason for his presence, Nigredo almost answered wrongly, to remember at the last minute. Why would he be here? He had come here for a specific reason than anything natural, right? Right. "I, uh," he started, staring at Albedo with some reservation, "I didn't want to stay in my room with, uh, him in there so... I'm sorry if I disturbed you." He swallowed audibly.
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