mordechai | 001. open post // quiet little burials.

Can't say that I blame you. Never fun, having more than one voice in your head after living most of your life just dealing with yourself.

[You should have seen how long it took for him to have Yahweh speaking straight into his brain.]

Tell me more about what happens in these nightmares.

[Adding that bit, just as he's moving over to sit right at the edge of the rooftop.]

Hrm...[he stalls by taking another drag.] It's always the same, I'm falling into a mass of shadow, the Wings in Bo mode -spinning in my hands like the blade of a helicopter.

I drop, the shadows try to flee but I engage - cutting them down, the Wings hot in my hands as I do. It's exhilarating and frightening all at the same time.

Then they come at me, skittering and oozing malevolence. I try and fight but they come for me in an impossible wave. It's not so much seeing that as feeling the overwhelming fear I wake up with - like I'm next...

[Straight shooting did feel better. Who knew?]

Edited 2013-12-31 01:43 (UTC)

[And even while he's listening to Kaz's account, he's matching the words to the battle records, the debriefings, the testimonies, the few recordings that remained. He had seen that fatal moment when Oswald Lowe had disappeared under a mass of black shadow. He had also seen what had happened next: a Godhand emerging from the writhing, screaming darkness, fighting his way out of it with a strength that betrayed his humanity.

Against the unforgiving light of the sun, all of his wounds had been only too visible, as had his age. It had also shown how clear his eyes had been: focused, fever bright, carrying him towards his destiny.

Almost twenty-four hours of straight fighting; Oswald had been alone for six of them. Nothing was certain about his final hours. What everyone was sure of was how it ended: a search and rescue team running through the ruins of the Vatican, reaching the Sistine Chapel. His final resting place.

Even at the end of it all, the handles of the Wings of Therion had been gripped tight by his cold, dead hands.]

You're always going to be 'next' now. You're a Hunter, or you will be if you can be assed to work your way up to graduating properly. [He nearly forgot about his cigarette. Time to remedy that.] From that point, it's just a matter of making sure that 'next' does not actually happen.

If I can be assed. Already on it, boss. You know I am.

[There's no bite in Kaz's words, but there is a smirk on his face because he knows Alistair will probably up his training regimen in the next few days.

The nightmare changed tonight, though it started out the same as always, but it's that change that's brought him up here tonight. And Kaz hesitates by way of lighting up again.

They had an agreement that Alistair would shoot straight with him, so long as Kaz did the same. Hesitation gave way to doubt, doubt to worry, and that could be taken advantage of.]

Tell me what you know about how Godhand Lowe was lost? Trust me. I'll tell you everything, I just... Need to know

Edited 2013-12-31 11:22 (UTC)

There isn't much to say.

[Taking a drag now, and looking... pensive. Not one of Alistair Mordechai's usual expressions.]

The Battle for the Vatican isn't actually one big battle. It was several engagements that happened one after the other. The most important one for you, though, would be the last one.

[Was he reluctant to tell the story? A little. Kaz's situation with the Wings was delicate. Too many unknowns.]

Edited 2014-01-01 03:18 (UTC)

[Now there's a look he's never seen on Alistair's face. For a brief moment Kaz wonders if the nightmare was just a nightmare and not the final hours of Oswald Lowe.

Much to his surprise, he reaches for his pack again, fishing another stick out and lighting it up.]

The dreamscape changed tonight...This time, I was being pulled along with him as he raced through the burning streets, fighting through the surge. He was heading to the Sistine Chapel.

[Kaz pauses then, taking a long drag off his stick, looking out at Falner under the cover of night.]

Racing to his demise.

Makes sense. Grendal had corrupted the entirety of the Vatican. The rot and decay had gotten into the very marrow of the place, and the focal point was within the seat of Catholicism itself.

[Watching the horizon now.]

Lowe must've wanted to kill the corruption right at its roots. The coroner's report said that he wasn't killed; he succumbed to his wounds and to fatigue. Must've dragged himself to the Sistine Chapel in his last moments, just to watch for the flares to go up.

[They had found Oswald's body there, slumped against some rubble, right by the only archway that gave one the perfect view of the sky.]

Guess he wanted to make sure that everything was good before he passed.

The Corruption... Huh...

[Kaz pauses then, consdering what he saw in the dreams, how unreliable they probably were. How maybe his mind was just making most of it all up from the reports.]

Grendal really fucked things up.

[He doesn't add the I hope I don't part, because it belies the doubt in his mind. The doubt that he could even try to be a proper Vizard, a proper Hunter. Alistair would call him an idiot for it, that much, he was certain of.]

Could we visit his grave sometime?

[Those first two statements earned Kaz a lifted eyebrow. 'Really fucked things up' was a massive understatement. That last, though...]

Not anytime soon.

[Kaz was not ready, in any sense of the word.]

[Kaz nods, knowing to trust his Maistir when he says that. In fact, he should probably be giving Alistair his full attention when it comes to these kinds of things.]

I think... I should turn in. Class with Uncle Gideon and the Blade tomorrow. See you for training tomorrow?

See you.

[And he's turning away now, towards the horizon. Looks like he's content to stay out here for a little longer.]

G'night, Alistair.

[Kaz gets up off the roof and heads inside. He has, however, left the pack of smokes next to the older man. He stretches, thankful for the conversation, maybe it'll help settle him tonight at the very least.]

001. open post // quiet little burials.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject