[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.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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?]
Cw: drug discussion/drug use
[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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