θ 9

[bit_impossible]

[in some parts of the world and the universe, it is July 25th. for a Time Lord, it is always July 25th somewhere at some time (as well as many other days if we really wish to get complicated and pedantic), and today is no exception. now, the Doctor isn't always on-time; in fact, he often misses things nine times out of ten, so when he actually

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[promisedsomeone]

[Nearby, Asch is staring down some kind of neon mixed drink with suspicion.]

What is this supposed to be?

[Oh, hey, it's a not!prince. This is kind of awkward and he's not sure why. He is also a touch forceful with his tone, but it can't be helped. Asch is eternally grumpy after all.] ... Hey.

[promisedsomeone]

... He isn't much of a fighter, but he gets into trouble a lot. [He doesn't admit to helping Oliver out of a bind, but it's kind of implied.] It's obnoxious.

[promisedsomeone]

[Okay, so he fell into that one. It doesn't make him any less annoyed.]

L-like hell I do!

[promisedsomeone]

[Yeah, about that blush? It's back. Somehow Morgana knows every single one of his buttons and pushes them with the expertise of a childhood friend. They have been through a lot together, but Asch has yet to truly open up to... well, anyone. This is only temporary, he tells himself. At some point, the Plane will cease to matter. People will leave, and all he'll have left are memories. He doesn't want any more memories.

He turns away from her and sets his empty glass down.]

I can't.

[promisedsomeone]

[He runs his finger along the top of his glass.

Guy's right. Running away from those memories doesn't lessen how they feel, or that they happened. But he was a different person then. He is a different person now.

So... it shouldn't matter. It's not like he's promising her anything. That's the one sacred memory he refuses to tarnish.]

... Never mind.

[Thankful that he left his tabard-armor elsewhere, he wordlessly offers her his hand. He really is quite a knight, even if he typically wears sour armor.]

[promisedsomeone]

[He meets her eyes and nods. His expression is difficult to read, ever guarded and full of secrets; his gaze falls to the side after a long moment. He gently leads her from the table and onto the makeshift dance floor.

It's been years since he's done this. He is much taller now, much older in terms of body and soul. Yet he still remembers every step. He remembers exactly where, on her side, to place his hand. He remembers the way to ease his partner into a spin and bring her back into his arms. He recalls the tightness he felt in his chest whenever he looked into the princess' eyes, her soft peal of laughter when he tripped over his own feet.

The knight is quiet and stiff all at once, like a tiny twirling figure inside of a music box caught in the same memory over and over again.]

[promisedsomeone]

[She dances with him wonderfully, wordlessly, accepting his unrehearsed steps without question. It's more than he could ask for. He doesn't think he can handle conversation right now. He can't even keep his mind in one place. His feet are in this world, but his heart is in another. Despite his pain, he continues to exist.

His gloved hands are soft and warm as he leads the dark queen in slow circles. Little by little, the cracks in his armor become apparent. He becomes less robotic and more tender, the distance between them begins to shrink, and his heart and breathing begin again.

Suddenly, he... doesn't want her to see his face. It's as if all the pain he's ever felt is written in his eyes, the downward curve of his lip.]

[promisedsomeone]

[A quieter song comes on, making the one-two-three pointless. Slowly but surely, he begins to fall apart, as is to be expected. The minutes pass by like hours. He doesn't even know his name anymore. The place he sees before him is a ghost of his past, and yet he's enthralled by it. He closes his eyes as if that will make it less obvious, their steps slowing to simply rocking back and forth, small turns.

He hasn't been this close to someone in seven years. It's beautiful and painful, yet he holds her even closer, as if he derives some twisted pleasure from rubbing salt into his own wounds. The hand on her side trembles faintly, then settles on the back of her head to cradle her against his shoulder.

Now she definitely can't see his face.]

[promisedsomeone]

[Such dreams are still alive somewhere in his heart, even if the rest of him has died in order to protect it from the prying eyes, the deadened fingers of those who wished to tear him apart. He should have chopped off his hair and said goodbye to his past forever... but Asch is nothing if not a Fabre. For all these long years, he's kept his promise alive, unable to deny himself the thing he wants most.

A place. A purpose.

He felt that with Natalia, and he feels the echo of it now. It's like a knife twisting into his stomach. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be doing this, and he knows, and he knows he can't help himself, try as he might. He could be dooming himself, dooming all of them. What if he takes the entire multiverse down with Akzeriuth? There will be no dances for anyone... not even for Natalia.

What the hell has he doneThe song fades into a dull silence. Disgusted with himself, Asch releases Morgana and shies back a step. He shakes his head a couple of times as if to clear it