[Solomon's making himself scarce immediately after the trial, but within about twenty minutes can be seen leaving the Greenhouse to casually start his way up the stairs in the direction of the Rose Gardens.
Surely no one will see him. Surely this will be a normal walk.]
[How about you casually eat some shit instead, Solomon?
Right's right: Nishi is in the right place at the right time for the first time in his life and he's not wasting an opportunity like this. He lunges from the shadows and lands on top of Solomon, sending them skidding back several feet on the grass...
......
...And, just like that, victory is his. That's it. That's all. He just wanted to give him a grass stain he won't soon forget.]
Hahaha! Scrub all you like, Solomonβ some stains never wash away! Some stay until the grave!
It's not something Solomon's expecting, so when he has the full weight of someone else on top of him he yelps and hits the ground like a brick.]
Wh-- Nishi? [ow, fuck... He tries to push himself up, but if Nishi's still on top of him that's not happening and he just kind of crumples back down, pinned.]
Nishi, please, now isn't the time for this. Get off of me.
[After all, he can't leave this man until he's paid him a favor. Please wait warmly, Solomon. Nishi straddles him, pinning the man in place with muscular thighs.]
Who knew you were such a charmer? I'm not the type who likes to share, so forgive me if I go a little hard on you.
[Hrgh... Oh, what a horrible position he's in. He squirms underneath Nishi, trying to get a little leverage with his legs.]
If you'd be clear about what exactly you're upset about, then maybe we could talk about this -- ghh -- [God why is he such a wimp without his magic let him gooooooooooOOOOO]
[Oho? Did Solomon just whine? Good lord... Nishi chuckles, content to drag out the punchline by taking his time slowly working off his gloves finger by finger.]
You really are a pitiful excuse for a man, Solomon.
[Just what do they see in you?]
But don't worry. I've turned over a new leafβ no grudges, no festering wounds. I prefer to settle things right here, in the moment. That way, we can both move on.
[The first punch snaps out with no prelude, a brutal sucker punch to the left templeβ so fast it hardly seems possible he telegraphed it at all.]
[Even with all the knowledge he has, he's still no physical fighter, and completely at a loss without his magic.
The hit connects with a crack and a choked back yell, Solomon's head whipping to the side at the follow-through. The pain is sharp, and the ringing in his ears immediate and harsh. His hands jerk from where they sit pinned at his side, a futile effort to get cover over his face.]
Wh-what -- Nishi, speak clearly, what on earth are you talking about????
[The anger that seizes him is glacial, burning not hot but hollow, leaving no room for reason. His fist lashes out again, striking across Solomon's jaw, splitting his lip with a sharp crack.]
I shouldn't have to tell you. You should already understand!
[Ah, he thinks, as heat blossoms against his mouth and blood tastes against his tongue. Will this just be how it is for me, now? Oblivious to what angers others? Was Barbatos right, or--
No, no, he has to be missing something here. There is no rationality in this, and Solomon struggles to pull together what had riled up Nishi so horribly in the trial, trying to force assumptions into as close of a picture as possible.]
And you called me the boy?
You won't get anything from me like that. Did I embarrass you?
[You've done much more than that, though if you asked Nishi to list Solomon's supposed wrongdoings, you'd find it's all rather... personal. Messy. None of it is really Solomon's fault, but when it comes to pride, logic hardly factors in.
Maybe he just hates that smug face of his, slinging another punch into it, bloodying his nose in the process. Two more. That's all Nishi will allow himself this time, and then he'll consider Solomon's debt paid. Water under the bridge. Nothing personal.]
I don't want anything from you. I need you to take your lumps like a good boy and never cross me again. Understood?
[The pain rattles into his teeth and up into his eyesockets, and he has to take a second to cough at the vibrant taste of blood now draining into his throat and down his mouth, spitting red out onto the ground.]
Cross you on what, exactly? [His voice is growing exasperated.]
No, I don't understand, Nishi. And you aren't listening, either.
You're setting me up to walk right into your fist again if you're not going to tell me what has you so angry.
Solomon... A name that denotes wisdom. The mark of an intelligent man.
[But smart men don't cross CΜ΄ΝΝΜΜΝΜhΜ΅ΝΝΜΉaΜΆΝΝΜΝΜΜrΜΈΜΝΝΝ. They would not dare.
Another fist banks into Solomon's chin, clenching his teeth for him. Nishi's knuckles smart, but he pays them no mind. All that matters is that Solomon's pain is worse.]
If you really haven't figured it out, then don't worry about it. Forget it. I only owe you one more, and then we can forget this ever happened. Tell me, Solomon: how do you like your comeuppance?
[Nishi is a reasonable man. If Solomon would prefer a hit below the belt, Nishi will gladly oblige.]
[His mind works in rapidfire even as the crack of his teeth against each other shoot sparks up into his skull. With such insistence in any other context, Solomon would have to wonder if this man knew of his history, of those stupid little nicknames. But now is past the time of idle chatter.]
...You're... you're making a mistake, Danya. You really are.
[He wheezes for breath, trying not to take in the blood that slowly fills the back of his mouth.]
If you're that determined to keep me in the dark... then I'd say you can take... t-take that comeuppance and choke on it.
[A mistake. He knows it even before Solomon says it, familiar with the way it feels to be committing wrongs against someone who simply does not deserve it. Wrong man, wrong accusation. But Nishi's already knee-deep in it, and when he's sunk this low, he knows there's no clawing his way back out.
He hates himself for it. Hates how familiar it feels, to be burning down the wrong bridge all over again, but hate isn't enough to stop him.]
Take this personally. Hate me. Condemn me.
[The words are low, harsh, and then Nishi's hand is at Solomon's throat. He squeezes, not enough to kill, but more than enough to make Solomon's protests dissolve into choked wheezes. It's mercifully short, just long enough for Solomon's eyes to flutter and grow dull, for consciousness to leave him.
Nishi lets go, leaving Solomon crumpled on the grass like a discarded doll. For a long moment, Nishi only stands there, chest heaving, his own hands trembling as though they belonged to someone else. The mask doesn't hide the sweat, the shallow rasp of his breath, or the fact that he looks visibly unwell.]
One more mistake, among many. I wonder how many I've made now.
[He staggers away, legs unsteady, leaving Solomon sprawled in the grass behind him. There's no triumph here, only the taste of bile, and the certainty that what he's done will follow him, like everything else, for the rest of his life.]
It echoes like a cry for help given far too late. The struggle stays brief. A jerking of his arms, a redness to his face, brassy eyes losing focus and slipping into dark as his body goes limp.
When he finally comes to, Nishi is long gone. His face and neck and throat scream from injury and the flow of blood, his limbs ache from the pin of his body.
But he still pushes himself up, coughing out vibrant red like so many of the flowers of the gardens, and drags himself away.
Perhaps this changed things. More than he'd expected. But he still has a job to do.]
[Char is β at least by outward appearances β fine. Immaculate, even. A turtleneck beneath a blazer, pressed black slacks, shoes polished to a shineβ the picture of a composed professor. He carries himself the same way he always does, though lately he hasn't felt quite so generous with his lessons.
Perhaps yesterday's gossip still lingers in the back of his mind, needling him. Perhaps he's already made peace with it. Either guess would be valid with how little he outwardly gives away. He slips into the infirmary cleanly, intent on settling in for the evening, only to find he isn't alone.
He halts, staring Solomon down in silence for a few long seconds. Then, unhurried, he shuts the door behind him and saunters further inside, claiming the space as his own.]
Good evening, Solomon. What brings you here at this hour?
[Not overly warm, not cold. Simply fine. And perhaps, by the moment, even better.]
[It's incredibly warm in here. Solomon is not sure why he didn't think a little harder about this fact.
But he's seated on the floor about halfway the length back from the door, his normal pinstripe suit jacket tossed to the side and the sleeves of his own black turtleneck rolled up, exposing the seals underneath as he distractedly stares down at his phone screen. Given the dazed and slow reaction time he has to the announcement of his name across the room, he is not having a good time with the temperature.
Still, he's straightening up with a very cautious smile at seeing he has company. Nishi... goodness, it had been almost a week since Solomon had even seen the man for more than a few moments at a time, like some sort of shadow flitting around the school.]
Ah, Danya. You're looking calmer than the last time we spoke.
[Another glance at his phone. Ah, there it goes. The cell snaps shut, even as pushes up to his feet and reaches into his pocket for a small jar of something that glints gold under the infirmary lights.]
[Char nearly catches himself smiling. Looking calmer... right. He'd given Solomon too much credit for his wisdom. Correcting him would serve no purpose, so he doesn't. He simply steps away from the door as instructed.
The heat of the room doesn't trouble himβ he's endured far worse. It won't make for a comfortable night's sleep, but he didnβt come here seeking comfort anyway.]
Is this far enough from the door?
[He's given it a wide berth, strolling unhurriedly to the other side of the room. He doesn't trust Solomonβ never has, so it's best to leave nothing to chance.]
Yes. If this is anything like the previous week, the doors should now be locked.
[He strolls right up the doors to test that fact - yep, not budging, surprise!!!!!!! With a twist of the cap, Solomon opens the container with him - a glitter jar, more than likely from the art room, that's laid out carefully at the opening swing of the doors and going out to the doorframe as much as he's able.]
Leave that undisturbed, would you? [Said as he attempts to brush stray glitter off his pantlegs and fingertips.] I figured it would be worth a shot.
[Glitter? Really? Well, that's one way to identify a culprit, should they be foolish enough to step into the infirmary. Char can't fault Solomon's logic, but he can certainly laugh at him.
He doesn't sit just yet, leaned against the wall opposite the door, working his blazer loose one button at a time. The garment is folded with meticulous care and set aside. His sleeves roll to the elbow, though the helmet and mask remain firmly in place.]
Better than flailing in the dark against an unseen assailant. That said, after last week... neither of us has the wherewithal to mount much of a defense if trouble comes knocking.
[Now he laughs in earnest, the vulgar peals of his mean streak echoing off the infirmary walls.]
I never said I'd offer you my protection. It's every man for themselves here, isn't it? Besides, I can't imagine you crawling on hands and knees to me begging for protection after what happened last time.
[Solomon is stubborn. Strong. If he hadn't been nerfed by this place, he'd be a fearsome opponent. But here, they are only men. No powers, no magic, no instinctive understanding on sight. A shame, really.
Char produces a small sachet from his pocket, setting it beside him with deliberate care before crossing one leg over the other. His arms fold neatly in his lap, the picture of self-possession.]
Nowβ don't mind me. I intend to make use of this space however I please. Should I become an impediment to you, well... you'll simply have to learn to cope.
He halts in whatever he's looking for, a brow raised in Nishi's direction as he lowers himself cross-legged. Casual, unbothered, across from Nishi's sudden burst of confidence.]
...If you wish to do something reckless, then I'm sure I'm in no position to tell you no.
[He just sighs as he watches it happen. This is going to be a long hour...]
More that I'm aware what happened the last time we were locked away like this, and wouldn't want to be testing something that could alter my perceptions.
His head leans up against the wall of closed beds, staring towards the ceiling.]
Because I have other things to keep in mind here than just chasing down a single man for a wrong done. I've put up with stranger and far more dangerous things.
[Honest, genuine question! It takes abnormal to know abnormal, and what Solomon is so eager to write off is not at all normal. But also... how dare he not have any lingering sentiments over what Char did to him? Don't forget about him?!?]
[The effects hit swiftly, just as Yugamu warned. Maybe that's why, when Char moves to peel himself off the wall in search of an halfway infirmary bed, his helmet and visor clatter to the floor. He doesn't react, doesn't move to retrieve them, simply passes by to drop onto a bed in decidedly inelegant fashion. Who cares? It's only Solomon. He can afford to be a little uncouth.]
That's a pretty blatant accusation, Solomon. Do you take me for a killer?
I take you for a very unpredictable kind of man. A troubled man. Searching for something hard to grasp in a place that promises that you can have anything you want, if you prove yourself deserving.
[His eyes settle on the visor, rather than on Nishi.]
Ah... But he's truly become so transparent? Noβ there have always been those who see past his mask, but the admittance of such makes those people liabilities. Solomon is a danger purely by virtue of what he knows, and thatβ
...Well, in his current state, that makes him laugh.]
I wasn't kind when I put my hands around her throat.
[Sika called him vulnerable and emotional. Amuro accused him of the same. The people who know him must loathe him.]
I was deliberately unkind... just as I was to you.
The marks you left told a story, yes. [There's a confident coolness to the statement. He knows exactly what Nishi is talking about.]
Did you at least bother to tell them of what horrible sin they had committed to you? Or did you become judge, jury, and executioner in the scarlet of your rage?
[...Ha. Hahaha. He can't bite back those peals of nervous laughter before they break out of him, leaving him ill down to the pit of his stomach. And the way Solomon is poised to judge him, condemn himβ he feels sick.
Leave it to Char to double down and make a bad situation worse. No one hates Char as much as Char does.]
Of course I did. I even begged her to tell me why she'd flagrantly betray my trust and feed the rumor mill directly. She refused to tell me, of course.
[It's hard to parse what to consider genuine, not knowing when Nishi's mind will start to swerve under whatever it is he'd put into his system minutes ago. So he lets his initial kneejerk question settle, keeping his voice steady.]
I take it you heard something that you believe only Sika would have known, then? [Just gonna put that name out there. They both know.] Did they tell you that they'd done it deliberately?
[Char rolls onto his side, the room tilting around his axisβ dizzying, maddening, both too fast and too slow at once.]
So what if she did?
[Of course they did. What sickens Char isn't the fact itself, but not knowing why. Knowing that Sika felt she had no other choice, yet refusing to say what drove her there.]
The result is the same either way. I asked her a question. She refused to explain. So I punished her.
But I have to wonder if you've ever actually wanted to have a dialogue in the first place, Danya. Sika's not the easiest to get information out of, sure, but... seriously? You went for that sort of threat?
[Because that sounds pretty close to exactly what happened between the two of them.]
[Sighing back underneath a grimace, he peels the foreign clothing off of him, getting up to instead drop it next to where Nishi's helmet and visor have been discarded.]
Me? I've fought with only one person besides yourself, and at least I had a productive end goal in mind when I did it.
[Char chuckles, deliberately overlooking Solomon's attempt to make this conversation even halfway productive. As far as Char sees it, what's done is done. He's committed a sin against someone important to him, and he can't walk it back. As always, the ones who get close to him inevitably find themselves burnt.]
Do you think a proper fight would settle the score between us? Solomon.
[People tell him he's hard to understand. Wonder why?
He's one ill-advised turn from dumping himself on the floor, but againβ so what? If Char had any reason to believe he'd meet his maker by way of the floor tiles, he'd have perished a long time ago. Liken him to a cockroach and you'll find the comparison apt.]
I don't know what you feel about me. If you hated me, I'd understand you.
[He can relate to the feeling of hating someone's guts. He can't relate to the unnerving enigma of a man before him, yet he feels like he should.]
What have you been through in your life that you can so easily compartmentalize your feelings? Does it not dull them, obscuring them away?
Questions asked sincerely can go a long way, Danya. The only thing you are guaranteed to earn with your hands to someone's neck are regrets, not answers.
[Sure, you might manage both if you were lucky. But had he learned anything from trying to kill Solomon? Had he, from trying to kill Sika? Would he, if he tried again?
When the question is redirected, it only earns a chuckle, humorless.]
Mm. I wouldn't quite know where to start. But... some things dull our hearts for the better of our goals. It's a consequence you have to live with.
[What's worse: letting that misunderstanding hang in the air unresolved, or the reality that he had tried, sincerely, to eke the truth out of Sika? Char wanted so badly to be understood in that moment, to have the reason for his upset acknowledged by Sika and ownership of it taken.
Instead, Sika remained mum. She taunted him, telling him to beg, and he fell hard on old habits and snapped at herβ just as she'd intended. What Char and Sika have in common, all the threads that link them, is subsumed by the weight of reality, knowing Sika must hurt others without explanation for the sake of bearing her burdens alone. He thought, perhaps foolishly, that they could carry each other's weight.
Rather than leave himself lying here as a painful, exposed nerve, Char comments only on Solomon's response to his question.]
Well said, but you speak like a man with lifetimes of experience doing exactly that. Why is that?
[His pause is heavy, as though something about the question scrapes down deep into a space that is empty and clouded.]
It depends why you ask, I guess.
No one ever truly believed in me. So I took it on myself and myself alone to find a path forward with my life. And to go against all that is correct in the world means to bring all the emotions that come with it.
[Char can't catch himself in time, mind addled by the drug, and so he openly sighs. More of a groan, really. Some manner of exasperated noise. Impetuous and audacious, he rolls on his stomach and flicks Solomon's forehead.
They are alike, and the violent return of his memories has made that all the more clear to Char. That's why he always grated on his nerves. That's why he couldn't help but be on guard around him. Right now, it's just... annoying, more than anything.]
Don't steal my material.
[There's a little Nishi left in him after all.]
...Mm, but was it that they didn't believe in you, or were they afraid of you?
[Ow???? Sir he's going to find another place to sit if you keep this up... His hand does lift to shake that away and slide himself over just a little bit more. Personal space, please.]
Both.
People tend to fear the things they don't understand, and it's not like I had a great start. Still, I... really have to wonder why I don't feel more bitter, ahahah.
[Time rolls by in slow motionβ insufferably so. He catches that careful, measured exhale, whatever Solomon truly felt by his statement vanishing in a plume of breath. Forgetting memories... forgetting yourself. Why must they share so much in common?]
I don't want what was taken running off with someone else, if that's what you mean. [Pointed, a cold sort of guard to the words that tinges with something that doesn't fit in with the rest. Fear?]
[Another beat. This exhale pushes harder, shakes more noticeably, to try to push him away from it. He doesn't like it. He's not supposed to feel that way.
...]
Would I know any better either way, anyway? Can't I just choose to make new memories to fill in the spaces, rather than worrying about the past?
[What used to matter so strongly now drifts in and out like a boat on the tides. Reminders in moments, only to fade away like seafoam across the cacophony of time.]
And besides... I believe you're ignoring my question.
[Heh, nicked a nerve. The laugh that shakes out of him is decidedly childish, like a schoolboy amused he managed to get the better of his classmate. That kind of harmless cruelty.]
Oh dear... Your excuses could use some work. You're hardly believable.
[He continues to grin at Solomon, staring at him upside down from the infirmary bed, head tipped off the edge to better stare him down. Rude, needling, probing eyes.]
You're old enough to know better... Old enough to know that old memories are precious. They make up the whole of what you are. Lose them, and you lose irreplaceable bits of yourself.
Tell you how to live? Hardly. If you don't care to listen, that's your choice. Forget I said anything.
[Hehe. Forget.]
If you truly believe what you've told me, then I have no reason to press the matter. But I suspect you're not half as composed as you'd like others to think.
And here you wonder why you do not understand anyone. [Really, he's acting like such a child...]
Nishi, I know you've lost things. I'm sorry I do not feel the same as you, when it comes to that. And I do not say the things I do to rip the importance from you.
If you want someone to relate to, then I'll listen. But you cannot assume I am exactly the same and push me away when I am not, or we will never see eye to eye.
[Touching... a lecture on empathy. Char tilts his head, letting the words settle, deliberate in his stillness. He could dismiss them, of course, but something in Solomon's tone compels him to pause, to consider.
His eyes drift upward, imagining the stars beyond the ceiling. The thought tugs at him, a yearning he's carried even before reclaiming his previous self.]
Don't flatter yourself that you understand me, Solomon. You know nothing, and yet you presume to lecture.
[Don't try to take a gentle tone with him, either. He's no lost child.]
I'm not looking for a sounding board. Do try to remember that.
Did I ever imply as much? I'm only repeating what you told me when we met, you know. If you won't talk, I'm never going to understand.
[He has to take a moment to wipe at the sweat against his neck - to roll his sleeves up a little further against those seals against his skin, to pull his hair away from his forehead and ears.]
It's not as though I want to sit here and have you prod at me, either. Certainly you should expect some retaliation.
[It's almost laughable now, how forgetting who and what we was along with his long list of sins made him a much better person. Eccentric, sure, and a bit out of touch with most... but better. Kinder. Unburdened by all that baggage, Nishi was largely good.
Yet what lies beneath could not be further from the truth. The whole of his former self was revealed to him in full on Wednesday, stirred by the latent madness this farcical play inspires. What Solomon sees now is nothing virtuousβ only fragments of a man who could never endure once compartmentalizing became impossible.
He sighs, rocking uprightβ and nearly tipping to the floor, managing to catch himself on a retracting curtain. Clinging to it, he edges to his feet. The weight of it all presses down with an oppressively heavy gravity.]
The truth is... I would have been better off staying as I was. "Nishi" was desperate to remember himself. And yet here I am, no wiser, no lighter. Perhaps I was better off without those old memories.
[Oh, well, there he goes. Solomon doesn't move, though he does keep his eyes on where Nishi is heading off to to see if he needs to stop him from doing anything stupid--
...]
So you've remembered who you are.
[That explains quite a lot in the personality difference, then. But when in the world...]
That wasn't what was taken from you, then? Or did someone fill in the blanks for you?
[It's almost painful to remember, dredging up scenes from his nightmares that ache like migraines circling his head. Harder still to explain his situation to Solomon when he can barely thinkβ the floor seems to tilt beneath him, dim light bouncing off the cold, metallic drawers of the morgue, a sickening swirl of stars.]
I don't know precisely... how to describe it to you. Butβ one day, I awoke out of place. I woke in an unfamiliar space... on a tatami mat, in a small square room with paper doors. My uniform hung there, as did my helmet and mask. I thought them clownish... until I put them on and realized they suited me just fine.
[Does that answer Solomon's question? He doesn't know. Thoughts spiral off his tongue and down an unseen drain.]
I lived that way for some time... believing it was my atonement for the life I'd led before. Now, arriving here, I'm not so sure.
[He hasn't gotten better since being here. If anything, he's backslid, becoming far worse.]
At the moment? No. [Solomon carefully lifts to his feet, just so he can keep Nishi in eyesight.]
I noticed changes in your behavior this evening, yes, but despite that, you seem just as hard on yourself as you were before, if not more. Incomprehensibly so.
Even if you'd been forgiven, you certainly aren't acting like you believe as much.
[He lets out a low, humorless laugh, one that shakes his shoulders slightly as if to dislodge some lingering weight. The dim light catches the edges of his mask and helmet, reminding him of the person he once was and the masks he's worn since.]
...Forgiven? Perhaps. But forgiveness isn't... enough. Not for what I've done. Not for the lives I've shattered, the people I've hurtβ even those I care for most.
[Especially them. He slumps slightly against the counter, hands running over its cold surface as if grounding himself to the moment.]
I may have been forgiven by others... but I can't forgive myself. And sometimes, Solomon... sometimes I wonder if I ever will.
[The drug dulls the edges of restraint; he doesn't bother polishing his words, letting them spill freely. His gaze meets Solomon's, unflinching, seeking acknowledgment more than absolution.]
[It feels similar to a conversation they'd had on first meeting, though with far more to fill the cracks - instead of a blind panic at the unknown, this feels far more like the words of a man with weight and clarity to those things that fill him with regrets.]
...Sins are a heavy thing to hold. Even if you know everyone else will move on... some times, I believe it's too hard to let go completely.
[The destruction. The hate. An image of a body, cold on foreign soils at the foot of a fountain.]
[How? How could I ever do that? The first questions that spill to mind are almost frantic, perhaps because Char never has considered letting go. How could he afford to, with so much riding on his shoulders?
He sinks lower, cheek against the cool counter. He's forgotten the water already.]
...You think it's a matter of willingness? That I hold this weight by choice?
[Is Solomon saying that was all his decision in the end?]
[Jeez, Char, please don't fall on the floor... Sighing, Solomon breaks the distance, a hand to Char's shoulder very lightly.]
I only speak from experience. To even think of not holding a guilt close... it feels like a failure at times. An act of cowardice. But those feelings are coming from myself as much as they may from anyone else. If I cannot see them for what they are, it doesnt matter who might forgive me.
There's no need to apologize to me. [That touch strengthens, just slightly, a rub back and forth against his shoulder.]
It's not as though I'm saying such things to condemn you, you know. You're so trapped inside your own heart, Danya, it's hard to say if I know you, or just the shade of you that wears your guilt like a cloak.
[Consoled? The thought feels wrong, unbearably wrong. It's enough to make Char wobble upright, abandoning the idea of fetching water altogether, and stagger back toward the infirmary bed.]
You already know more than you should. Why don't we call it a night?
[...He pauses, his back still to Solomon, but when he speaks, it's in earnest.]
The name Casval may have reached the mouths of the Extras, but I haven't answered to it in a long time. If you know me as anyone, know me as Char Aznable.
["Nishi" has fallen dormant much the same way Casval hasβ just another mask he wore in another time. Fractured though he was, Nishi had been the better man. He's earned his rest.]
[Face down as he is, Char can listen to the muffled sounds of the tap being turned on, then off. Footsteps, and then something being rested close to his head in his field of vision - a glass, however small, of the water he'd ignored.]
Rest well, then, Danya. May we both be whole in the morning.
[He has to take some time away from the gardens immediately after Noelle's death. But Solomon eventually makes his way back up to settle into the great stone archway, slips of paper in his hand and a small black pouch with golden thread sitting in wait. One hand is bandaged at the palm and stretching down past his jacket sleeve, and he seems to be very careful in how still he's holding himself, wincing if he leans to one particular side.
He's not sure how much time passes before he notices Char in the same space. But he acknowledges him with little more than a flick of his eyes, before returning to what he's doing.
[He pauses a few steps away, his posture deliberate, shoulders squared, helmet tucked under one arm. Char studies Solomon with a careful, measured gaze, noting the bandaged hand and the subtle tension in his stance.]
You're awfully quiet.
[The words are neither accusatory nor prying, simply an acknowledgment. He lets the silence stretch, giving Solomon space to choose whether to respond.]
It seems you're having a rough time.
[Char shifts to lean his weight against the stone archway. Even in his usual restraint, there's a quiet gravity to his presenceβ steady, patient, offering conversation without intrusion.]
You can spare me your concern. Is this truly so simple that you believe you can resolve it alone? Are you stubborn from pride, or do you think the truth might somehow wound me?
I can't. But I also can't say I'm a fan of sending you into a next of vipers that I myself may have very well helped to make. And that is the last thing I would like to add to your regrets.
[Sentence finished. Paper folded. He moves onto the next strip.]
[Is he really that vulnerable in Solomon's eyes? Almost insulting, but Char lets it slide. A snake fears no other snake. After this, he'll be diving straight into the nest. This really is a matter of necessity, a means to avoid further tragedy.]
You're remarkable in how unhelpful you are. I'll be sure not to rely on you for any straightforward answers.
[Turning his attention to the papersβ]
Will you be just as evasive with your little writings?
[They can both appreciate leaving certain topics untouched, though Char would have preferred something more direct. In any case, he intends to press Fandaniel himself later, but for now...]
...Then tell me more about the nature of these notes. If they're something you need help with, I'll offer what I can.
[Not that it's surprising β Solomon is far from an unthoughtful man β but still...]
It's a shame we can't strike at the root of the problem and end it there.
[Testing the waters. He doubts many would openly disagree that Father is their greatest obstacle, but it's hard to know whose ears might hear them, talking out in the open like this.]
Anyone here, dead or alive, that you have memories of. It does not matter how you word it. Remember their names, and remember how you felt about them, or for them.
If you cannot do as much, then perhaps write it about yourself instead, so someone else may hold it tight.
[The other pen is withdrawn from his coat as he attempts to take over his own attempts. But no mark is left behind. He sighs, instead taking to twirling it against his fingers.]
Out of ink, of course. That's fine. I'll find another.
[The pen glimmers faintly in the light, a vessel that was never meant to hold ink. Decorative, not practicalβ beautiful, but hollow. Char stares at it as if the sight alone might loosen his own tongue. Some truths can't be written. Some names can't be consigned to paper without losing their weight.
Still, when Solomon speaks of memory, when he suggests a name be recorded... only one comes to mind, though she is far from dead and gone. The name presses against the back of his throat like a secret aching to escape. He doubts even ink could hold what it means to him.]
If I were to write a name, it would be hers. That much I know.
[His gaze doesn't waver, even if his chest tightens. To admit as much is no small thing. A soldier learns to bury his truths, to guard them as closely as his own heartbeat. Yet here, with Solomon's words, he finds himself admitting it all the same.]
If not a promise, then perhaps a poem. A picture, a verse, a phrase from their tongue. An image that strikes fondly in you, and reminds you of them.
[It's a delicate matter for some, he knows. To let the moments of the heart stay locked up tight where nothing can hurt them. It's a challenge, to try and reach a soul like this.]
What stays precious with you will die with you, unless the joy and pain of them is shared with another. However vague and thin it must be stretched.
[The pen sits awkward in his grip. He keeps it simple, detached, like recounting someone else's story and not his own. The words come slow, each one carefully measured.]
Ash in her breath. Light bent through ruin. A thousand wings, broken, but still beating.
[He leaves it at that. Plain. Unadorned. Folding the paper once, he holds it tucked against his palm. The weight of what isn't written hangs as heavy as what is.]
This feels like something that should be left to the wind to carry. Do you intend to keep yours close?
[He nods, accepting Solomon's answers on its face. They strive for a common goal, ultimately... which may have been a fine thing to realize sooner, but on that noteβ]
Let me ask you something, Solomon. How did you come into possession of that pen? The one with the iridescent stone.
[Wordlessly, he lowers his hand to the collar of his coat at the nape of his neck and pulls it down. A symbol sits adorned right at the crest of his spine, one that has been visible in every trial since they started.]
An agreement. That's all.
I have some protection to make sure I can do what I need to. If it's taken from me, that will affect Sika just as much as it might affect me. So playing dumb was the safest option.
Please. It's not like anything you saw on me outside of that seal was from Sika.
Like I told you, it's an agreement. They wanted a means of protection for themselves and their child. I wanted people to be guaranteed to be kept alive.
I didn't trust that they were telling the entire truth, nor that they wouldn't change their mind should we become nothing but collateral to their plans. So we sat and talked through a mutual understanding.
They are to bring as many of us to freedom, healthy and alive, as they originally promised. If they go against their word, they will be bound. If they are to attack any of the Troupe with intention to kill, even under the hand of Father, they will be bound. For sake of de-escalation of all side, I am the only one with the key to free them, if that happens. [The pen flicks once more in his fingers, as though to bring attention to it.]
I offer them protection when they ask for it, so long as doing so will not kill a Troupe member in the process.
[Char's eyes flick to the pen as it rolls between Solomon's fingers, his jaw tightening despite himself. He loathes that the sight of it stirs something so sharp in him, but he won't pretend otherwise. He already bloodied his hands over this once.]
So it's a safeguard, then. Insurance for both sides.
[The admission tastes bitter, but he forces it out evenly. As much as he wants to resent Solomon, he can't deny the logic behind binding terms. In war, trust is a luxury. Agreements like this are the currency that keeps people alive.]
I won't fault you for striking a bargain that spares lives. But I'll say this much: Sika isn't collateral. Whatever bond you've forged, it had better honor that truth.
[His tone stays measured, but the edge is there, quiet and undeniable. Not another outburst, not another swing of his fist, but a promise all the same.]
Our "bond" is between Sika and myself, at their precise request. [Calm down, man, he's just doing business.
He sighs, a brittle sort of noise, his gaze down at his lap.]
I'm not planning on harming them, if that's what you're afraid of. But I can't guarantee the same will be thought from others, especially if Sika shows their anger and desperation more openly. Sika is already not one to avoid self-destruction, whether it comes from themselves or another. Even with all the attacks already thrown against them, they have yet once chosen to request aid.
Why do you think I lied to you about the key in the first place, if not to avoid adding further fuel to the fire?
...
In addition to that, they're already finding loopholes around our contract. Small, but noticeable. I'm afraid it won't improve. But I am bound to them, as much as they are to me. And a bind like that will not break unless they achieve their goal.
So if you have concerns? Address them with Sika. They hold the leash in this, not me.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
WEEK ONE - POST-TRIAL
Surely no one will see him. Surely this will be a normal walk.]
1/???
jk i'm done
Right's right: Nishi is in the right place at the right time for the first time in his life and he's not wasting an opportunity like this. He lunges from the shadows and lands on top of Solomon, sending them skidding back several feet on the grass...
......
...And, just like that, victory is his. That's it. That's all. He just wanted to give him a grass stain he won't soon forget.]
Hahaha! Scrub all you like, Solomonβ some stains never wash away! Some stay until the grave!
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It's not something Solomon's expecting, so when he has the full weight of someone else on top of him he yelps and hits the ground like a brick.]
Wh-- Nishi? [ow, fuck... He tries to push himself up, but if Nishi's still on top of him that's not happening and he just kind of crumples back down, pinned.]
Nishi, please, now isn't the time for this. Get off of me.
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[After all, he can't leave this man until he's paid him a favor. Please wait warmly, Solomon. Nishi straddles him, pinning the man in place with muscular thighs.]
Who knew you were such a charmer? I'm not the type who likes to share, so forgive me if I go a little hard on you.
[...]
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If you'd be clear about what exactly you're upset about, then maybe we could talk about this -- ghh -- [God why is he such a wimp without his magic let him gooooooooooOOOOO]
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You really are a pitiful excuse for a man, Solomon.
[Just what do they see in you?]
But don't worry. I've turned over a new leafβ no grudges, no festering wounds. I prefer to settle things right here, in the moment. That way, we can both move on.
[The first punch snaps out with no prelude, a brutal sucker punch to the left templeβ so fast it hardly seems possible he telegraphed it at all.]
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The hit connects with a crack and a choked back yell, Solomon's head whipping to the side at the follow-through. The pain is sharp, and the ringing in his ears immediate and harsh. His hands jerk from where they sit pinned at his side, a futile effort to get cover over his face.]
Wh-what -- Nishi, speak clearly, what on earth are you talking about????
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[The anger that seizes him is glacial, burning not hot but hollow, leaving no room for reason. His fist lashes out again, striking across Solomon's jaw, splitting his lip with a sharp crack.]
I shouldn't have to tell you. You should already understand!
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No, no, he has to be missing something here. There is no rationality in this, and Solomon struggles to pull together what had riled up Nishi so horribly in the trial, trying to force assumptions into as close of a picture as possible.]
And you called me the boy?
You won't get anything from me like that. Did I embarrass you?
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[You've done much more than that, though if you asked Nishi to list Solomon's supposed wrongdoings, you'd find it's all rather... personal. Messy. None of it is really Solomon's fault, but when it comes to pride, logic hardly factors in.
Maybe he just hates that smug face of his, slinging another punch into it, bloodying his nose in the process. Two more. That's all Nishi will allow himself this time, and then he'll consider Solomon's debt paid. Water under the bridge. Nothing personal.]
I don't want anything from you. I need you to take your lumps like a good boy and never cross me again. Understood?
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Cross you on what, exactly? [His voice is growing exasperated.]
No, I don't understand, Nishi. And you aren't listening, either.
You're setting me up to walk right into your fist again if you're not going to tell me what has you so angry.
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[But smart men don't cross CΜ΄ΝΝΜΜΝΜhΜ΅ΝΝΜΉaΜΆΝΝΜΝΜΜrΜΈΜΝΝΝ. They would not dare.
Another fist banks into Solomon's chin, clenching his teeth for him. Nishi's knuckles smart, but he pays them no mind. All that matters is that Solomon's pain is worse.]
If you really haven't figured it out, then don't worry about it. Forget it. I only owe you one more, and then we can forget this ever happened. Tell me, Solomon: how do you like your comeuppance?
[Nishi is a reasonable man. If Solomon would prefer a hit below the belt, Nishi will gladly oblige.]
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...You're... you're making a mistake, Danya. You really are.
[He wheezes for breath, trying not to take in the blood that slowly fills the back of his mouth.]
If you're that determined to keep me in the dark... then I'd say you can take... t-take that comeuppance and choke on it.
I will not confess to a sin I have not done.
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He hates himself for it. Hates how familiar it feels, to be burning down the wrong bridge all over again, but hate isn't enough to stop him.]
Take this personally. Hate me. Condemn me.
[The words are low, harsh, and then Nishi's hand is at Solomon's throat. He squeezes, not enough to kill, but more than enough to make Solomon's protests dissolve into choked wheezes. It's mercifully short, just long enough for Solomon's eyes to flutter and grow dull, for consciousness to leave him.
Nishi lets go, leaving Solomon crumpled on the grass like a discarded doll. For a long moment, Nishi only stands there, chest heaving, his own hands trembling as though they belonged to someone else. The mask doesn't hide the sweat, the shallow rasp of his breath, or the fact that he looks visibly unwell.]
One more mistake, among many. I wonder how many I've made now.
[He staggers away, legs unsteady, leaving Solomon sprawled in the grass behind him. There's no triumph here, only the taste of bile, and the certainty that what he's done will follow him, like everything else, for the rest of his life.]
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It echoes like a cry for help given far too late. The struggle stays brief. A jerking of his arms, a redness to his face, brassy eyes losing focus and slipping into dark as his body goes limp.
When he finally comes to, Nishi is long gone. His face and neck and throat scream from injury and the flow of blood, his limbs ache from the pin of his body.
But he still pushes himself up, coughing out vibrant red like so many of the flowers of the gardens, and drags himself away.
Perhaps this changed things. More than he'd expected. But he still has a job to do.]
WEEK TWO - CURFEW
Perhaps yesterday's gossip still lingers in the back of his mind, needling him. Perhaps he's already made peace with it. Either guess would be valid with how little he outwardly gives away. He slips into the infirmary cleanly, intent on settling in for the evening, only to find he isn't alone.
He halts, staring Solomon down in silence for a few long seconds. Then, unhurried, he shuts the door behind him and saunters further inside, claiming the space as his own.]
Good evening, Solomon. What brings you here at this hour?
[Not overly warm, not cold. Simply fine. And perhaps, by the moment, even better.]
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But he's seated on the floor about halfway the length back from the door, his normal pinstripe suit jacket tossed to the side and the sleeves of his own black turtleneck rolled up, exposing the seals underneath as he distractedly stares down at his phone screen. Given the dazed and slow reaction time he has to the announcement of his name across the room, he is not having a good time with the temperature.
Still, he's straightening up with a very cautious smile at seeing he has company. Nishi... goodness, it had been almost a week since Solomon had even seen the man for more than a few moments at a time, like some sort of shadow flitting around the school.]
Ah, Danya. You're looking calmer than the last time we spoke.
[Another glance at his phone. Ah, there it goes. The cell snaps shut, even as pushes up to his feet and reaches into his pocket for a small jar of something that glints gold under the infirmary lights.]
Step away from the door, please.
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The heat of the room doesn't trouble himβ he's endured far worse. It won't make for a comfortable night's sleep, but he didnβt come here seeking comfort anyway.]
Is this far enough from the door?
[He's given it a wide berth, strolling unhurriedly to the other side of the room. He doesn't trust Solomonβ never has, so it's best to leave nothing to chance.]
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[He strolls right up the doors to test that fact - yep, not budging, surprise!!!!!!! With a twist of the cap, Solomon opens the container with him - a glitter jar, more than likely from the art room, that's laid out carefully at the opening swing of the doors and going out to the doorframe as much as he's able.]
Leave that undisturbed, would you? [Said as he attempts to brush stray glitter off his pantlegs and fingertips.] I figured it would be worth a shot.
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[Glitter? Really? Well, that's one way to identify a culprit, should they be foolish enough to step into the infirmary. Char can't fault Solomon's logic, but he can certainly laugh at him.
He doesn't sit just yet, leaned against the wall opposite the door, working his blazer loose one button at a time. The garment is folded with meticulous care and set aside. His sleeves roll to the elbow, though the helmet and mask remain firmly in place.]
Better than flailing in the dark against an unseen assailant. That said, after last week... neither of us has the wherewithal to mount much of a defense if trouble comes knocking.
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[The empty jar is pocketed as he stretches his arms overtop his head with a hum.]
I'd say that you'll manage fine enough. Give yourself more credit.
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And you, Solomon? Don't tell me you'll need defending.
[Does he expect that Char would expend that mind of energy for him, if push came to shove?]
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[His face is still marred from the beating he got. Ironic, asking something like that when the man knows he can beat Solomon senseless.]
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I never said I'd offer you my protection. It's every man for themselves here, isn't it? Besides, I can't imagine you crawling on hands and knees to me begging for protection after what happened last time.
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[He rolls his eyes a little, before making his way back over to his original spot next to the floor, rummaging through his jacket.]
Worry about yourself, Danya. I will manage.
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[Solomon is stubborn. Strong. If he hadn't been nerfed by this place, he'd be a fearsome opponent. But here, they are only men. No powers, no magic, no instinctive understanding on sight. A shame, really.
Char produces a small sachet from his pocket, setting it beside him with deliberate care before crossing one leg over the other. His arms fold neatly in his lap, the picture of self-possession.]
Nowβ don't mind me. I intend to make use of this space however I please. Should I become an impediment to you, well... you'll simply have to learn to cope.
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He halts in whatever he's looking for, a brow raised in Nishi's direction as he lowers himself cross-legged. Casual, unbothered, across from Nishi's sudden burst of confidence.]
...If you wish to do something reckless, then I'm sure I'm in no position to tell you no.
But I don't see why you would want to.
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[No, no. This is a controlled environmentβ locked doors, sealed windows. It's just Char, Solomon, and the drug he's brought along for the ride.
He lazily frees a hand, teasing along the paper wrapping without breaking it open.]
Not that it really matters, but tell me: why should I think twice, Solomon?
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This seems so strange. Such a mood swing, yet again, from the panicked Nishi at the graves, from the furious Danya at his throat.]
It depends.
What do you intend to do with that?
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I intend to take it, obviously. There's enough to spare for two if you care to join me.
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As much as I love a little bit of curiosity, this hardly seems the time or place.
Do you even know what it is you have?
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Are you really a stickler for the rules? I didn't take you for such a prude. But if you won't join me, suit yourself.
[Char deliberately ignores Solomon's question and tears into the packet, placing a tab of something on his tongue.]
You love sticking your nose in other people's business, so try not to complain too much. I'm conducting valuable research.
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More that I'm aware what happened the last time we were locked away like this, and wouldn't want to be testing something that could alter my perceptions.
What if you were to be attacked in such a state?
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Well then, isn't it good I've got you to keep watch for me? If I were to be attacked in such a state, I could reasonably point to you as the culprit.
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I only meant, what reason would I have to attack you?
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[lmaoooooo]
But I wouldn't, if I were you.
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If anything, I'm concerned about what in the world you've even been getting up to.
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Concerned for your own sake? That would make sense, but if you're that leery of me, why haven't you done something about it?
[Like try to kill him, or at the least, make him a less credible threat through some other means?]
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His head leans up against the wall of closed beds, staring towards the ceiling.]
Because I have other things to keep in mind here than just chasing down a single man for a wrong done. I've put up with stranger and far more dangerous things.
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Are you mentally ill, Solomon?
[Honest, genuine question! It takes abnormal to know abnormal, and what Solomon is so eager to write off is not at all normal. But also... how dare he not have any lingering sentiments over what Char did to him? Don't forget about him?!?]
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bursts into laughter.]
Ahahah -- who knows! Someone probably thinks so.
[
ive been saving those the whole game im glad they're being used on char]
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[what the fuck is solomon.....................]
Besides, you've just proved my earlier point. You aren't inclined to hurt me, therefore, you won't let harm come to me either.
[Even if it's self-inflicted.]
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Unless you plan to go strangle someone else while I sleep peacefully.
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That's a pretty blatant accusation, Solomon. Do you take me for a killer?
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I take you for a very unpredictable kind of man. A troubled man. Searching for something hard to grasp in a place that promises that you can have anything you want, if you prove yourself deserving.
[His eyes settle on the visor, rather than on Nishi.]
Even a kind man can kill, if they feel they must.
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Ah... But he's truly become so transparent? Noβ there have always been those who see past his mask, but the admittance of such makes those people liabilities. Solomon is a danger purely by virtue of what he knows, and thatβ
...Well, in his current state, that makes him laugh.]
I wasn't kind when I put my hands around her throat.
[Sika called him vulnerable and emotional. Amuro accused him of the same. The people who know him must loathe him.]
I was deliberately unkind... just as I was to you.
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The marks you left told a story, yes. [There's a confident coolness to the statement. He knows exactly what Nishi is talking about.]
Did you at least bother to tell them of what horrible sin they had committed to you? Or did you become judge, jury, and executioner in the scarlet of your rage?
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Leave it to Char to double down and make a bad situation worse. No one hates Char as much as Char does.]
Of course I did. I even begged her to tell me why she'd flagrantly betray my trust and feed the rumor mill directly. She refused to tell me, of course.
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I take it you heard something that you believe only Sika would have known, then? [Just gonna put that name out there. They both know.] Did they tell you that they'd done it deliberately?
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So what if she did?
[Of course they did. What sickens Char isn't the fact itself, but not knowing why. Knowing that Sika felt she had no other choice, yet refusing to say what drove her there.]
The result is the same either way. I asked her a question. She refused to explain. So I punished her.
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But I have to wonder if you've ever actually wanted to have a dialogue in the first place, Danya. Sika's not the easiest to get information out of, sure, but... seriously? You went for that sort of threat?
[Because that sounds pretty close to exactly what happened between the two of them.]
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Who knows? Maybe I was just looking to pick a fight. That would track with your experience.
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Me? I've fought with only one person besides yourself, and at least I had a productive end goal in mind when I did it.
Here I'd think you're projecting.
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Do you think a proper fight would settle the score between us? Solomon.
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I don't see that there is anything to settle, Danya. If a fight didn't make you feel better the first time, I don't see how it will help you now.
Are you unhappy that I don't hate you like you wanted?
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He's one ill-advised turn from dumping himself on the floor, but againβ so what? If Char had any reason to believe he'd meet his maker by way of the floor tiles, he'd have perished a long time ago. Liken him to a cockroach and you'll find the comparison apt.]
I don't know what you feel about me. If you hated me, I'd understand you.
[He can relate to the feeling of hating someone's guts. He can't relate to the unnerving enigma of a man before him, yet he feels like he should.]
What have you been through in your life that you can so easily compartmentalize your feelings? Does it not dull them, obscuring them away?
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[Sure, you might manage both if you were lucky. But had he learned anything from trying to kill Solomon? Had he, from trying to kill Sika? Would he, if he tried again?
When the question is redirected, it only earns a chuckle, humorless.]
Mm. I wouldn't quite know where to start. But... some things dull our hearts for the better of our goals. It's a consequence you have to live with.
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Instead, Sika remained mum. She taunted him, telling him to beg, and he fell hard on old habits and snapped at herβ just as she'd intended. What Char and Sika have in common, all the threads that link them, is subsumed by the weight of reality, knowing Sika must hurt others without explanation for the sake of bearing her burdens alone. He thought, perhaps foolishly, that they could carry each other's weight.
Rather than leave himself lying here as a painful, exposed nerve, Char comments only on Solomon's response to his question.]
Well said, but you speak like a man with lifetimes of experience doing exactly that. Why is that?
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It depends why you ask, I guess.
No one ever truly believed in me. So I took it on myself and myself alone to find a path forward with my life. And to go against all that is correct in the world means to bring all the emotions that come with it.
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They are alike, and the violent return of his memories has made that all the more clear to Char. That's why he always grated on his nerves. That's why he couldn't help but be on guard around him. Right now, it's just... annoying, more than anything.]
Don't steal my material.
[There's a little Nishi left in him after all.]
...Mm, but was it that they didn't believe in you, or were they afraid of you?
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Both.
People tend to fear the things they don't understand, and it's not like I had a great start. Still, I... really have to wonder why I don't feel more bitter, ahahah.
Why do you ask?
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Ah, but wait. Don't derail him with a question yet. He is thinking..............]
...Lost your memories, did you? Or was it your feelings?
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I forget plenty in both accounts. Even if there's now something missing, it's not like this is something I can avoid forever.
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Do you think you're better off for it?
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I don't want what was taken running off with someone else, if that's what you mean. [Pointed, a cold sort of guard to the words that tinges with something that doesn't fit in with the rest. Fear?]
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...]
Would I know any better either way, anyway? Can't I just choose to make new memories to fill in the spaces, rather than worrying about the past?
[What used to matter so strongly now drifts in and out like a boat on the tides. Reminders in moments, only to fade away like seafoam across the cacophony of time.]
And besides... I believe you're ignoring my question.
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Oh dear... Your excuses could use some work. You're hardly believable.
[He continues to grin at Solomon, staring at him upside down from the infirmary bed, head tipped off the edge to better stare him down. Rude, needling, probing eyes.]
You're old enough to know better... Old enough to know that old memories are precious. They make up the whole of what you are. Lose them, and you lose irreplaceable bits of yourself.
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[No one else did for the longest time, and even then it was with caveats. Why should Nishi be any different?]
But if you want to tell me how to live, by all means. I'm sure you have plenty of pointers from however long a life you've seen.
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[Hehe. Forget.]
If you truly believe what you've told me, then I have no reason to press the matter. But I suspect you're not half as composed as you'd like others to think.
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Nishi, I know you've lost things. I'm sorry I do not feel the same as you, when it comes to that. And I do not say the things I do to rip the importance from you.
If you want someone to relate to, then I'll listen. But you cannot assume I am exactly the same and push me away when I am not, or we will never see eye to eye.
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His eyes drift upward, imagining the stars beyond the ceiling. The thought tugs at him, a yearning he's carried even before reclaiming his previous self.]
Don't flatter yourself that you understand me, Solomon. You know nothing, and yet you presume to lecture.
[Don't try to take a gentle tone with him, either. He's no lost child.]
I'm not looking for a sounding board. Do try to remember that.
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[He has to take a moment to wipe at the sweat against his neck - to roll his sleeves up a little further against those seals against his skin, to pull his hair away from his forehead and ears.]
It's not as though I want to sit here and have you prod at me, either. Certainly you should expect some retaliation.
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Yet what lies beneath could not be further from the truth. The whole of his former self was revealed to him in full on Wednesday, stirred by the latent madness this farcical play inspires. What Solomon sees now is nothing virtuousβ only fragments of a man who could never endure once compartmentalizing became impossible.
He sighs, rocking uprightβ and nearly tipping to the floor, managing to catch himself on a retracting curtain. Clinging to it, he edges to his feet. The weight of it all presses down with an oppressively heavy gravity.]
The truth is... I would have been better off staying as I was. "Nishi" was desperate to remember himself. And yet here I am, no wiser, no lighter. Perhaps I was better off without those old memories.
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...]
So you've remembered who you are.
[That explains quite a lot in the personality difference, then. But when in the world...]
That wasn't what was taken from you, then? Or did someone fill in the blanks for you?
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I don't know precisely... how to describe it to you. Butβ one day, I awoke out of place. I woke in an unfamiliar space... on a tatami mat, in a small square room with paper doors. My uniform hung there, as did my helmet and mask. I thought them clownish... until I put them on and realized they suited me just fine.
[Does that answer Solomon's question? He doesn't know. Thoughts spiral off his tongue and down an unseen drain.]
I lived that way for some time... believing it was my atonement for the life I'd led before. Now, arriving here, I'm not so sure.
[He hasn't gotten better since being here. If anything, he's backslid, becoming far worse.]
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...As the life you knew as "Nishi", I assume?
So what changed? Do you know?
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...You could call it Nishi's life. But what changed? Tell meβ do I look like a man who's been forgiven? Or one who never stopped being what he was?
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I noticed changes in your behavior this evening, yes, but despite that, you seem just as hard on yourself as you were before, if not more. Incomprehensibly so.
Even if you'd been forgiven, you certainly aren't acting like you believe as much.
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...Forgiven? Perhaps. But forgiveness isn't... enough. Not for what I've done. Not for the lives I've shattered, the people I've hurtβ even those I care for most.
[Especially them. He slumps slightly against the counter, hands running over its cold surface as if grounding himself to the moment.]
I may have been forgiven by others... but I can't forgive myself. And sometimes, Solomon... sometimes I wonder if I ever will.
[The drug dulls the edges of restraint; he doesn't bother polishing his words, letting them spill freely. His gaze meets Solomon's, unflinching, seeking acknowledgment more than absolution.]
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...Sins are a heavy thing to hold. Even if you know everyone else will move on... some times, I believe it's too hard to let go completely.
[The destruction. The hate. An image of a body, cold on foreign soils at the foot of a fountain.]
...
Are you afraid of what might happen, if you do?
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[How? How could I ever do that? The first questions that spill to mind are almost frantic, perhaps because Char never has considered letting go. How could he afford to, with so much riding on his shoulders?
He sinks lower, cheek against the cool counter. He's forgotten the water already.]
...You think it's a matter of willingness? That I hold this weight by choice?
[Is Solomon saying that was all his decision in the end?]
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[Jeez, Char, please don't fall on the floor... Sighing, Solomon breaks the distance, a hand to Char's shoulder very lightly.]
I only speak from experience. To even think of not holding a guilt close... it feels like a failure at times. An act of cowardice. But those feelings are coming from myself as much as they may from anyone else. If I cannot see them for what they are, it doesnt matter who might forgive me.
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I can't just let it go. These... reminders of my mistakesβthey keep me honest. A weight like this should follow a man through lifetimes.
[This is his grave, built brick by bloody brick. Char turns his face away, shielding it from Solomon's view.]
I'm sorry. If your advice had reached me sooner... maybe things would have turned out differently.
[Maybe he could have listened. Maybe, just maybe.]
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It's not as though I'm saying such things to condemn you, you know. You're so trapped inside your own heart, Danya, it's hard to say if I know you, or just the shade of you that wears your guilt like a cloak.
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You already know more than you should. Why don't we call it a night?
[He feels too exposed. Too raw.]
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Would I be able to ask you one last thing, before you lie yourself down to ignore me?
[...]
Who are you really, "Nishi"? Or would you rather keep that buried?
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The name Casval may have reached the mouths of the Extras, but I haven't answered to it in a long time. If you know me as anyone, know me as Char Aznable.
["Nishi" has fallen dormant much the same way Casval hasβ just another mask he wore in another time. Fractured though he was, Nishi had been the better man. He's earned his rest.]
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Would you like that to stay between us?
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Muffled by the sheetsβ]
Address me as you usually would... I've already drawn too much pointed attention to myself.
[Throwing a new name in the mix will only confuse people more. Better that it come up in conversation naturally like this, if anything.]
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[Face down as he is, Char can listen to the muffled sounds of the tap being turned on, then off. Footsteps, and then something being rested close to his head in his field of vision - a glass, however small, of the water he'd ignored.]
Rest well, then, Danya. May we both be whole in the morning.
WEEK TWO - SUNDAY POST EXECUTION
He's not sure how much time passes before he notices Char in the same space. But he acknowledges him with little more than a flick of his eyes, before returning to what he's doing.
For some reason, he's staying eerily quiet.]
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You're awfully quiet.
[The words are neither accusatory nor prying, simply an acknowledgment. He lets the silence stretch, giving Solomon space to choose whether to respond.]
It seems you're having a rough time.
[Char shifts to lean his weight against the stone archway. Even in his usual restraint, there's a quiet gravity to his presenceβ steady, patient, offering conversation without intrusion.]
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Coincidence. Always coincidence. It didn't matter.
...]
...
Danya.
It's for the best if you don't speak with me.
[Quiet. Very, very quiet.]
I don't know who's watching. And I don't want you to get hurt.
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[He's far from incapable. Besides, Solomon's warning brings to mind one figure in particular:]
If you're worried about Fandaniel, don't be. He won't harm me.
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As long as you're certain. It will keep at least one weight off my mind.
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Tell me what happened. I need the full story, Solomon, so I can determine how to handle this.
[This is, at least in part, his fault, so it falls on him to fix it.]
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[Smiling, easy, as he pulls out the blue pen he carries on him, popping off the lid with his thumb and starting to write.]
Just be careful, Danya. That's all I ask.
I don't recommend being seen with me. But if you had other questions, I'll try to keep it brief.
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[Sentence finished. Paper folded. He moves onto the next strip.]
I'm sad you think I'm so untrustworthy.
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You're remarkable in how unhelpful you are. I'll be sure not to rely on you for any straightforward answers.
[Turning his attention to the papersβ]
Will you be just as evasive with your little writings?
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[Not even looking up as he says that.
Sorry, Char. Something has clearly happened and it has his walls up much higher than usual.]
I'd prefer not to be. I would like to remember the people I'm around, after all, regardless of whether they're living or recently dead.
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...Then tell me more about the nature of these notes. If they're something you need help with, I'll offer what I can.
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[That, at least, gets him to turn towards Char a little. Acknowledgement, at least.]
I'd highly suggest it. If we lose memory of Annette and Noelle as quickly as we did the others, I would not be caught so off guard this time.
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[Not that it's surprising β Solomon is far from an unthoughtful man β but still...]
It's a shame we can't strike at the root of the problem and end it there.
[Testing the waters. He doubts many would openly disagree that Father is their greatest obstacle, but it's hard to know whose ears might hear them, talking out in the open like this.]
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[He'll hold up the blue pen for Char to take, if he so chooses. If you wanna help, man, sit your ass down.]
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You'll have to provide me with instructions. This isn't something I typically do.
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If you cannot do as much, then perhaps write it about yourself instead, so someone else may hold it tight.
[The other pen is withdrawn from his coat as he attempts to take over his own attempts. But no mark is left behind. He sighs, instead taking to twirling it against his fingers.]
Out of ink, of course. That's fine. I'll find another.
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Still, when Solomon speaks of memory, when he suggests a name be recorded... only one comes to mind, though she is far from dead and gone. The name presses against the back of his throat like a secret aching to escape. He doubts even ink could hold what it means to him.]
If I were to write a name, it would be hers. That much I know.
[His gaze doesn't waver, even if his chest tightens. To admit as much is no small thing. A soldier learns to bury his truths, to guard them as closely as his own heartbeat. Yet here, with Solomon's words, he finds himself admitting it all the same.]
But some promises aren't meant for paper.
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If not a promise, then perhaps a poem. A picture, a verse, a phrase from their tongue. An image that strikes fondly in you, and reminds you of them.
[It's a delicate matter for some, he knows. To let the moments of the heart stay locked up tight where nothing can hurt them. It's a challenge, to try and reach a soul like this.]
What stays precious with you will die with you, unless the joy and pain of them is shared with another. However vague and thin it must be stretched.
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Ash in her breath. Light bent through ruin. A thousand wings, broken, but still beating.
[He leaves it at that. Plain. Unadorned. Folding the paper once, he holds it tucked against his palm. The weight of what isn't written hangs as heavy as what is.]
This feels like something that should be left to the wind to carry. Do you intend to keep yours close?
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[Not for everything. Not for every statement he's written down.]
Saving as many here as I can will always be my priority. Whatever I can do, I will do. Even if is something as simple as this.
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Let me ask you something, Solomon. How did you come into possession of that pen? The one with the iridescent stone.
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[He flicks it against his fingers idly.]
Your first guess at the trial was correct.
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[Sika... Just what are you thinking?]
Then you should have no problem explaining yourself clearly now. Go on.
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An agreement. That's all.
I have some protection to make sure I can do what I need to. If it's taken from me, that will affect Sika just as much as it might affect me. So playing dumb was the safest option.
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I knew I was right to strike you.
[Repeatedly. He should've allowed himself an encore punch.]
Well then, while you're being honest, tell me a little more about your agreement. I'd like to know what binds you to Sika.
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Please. It's not like anything you saw on me outside of that seal was from Sika.
Like I told you, it's an agreement. They wanted a means of protection for themselves and their child. I wanted people to be guaranteed to be kept alive.
I didn't trust that they were telling the entire truth, nor that they wouldn't change their mind should we become nothing but collateral to their plans. So we sat and talked through a mutual understanding.
They are to bring as many of us to freedom, healthy and alive, as they originally promised. If they go against their word, they will be bound. If they are to attack any of the Troupe with intention to kill, even under the hand of Father, they will be bound. For sake of de-escalation of all side, I am the only one with the key to free them, if that happens. [The pen flicks once more in his fingers, as though to bring attention to it.]
I offer them protection when they ask for it, so long as doing so will not kill a Troupe member in the process.
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So it's a safeguard, then. Insurance for both sides.
[The admission tastes bitter, but he forces it out evenly. As much as he wants to resent Solomon, he can't deny the logic behind binding terms. In war, trust is a luxury. Agreements like this are the currency that keeps people alive.]
I won't fault you for striking a bargain that spares lives. But I'll say this much: Sika isn't collateral. Whatever bond you've forged, it had better honor that truth.
[His tone stays measured, but the edge is there, quiet and undeniable. Not another outburst, not another swing of his fist, but a promise all the same.]
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He sighs, a brittle sort of noise, his gaze down at his lap.]
I'm not planning on harming them, if that's what you're afraid of. But I can't guarantee the same will be thought from others, especially if Sika shows their anger and desperation more openly. Sika is already not one to avoid self-destruction, whether it comes from themselves or another. Even with all the attacks already thrown against them, they have yet once chosen to request aid.
Why do you think I lied to you about the key in the first place, if not to avoid adding further fuel to the fire?
...
In addition to that, they're already finding loopholes around our contract. Small, but noticeable. I'm afraid it won't improve. But I am bound to them, as much as they are to me. And a bind like that will not break unless they achieve their goal.
So if you have concerns? Address them with Sika. They hold the leash in this, not me.